November 7th.
The Northstar Cup officially began.
By two in the afternoon, the fifth floor of Northstar Games was already overflowing with people. Players filled every seat. Staff moved quickly between stations. Company employees stood behind the barriers watching with excitement. Some fans had even traveled from other cities just to witness the rebirth of a fighting game era.
This was not just a tournament.
It felt like history restarting.
Inside the arena, Ethan Reed and Vivian Frost walked slowly between rows of competitors, observing the first-round matches. Their expressions were calm, but their eyes were sharp.
The first round followed a simple rule: 1v1 elimination, odd-numbered players versus even-numbered players.
No protection.
No seeding.
If you met a monster in the first round, that was your fate.
Luck and skill.
That was the only filter.
And while many famous domestic fighting game veterans had come because of the massive prize pool, the skill gap among players was still enormous.
For casual players, fighting games were entertainment.
For professionals, they were war.
The difference between the two?
Heaven and earth.
---
At one corner of the hall, streamer Caleb Knox from BiliZone stared helplessly at the man sitting beside him.
Caleb loved Northstar Games. He bought Street Fighter 3 on release day. At first, he struggled. But he didn't quit. He was the kind of player who could grind through puzzle games and card battles for weeks. Slowly, he began to understand the rhythm of fighting games.
The tension.
The back-and-forth.
The mind games.
The thrill of a comeback when both players had only a sliver of health left.
He fell in love.
But today—
He glanced at his opponent again.
Baby-faced.
Short.
Square jaw.
Caleb recognized him immediately.
A former national champion.
Multiple-time winner in King of Fighters tournaments.
World championship silver medalist.
One of the top ten ranked players nationwide.
And Caleb?
Diamond rank.
That was it.
If levels were displayed above their heads, Caleb would show:
Level 1.
His opponent?
Level 999.
"How am I supposed to fight this?" Caleb muttered.
The match began.
Within minutes, despair arrived.
His opponent even showed restraint, playing respectfully with both hands. But Caleb almost wished he would use just one hand.
It wouldn't matter.
The gap was overwhelming.
Five rounds later—
0:5.
Eliminated.
Caleb stood up, sighed deeply, and joined the spectators.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "at least I'll get to enjoy the bento boxes."
---
Elsewhere in the hall, Zane Walker was calm.
Older.
Slower.
But steady.
After days of training with Kid and the others at the hotel, his rhythm had returned. His movements were no longer rusty.
He chose Ken.
A lone street warrior.
Always seeking stronger opponents.
Always growing through battle.
Ken's journey felt like his own.
Zane had never been a pure prodigy. He wasn't born the strongest.
He became strong.
Through repetition.
Through defeat.
Through stubborn refusal to give up.
His playstyle was famous years ago.
He would often lose the first two rounds.
Observe.
Adapt.
Then crush.
Because of his ability to grow stronger mid-match, he earned a nickname back in the arcade days:
The Unyielding Beast.
That title began whispering through the crowd again.
By the end of Day One—
Zane advanced.
Kid advanced.
Ah Hui advanced.
Even Second Brother He made it through.
The old guard still had claws.
---
That night at the hotel, Zane called home.
But before he could speak, Vivian's excited voice burst through the phone.
"You were amazing! I watched the stream! You're listed as a seeded player now!"
"Seeded?" Zane blinked.
So that was why a cameraman kept following him all day.
Almost everywhere.
Even near the restroom.
He thought it was random coverage.
It wasn't.
Northstar had selected certain players as highlighted competitors.
Kid had a cameraman too.
Ah Hui as well.
Second Brother He?
No cameraman.
Most likely because he never stopped trash-talking during matches.
He was a fighter in every sense—controller or fists.
"If you make top thirty," Vivian continued cheerfully, "you'll at least earn back your plane ticket!"
Before Zane could reply, another voice interrupted.
"Dad! That guy you fought was so weak! I could beat him! Is it too late for me to join?"
"Go do your homework!" Vivian shouted in the background.
"No! I want to talk to Dad!"
"I'm counting to one!"
"Waaah! Dad, good luck! When you come back, help me punish Mom!"
Zane laughed.
The warmth of family support filled his chest.
This feeling—
It was stronger than any prize money.
---
Day Two arrived.
The arena atmosphere was even more intense.
The player count had been cut in half.
Then again.
Zane advanced smoothly.
Top one thousand.
Kid advanced.
Ah Hui advanced.
But—
Second Brother He did not.
He lost.
To a plump, East Asian-looking player with calm eyes and steady hands.
A Chinese-American.
Former professional.
Name: Justin.
Yes.
That Justin.
Zane and Kid both recognized him.
Back in the golden era, Justin was famous for two things:
Winning.
And mind games.
Rumor said he originally picked up Street Fighter 3 because he liked Chun-Li's design.
But he stayed because he was brilliant.
Now he had flown across countries for one reason.
Two million in prize money.
Not pride.
Not nostalgia.
Money.
And he wanted it badly.
Back at the hotel, Second Brother He exploded.
"That guy is disgusting! His move was already executing, but he kept shaking his joystick like crazy! Trying to mess with my head!"
Zane and Kid exchanged looks.
Mind games?
Second Brother He complaining about mind games?
Irony at its finest.
Still—
Justin's tactic was real.
Since it was an offline event, players sat close together. Even after confirming a move input, Justin would continue shaking the joystick violently during the animation frames.
The rattling sound.
The sudden motion.
It disrupted focus.
In a game decided by milliseconds, distraction could mean death.
Kid leaned forward seriously.
"We need to watch him carefully."
He paused.
"And there's another one. A Russian kid. Sixteen years old. His parents brought him. He's terrifying."
"Sixteen?" Zane laughed softly. "When we competed at sixteen, our parents would've locked us at home."
Times had changed.
That evening, Northstar's media team uploaded highlight clips to their official BiliZone account.
Top ten moments of the day.
Among them—
Second Brother He's final jump-in attack being perfectly blocked by Justin, followed by an instant counter combo that ended the match.
To be fair, Second Brother He had not been crushed.
He lost 3:5.
In the final round, it was nearly a tie.
But the crowd noise.
The joystick shaking.
One tiny misjudgment.
And it was over.
Second Brother He had the weakest mentality among them.
Talent, yes.
Control under pressure?
Questionable.
---
Back in his room, Zane sat quietly, controller resting in his lap.
Justin.
The Russian prodigy.
Kid.
Himself.
The battlefield was narrowing.
The monsters were appearing.
He exhaled slowly.
Excitement pulsed through him.
This wasn't the arcade era.
This wasn't the past.
This was now.
And the level of competition?
Higher than he expected.
He closed his eyes and flexed his fingers.
The real fight had begun.
Because in Round Two—
Wild Justin appeared.
And when a wild boss appears—
Only the strongest survive.
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