The way he moves around is so clean. This why I love Atafami.
If this is his first tournament, what’ll he be like once he gets used to playing offline?
He’s good-looking and good at Atafami, I’m a loser in comparison lmao.
Nanashi’s playstyle really is so refined. Maybe I’ll try using Found, too.
✦ ✦ ✦
It was all positive. There were also some tweets talking about my looks, but that was funny in a way, too.
“…Wow.”
“So I’m looking forward to the next tournament! I know it won’t be long til you’re used to playing offline, too!”
“…Yeah, thank you.” What the heck? He approached me because he was a fan, but for some reason, I’m the one getting encouraged.
“So I’m gonna keep cheering you on!”
Shimaaji-kun had a beaming smile on his face, and I knew he was glad to have been able to talk with me. With that, Shimaaji-kun left. It was so unexpected, I was shocked.
“Now do you understand?” said Ashigaru-san.
“…Understand what?”
Finally, he spoke like he was offering me some advice. “—What attracts people isn’t just how good you are.”
Kikuchi-san and Mimimi were also listening with interest.
“You might think that a pro gamer needs the skills and tournament wins, and that’s the only way to get famous. Of course, might makes right, and it’s fair to call that part essential. Without it, you won’t seem like a real gamer—but it’s not the only thing you need.”
I’d seen that plenty, even that very day.
Like a skilled competitor who had been seeded highly losing in the first round.
Or someone who had dropped into the losers’ bracket after the first round but had gotten six continuous wins after that.
Or someone who had lost at the semifinals and almost slammed the controller in frustration, then felt bad and took a step back.
It wasn’t just about strong versus weak—everyone had their own drama.
✦ ✦ ✦
“You need more than skills to attract people—you need a story.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The confidence in his tone must have come from personal experience.
“You got such-and-such rank because you went through some experience, or had some frame of mind. The story made by that string of events—your story—will earn the audience’s excitement, respect, and faith. Of course, it’s assumed that a pro will be good at the game. But—”
Ashigaru-san’s firm gaze remained locked on me. “People can’t give their hearts to just pure talent.”
In the end, he took a sweeping look across the venue.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Listen, a pro gamer’s job…is to make themselves a story that will attract people.”
✦ ✦ ✦
His words really struck the core of the matter.
✦ ✦ ✦
“—Um!”
That was when Kikuchi-san cut in.
“What’s the reason that you wanted to become a pro gamer, Ashigaru-san?” she asked with a serious look in her eyes—she must have intuited that she could gain something from it.
“…A reason?”
“Yes…! Um, right now, I’m having doubts about my career path… What you said made me want to hear more.”
“Ahh, I see.” Ashigaru-san seemed a little startled to hear this enthusiastic question from quiet Kikuchi-san, but he gave her a mature smile. “Is this like a warm-up before the career-path seminar?”
“Ah-ha-ha, I suppose so.”
Seeing me laugh, Ashigaru-san raised an eyebrow proudly, then slowly began to speak. “Well, I think my reason is something that continually changes.”
“How so…?” Kikuchi-san asked with deep interest.
“I originally thought of myself as a selfish person. I just wanted to win, and I didn’t think about the losers. Well, I think that people in the competition world can be like that a lot of the time, though.”
“Ah-ha-ha. I’m like that, too,” I agreed from the side.
“But one day, I realized I was slowly getting more well-known and gradually getting more people I could call fans. At first, I’d thought this sort of thing wasn’t me, and I didn’t care what other people did…”
I was slowly being absorbed by his words—he was describing what I’d just experienced.
“When people said to me, ‘I started playing Atafami because of you,’ or ‘Watching you play made me want to go pro with Lizard’…I was happier than I expected. It made me think, Man, I’m lame, feeling moved by this when I was so aggressively competitive.”
“That’s not lame…at all,” Kikuchi-san said hesitantly.
But Ashigaru-san cracked a smile and continued, “But you know, then I’d be in a bad situation in the next tournament or something, and I’d be thinking, Man, I’m gonna lose—there’s no way to turn it around the way things are going. That’s one of those lessons you learn through experience, so you do lose motivation and start believing there’s no point in trying anymore. But—”
Ashigaru-san seemed a little embarrassed as he said:
✦ ✦ ✦
“—that’s when those things come to mind.”
✦ ✦ ✦
For such a coolheaded person, the fire must have been unexpected.
“The faces of the fans, and their words. —And their faith in me.”
I think this is only something you’ll hear from someone who has continuously been in the spotlight, granting people dreams.
And now those feelings were starting to grow within me as well, just a little.
“It’s true that you can get stronger by admiring someone and trying to be like them. But—” Ashigaru-san gazed at his palms. “Having someone admire you and attempting to carry their feelings—that can make you stronger, too.”
“Carrying their feelings…” I repeated those words with a certain weight.
“So…if you’re unsure about your reason to keep going—you can find your answer down the line. I think that’s one way you can go.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“So thanks for today. I’ll be counting on you at the career-path seminar,” I told Ashigaru-san.
“Yeah! Thank you very much!” Mimimi piped up.
“Thank you for today…!” said Kikuchi-san.
After three of us said our farewells to him, we got onto the Saikyo Line. I took a seat on the empty train so that I could send a message to Haruka-chan first thing and let her know we’d locked in a guest for the career-path seminar. Maybe this would put her a bit at ease.
“Today’s been a rewarding day,” said Mimimi.
“…Yeah,” I said, zoning out as what Ashigaru-san had said ran through my mind.
Mimimi pouted and thoughtfully hmmed. “You know, what Ashigaru-san was talking about was kinda similar to Aoi’s situation.”
“…Yeah,” I agreed. I felt that keenly.
Kikuchi-san had been listening and joined the conversation. “You mean about being admired by someone.”
“Yeah!” Mimimi pointed at her.
I thought back on what Ashigaru-san had said—and the thoughts of the fan who’d spoken to me.
Shining bright would attract people and be their landmark, guiding them like a lighthouse.
“If you’re going to put it like Ashigaru-san did, then Aoi’s been a pro gamer for a long time,” Mimimi said.
That caught me by surprise.
If being a pro gamer is about making yourself into a story that attracts people—
—then Aoi Hinami as a person is special to Haruka-chan, or to Mimimi and everyone else who admires her brilliance. In other words—you could call the two of them Hinami’s fans.
For a long time now, Hinami had occupied the place I’d been aiming for.
“You’re right… She is a pro gamer,” I said.
What game was she a pro at? Obviously…
…the game of life.
“…Before she lost it, what was her landmark she was moving toward?” I said, imagining something that would fill her emptiness. “What she had as her role model… What was the sun to her?”
In the tournament, I’d only reached the top four. While that hadn’t satisfied me, hearing from an apparent fan, and the positive comments on the Internet, had given new meaning to results that I’d found unsatisfactory. They had validated my results by adding meaning after the fact.