Arthur, having rolled his chair to the center of the room, was now slowly spinning, contemplatively gazing at the ceiling. Faint echoes of music and snippets of commentators' words emanated from the old-fashioned wired headphones resting on the table. Meanwhile, on the monitor screen, frames from the stream flickered intermittently.

Arthur had been anticipating this stream for almost a year, yet now he paid it no attention whatsoever. Currently, all the thematic channels on Twitch, YouTube, and even Discord were broadcasting the final of the national qualifiers. The outcome would determine which team would represent Ukraine in the world championship of the game «Last Hit»: either the relatively unknown but resilient and surprisingly strong «MoNoS» team, or the eccentric and scandalously famous «Super10».

Both teams are, of course, created by two multi-platform esports organizations, but there is a significant difference between them. «Super10» adheres to the rules of the world order, which has bowed to global capitalism. Consequently, this organization forms teams not from ordinary but skilled players, but exclusively from highly charismatic media personalities. In other words, they collaborate only with streamers who attract a minimum of 5 thousand active viewers on their broadcasts.

From here, additional requirements for potential streamers arise: they MUST be proficient not only in Ukrainian and Russian but also - at a minimum - in one more additional language. Ideally, of course, this should be international English to reach as broad an audience as possible.

Essentially, «Super10» is, first and foremost, a comprehensive manager actively promoting its protege streamers across all platforms and streaming services. They organize various mass online and offline events (naturally, because it's an excellent way to earn even more money), register their teams to participate in both major and minor tournaments (rumor has it that the organizers are also involved in bookmaking), and, of course, handle the visa and passport formalities for their e-sportsman.

And, on the side, actively seek sponsors.

These sponsors are well-known global brands that generously throw money left and right, regularly pay streamers salaries, fund various minor expenses, all in order to make their products widely known. This is achieved either through subtle native advertising, discreetly appearing somewhere in the background without being overly intrusive, or through explicit methods. In the latter case, the streamer enthusiastically plays a game and then, seemingly «SUDDENLY AND TOTALLY UNEXPECTEDLY», remembers that he recently bought such an amazing blender/mobile phone/electric shaver/pillow... something else, and decides, out of the goodness of his heart, to recommend this cool product to his audience. Alternatively, sponsors may simply ask to include a link to them in the stream's description or in the YouTube video.

Absolutely, regular gamers are gonna slap this streamer with the nasty tag «sellout» in a heartbeat and kick up a fuss. But on the flip side, embracing that «sellout» vibe is the ticket for the streamer to live the good life.

Certainly, this scheme lets the «Super10» brass rake in insane cash, and their streamers aren't left in the lurch.

The thing is, the streamer's journey to fame is a long and winding road, contingent, in part, on pure luck.

To be skilled in some game and charismatic is not enough because that's just the basics, the absolute minimum. Once that minimum is met, the player needs to somehow make a name for himself. How exactly?

Well, there are three ways:

1) Either the player will stream for days on end, hoping that someone will randomly stumble upon their broadcast, develop a liking, and start recommending the streamer to friends, who, in turn, will recommend them to their friends, and so on. In short, the first method relies on perseverance, luck, and the hope for word of mouth.

2) Engage in extensive preparation. And start with YouTube. Meaning, the player regularly creates video guides, funny compilations, and uploads it all to YouTube and various social media, gradually building an audience, and only then starts streaming. Some manage to lay the groundwork in a year, while others spend ten years - and still, without any results.

3) The simplest, most effective, and most expensive - buy advertising from another streamer. But on the other hand, where does one get the money?

However, even if a person has managed to overcome all the challenges, built up a fairly large audience, and started streaming, they can still face serious financial problems. Given YouTube's draconian rules and its love for demonetization, as well as game developers' focus on creating 18+ content, streamers have to rely solely on donations from their audience. And here, it's impossible to predict what awaits him in the future: he could be streaming for 50 people, one of whom idolizes the streamer and monthly pours half of their salary into donations, or he could be streaming for 20 thousand people, yet only make around 100 bucks a month in donations.

And what to do then? How to pay the bills? What, in the end, to eat? Ask the cat to catch twice as many mice?

So the streamer will also have to actively roam the internet, searching for advertisers, then negotiate collaboration terms and payment rates to expand income sources.

Collaborating with «Super10» solves all these problems. On the one hand, their streamers have already overcome the lion's share of the thorny path to fame, but on the other hand, managers take care of all the details, contracts, and further growth in popularity (as well as numerous contractual scandals and conflicts, thanks to which their players constantly appear in the information space, thus actively promoting themselves).

As for the streamer, in the intervals between getting involved in conflicts, they just need to play all day, interact with the audience, and not worry about anything – their salary will be decent in terms of volume and stability.

Meanwhile, «MoNoS» is an entirely non-profit organization. You could even call them a small internet community or a unique interest club.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Members of «MoNoS» are undoubtedly skilled players. In their 15 years of existence, they haven't managed to win a single championship, but they consistently displayed excellent results and often made it to the semi-finals more frequently than other teams from the CIS countries.

However, as they like to put it, they were ruined by «sincere hatred and righteous disdain for the emerging culture of idol worship and consumerism». These guys, on principle, don't stream and reject all contracts, preferring to remain esports players rather than «hypocritical traders selling their faces and opinions».

Consequently, the guys rely solely on prize money. Or, to be more precise - they SURVIVE on it. Tournaments aren't held that frequently, not everyone manages to qualify for all of them, and it's far from guaranteed to secure a prize in every tournament.

