Lewis took a deep breath as he flicked his finger on the selection screen. He had the advantage of being the last player, so he had the chance to learn the way the platforms spawned and disappeared. He also had Yusei’s absurd score as a backup – even if their total score were lower right now, he didn’t need to try something too ludicrous. Just something enough to overcome the 166000 points difference, meaning that Lewis could go as low as level 20 and they would still be fine, provided that he managed a good enough run – 167000 out of the total 20000.
Though the thought was tempting, Lewis knew that it wasn’t the safest choice. The condition was “if he managed a good enough run”. Level 20, even if it was far below the average clear, was still hard to achieve that kind of number. And if he slipped up more than he should at such a low level, it would be suicide.
With that thought in mind, Lewis swiped the slider farther than the minimum requirement. But the boy still hesitated. What if he messed up if it was too high? What if he ruined their entire run?
“What are you doing?” An astonished voice sounded behind the boy.
“Is he nuts? Or is he trying to show off?” Another voice added.
“Lewis, we’re not behind by much. Just pick a level suited for you to do.” This time, it was a concerned voice very near his position.
Lewis didn’t understand why the voices had their reactions at first. But soon after, he learned the reason why the hard way around.
When he was still too worried about what he would choose, his fingers unconsciously moved along… and in the end, it landed on the highest setting yet again – matching Yusei’s run, level 100.
“W-Wait,” the latter, also noticing something amiss, interrupted. “I think he overshot it by mistake; let’s have him redo it!”
It didn’t look like the girls were happy with Yusei’s words. However, before they could retaliate themselves, the one in question had already sounded in a way that Yusei could never expect:
“It’s all right, President. I can do it.”
There wasn’t a hint of confidence in his words. In fact, it sounded like the boy was forced to do what he was about to do. However, it didn’t make any sense for Yusei. He was sure that if he and Lewis pushed the agenda, their opponents would have no choice but to back down. But Lewis still did what he did. What was he trying to prove? Was it pride? Or was it the sense of guilt? Responsibility?
Yusei didn’t understand his partner’s intentions. And if he could read Lewis’s mind, he’d find out that the boy himself couldn’t make clear why either. All Lewis knew was that he had to do it like this, for if he didn’t, something important within him would be lost forever.
The boy soon got into his position, and his performance finally started.
Lewis knew that he didn’t have much time to think. “Speed Demon” was not a song that allowed the player to have the luxury of thinking. Either you had to play it too many times that muscle memories could carry you through the song, or your reflexes and speed were god-like enough to follow through with the influx of information bombarded into your head. Yusei was the latter, but Lewis couldn’t possibly hope to mimic that. And that was why he decided to be the former.
The boy didn’t follow what the notes were, but he remembered Yusei and Hanabi playing through the song. However, twice was nowhere near enough times to accurately build a muscle memory from the stage, and so, defeat was inevitable.
It was only fifteen notes until Lewis had his first fall.
It was a platform that appeared near the right edge of his allotted space, while the boy was still on the left side. Lewis leapt with the strongest force he could muster, but his reaction was too slow to catch up to the disappearing platform. Losing his foothold, the boy fell through and floated through the void, helplessly watching the plethora of other nodes fly by.
It was a key feature of Dash Dash Ramp – the ability to snowball out of control. One slip-up and the rest would soon come falling down. The higher the level, the bigger the risk.
Lewis, though not having played this game before, knew through his partner’s and opponents’ performances. And so, he did not have time to feel sad or dejected. Putting all his strength into his arms and legs, the boy struggled back onto the main playing field once more, just in time to grab a hold of an appearing platform and continue his run. But even that wouldn’t last long.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Another fifteen notes. Fell. Another twenty nodes. Fell. Ten notes later. Fell. By the time the song had gone past its halfway point, Lewis was still unable to break the 100 notes mark – out of a total of 10000.
“Looks like you’re not winning this one, Yu-nii,” from afar, Mirai let out a cheeky grin towards Yusei.
Replying to her was silence. The young man knew that she was right. It was already halfway through, and yet Lewis didn’t seem like he had learned any of the patterns in the song, let alone having the speed to clear it properly. Of course, Yusei himself would lose nothing even if he lost this game – it was purely for Lewis, after all. But saying that he didn’t mind losing would obviously be a lie. And so, the young man continued to watch with an annoyed look on his face.