So, they also have to take up low-paying side jobs because otherwise, they would have less time for honing their skills in games.

In general, even though people mocked «MoNoS», to Arthur, their stance seemed pretty cool and bold.

“Yes! Well done, MoNoS! Take that, you damn capitalists! Show everyone that ideas matter more than money!”

Also, thanks to their very peculiar expressions in rare interviews, highly controversial posts on social media, and an overall rather awkward behavior, tinged with a hint of sociophobia and a plain lack of social skills, «MoNoS» not only seemed like outsiders in the eyes of others but, frankly, like idiots.

And in society, as is well known, there has long been a certain trend of wanting to support the weak. But why? Is it really out of simple pity, which arises from developed empathy due to constant interaction with others?

However, the reason is not important.

The main thing is that Arthur sincerely supported «MoNoS». He cheered for them like no one else, believed that the guys would succeed, but... today's match just buried all the guy's hopes alive.

The first five minutes of the match were already indicative - the guy was not just disappointed but morally shattered.

But first, let's clarify one crucial detail about «Last Hit»: the thing is, this game is simply the apotheosis of game design impotence; it's clumsily stitched together from a couple of dozen almost non-functional, or working but - simply unnecessary mechanics.

And, hell, the game's graphics seem like the devs couldn't give a damn: the visual style is slightly outdated; character and mob models are not very detailed, and the objects are a disaster: a third of them were manually modeled by developers, another third were taken from free official assets of the game engine's library, and the last third were simply found on platforms of aspiring 3D modelers.

Besides the fact that all of this doesn't stylistically match, due to the presence of both realistic and cartoony objects (created thanks to Cel-shading), and, of course, simply shabby (unfinished) ones, the developers also messed up with color correction, making the game look gloomy, yet - with acid-like elements.

In short, «Last Hit» is an embodiment of prevailing arrogance over common sense. It's the result of stubborn determination and blind faith in one's own infallibility.

In the end, «Last Hit» is, damn it, a true living legend and the most famous game in the world: both professional (haha) game critics, some unknown reviewers, and regular players - practically everyone, almost unanimously, recognized «Last Hit» as the worst game of the 21st century.

Immediately after its release, the game became a global meme: everyone jokes about it left and right. But most often, it's the target community of the game itself. Surprisingly, somehow this piece of flawed code managed to gather around it some very cheerful and self-critical people, so the game can be praised just for that.

Overall, «Last Hit» is a PvP arena with elements of a slasher (thanks to a very flexible and decent combat system) and some features typical of MMORPGs.

So, in the main mode, players are divided into two teams, and their goal is to destroy the enemy's base (by the way, MOBA games have long gone out of fashion). It seems clear and very simple, but.

The game also has a PvE mode. And it's mandatory because only through PvE missions can players farm resources, in-game currency, and abilities. Later, in the forge, they can create new powerful equipment and builds for their class.

And this - a whole collection, frankly speaking, of unnecessary modes and mechanics that, for some reason, are so tightly woven into the game that it's simply impossible to do without them.

Moreover, the PvE missions themselves are simply not well-designed. For instance, the most straightforward mission, which can be completed in about 5 minutes while obtaining a significant amount of resources, involves the following: breaking through a crowd of mobs and plundering their wagon containing gold, artifacts, and other resources.

It looks like a typical mission, you might think, what's special about it? But here's the thing: if the enemies are humanoid races, that's still okay. However, the game often spawns huge spiders or hedgehog-like armadillos as opponents. According to the game's lore, these creatures are positioned as part of the local fauna, essentially ordinary animals. And here come the questions: WHY are they guarding the wagon? HOW do they plan to use its contents?

Never mind the lore, who cares about that anyway? There are much more pressing issues: BALANCE! Take, for example, those armadillos. Completing a mission with them is impossible because these armadillos are FULLY ARMORED! Damage doesn't get through to them, and ranged attacks are reflected. Moreover, the mobs respawn regularly, and if you don't constantly eliminate them, they simply overwhelm you in numbers, preventing you from reaching the exit. So, as soon as players spot the armadillos, they immediately restart the mission.

As for PvP, the game features 7 classes and approximately 30 high-rank skills for each class (totaling 210). Now, here's the catch: 4 classes and 100 skills are considered so unbalanced that they are not allowed in tournaments. Developers, of course, tried to fix the balance due to numerous complaints, but as it usually goes, fixing one thing broke a dozen others. Eventually, the Necromancer class (which was the eighth) was made completely invincible, so they removed the Necromancer and gave up on all the fixes.

Initially, there were even issues with microtransactions. Not only is the game distributed through a subscription, but it also sold everything for real currency: items, skills, and even leveling up could only be done with real money. Fortunately, the developers realized their mistake and almost immediately removed microtransactions from the game, stating that they initially added them just for fun and to grab attention to their game.

In general, «Last Hit» is terrible. And that's what made it charming—it's so bad that it quickly became a cult classic, as people love to say: “so bad that it's good”. However, the developers don't agree with this sentiment; they genuinely idolize their creation and label anyone who disagrees with them with... various unpleasant words. By the way, even the mildest of these words still didn't pass the censorship check.

To some extent, the developers resemble members of «MoNoS»—equally strange and eccentric. Gamers and many game streamers deliberately interview them to boost their own views.

But is there really nothing good about «Last Hit»? Well, actually, there is. The combat system, which migrated from a free tech demo on the «Unreal Engine», developed by a few students from Canada.

And... that's it.

Arthur sighed.