Meanwhile, on the playing field, Lewis still tried and failed. By the time he had cleared the 100 notes mark, there were only 100 left in the 10000 total platforms.
“Hey, pipsqueak!” Shouted Mirai. “Just give up already! There’s no chance left for you!”
Lewis had heard every word without fail. At this point, he had already started to regret himself. If only he had taken the chance… if only he had forced them to let him redo the level selection…
A single line of tears flowed down the boy’s cheeks, and it didn’t escape the watchful eyes of everyone else on the field.
“Hah, look at him!” Mirai once again laughed. “How much of a wimp are you if this stupid game is enough to make you cry?”
“Mirai, that’s uncalled for,” Yusei lightly grunted.
However, they all soon realized that none of their words managed to reach Lewis. The boy was crying in frustration, but he was never affected by outsiders. All of his pain, his bitterness… they were from himself. And it was the final straw for the only one who remained quiet from the start, Hanabi, to at last spoke her words:
“How half-baked.”
It wasn’t said with conviction. It wasn’t meant as an insult. The red-haired girl merely said what was on her mind, nothing more, nothing less. But it was this phrase that stuck to Lewis’s head the most, even more than the plethora of shouting from her other partner.
And so, the boy slipped once more. He had not progressed a single note, and there were only 70 left. But strangely enough, his frustration had disappeared.
Half-baked… he had heard this word before. Many, many times in the past.
Lewis’s family was poor. His father died when he was young, leaving only his mother to raise him. Contrary to Mike, whose wealth was loaded enough for him to both satisfy his inventing craze and let him have a full life, Lewis would always have to make do with what he had. It was the reason why he turned to NLS, to be like his idol Messeo – a living legend of a boy escaping poverty to be the best in the world.
“I can’t be half-baked if I want to be the best!” Those were the words Lewis would always tell Mike when the two talked about NLS. And shame on him; he had already forgotten his own past voice.
Everything clicked for Lewis at that moment. The reason why he was so stubborn to continue with what he had picked.
I can’t be half-baked if I want to be the best! And what point would winning be if I can’t clear the hardest level?
It was childish, but it was indeed his reasoning. It was immature, but it had been his way of doing things since forever ago. It was simple, but he didn’t need any grandiose reasons.
For Lewis, being the best was his dream. And just that was already enough to push him further than anyone else.
“… Wait, what’s he doing?” Mirai once again sounded. It was not a mockery. It was genuine curiosity.
“… Lewis!” Yusei shouted in terror. “Open your eyes!”
Indeed, Lewis had closed his eyes. However, it didn’t mean that the boy had given up. Just when everyone least expected it, a miracle occurred.
The boy jumped from platform to platform without fail. The faster the end approached; the faster Lewis’s steps were. His movements were flawless. His speed was immaculate. His tactic was foolproof.
It was a simple solution: the eye-body coordination was the biggest hurdle in this game. So, Lewis simply shut off one of his senses in order for the other to flourish. With the mental image of the platforms spawning from Yusei’s run, all he had to do was match the sounds that he heard with each step. Though it sounded easy, this wasn’t the kind of technique anyone present could do – the boy just hadn’t realized that yet.
There were 70 notes – 70 platforms – left before Lewis had his awakening. In the end, he had missed… 3 total, scoring 167 notes altogether – 167000 points, just enough for his team to edge out in victory.
As soon as the song was over and the boy saw his score, he jumped for joy and shouted out his lungs:
“We did it! We actually did it!”
Once the winners were decided, the game soon came to a close, and the four people were released from their virtual playing field into the real world once more.
“Congratulations on your victory,” Hanabi took a polite bow. “On behalf of the Student Council, I would like to express my deepest apologies to you, Lewis.”
“Uh… It’s all right,” Lewis waved his hands to refuse the gesture, embarrassed by the current situation. “It was all a misunderstanding, right? I…”
The boy stopped himself just in the nick of time, thanking Yusei in his mind for the advice he gave before they entered the game. However, it was the young man himself that continued in a way that he couldn’t believe:
“It was a lie, by the way,” Yusei let out a light smile, but Lewis could only see a bone-chilling calculated look from him.
“W-What is the lie?” The boy gulped for air.
Yusei turned his head around for a moment before continuing. “Looks like now’s not the greatest time to talk. How about later tonight in the Student Council Office? I’ll text you the specific time later.”