* * *

I was thinking about it until about one o'clock in the morning, and I couldn't figure it out, so I gave up and went to bed. I'll avenge Rick for these puzzles, but sometime after the tournament...

The next few days after talking to Rick went like one straight line. After Descart took over the routine of individual training, I had more time for team training. It didn't have an immediate effect, but day by day we played more cohesively. I also had time to analyze the opposing teams. As Runner said, not all of them had their own websites, but information about these teams could be found through indirect methods. That was what I was doing when Rick approached me on the fifth day after the memorable conversation.

"How are you getting on?" He asked and, without giving me time to answer, continued. "By the way, your record was beaten."

"I know." As I closely monitor all more or less significant news concerning the BAA, this has not escaped my attention.

"You were beaten by thirty wins."

"Rick." I swiveled in my chair and stared at him intently. "Is that what you're getting at? I told you it wasn't news to me."

"You don't look upset." Rick didn't hesitate to study my face.

"Why would I be upset? I told you, I set the record by accident. I didn't go for it. It just sort of happened. So why should I be upset that someone broke my, I repeat, accidental record?"

"I was worried that you would drop everything and rush to defend your 'achievement'." After a brief pause, Descart admitted the reasons for his excitement.

"First, I figured a long time ago that if I really try, I'll be able to get within three hundred wins to the Diamond. Theoretically... To do so, I would have to take maximum trophies and awards in the lower leagues and later pay more attention to personal stats than to "beautiful " play. Of course, it's all in theory, but doable. That is, this new record can be moved. But..." I held up a finger, asking Rick not to interrupt me.

"There's more, second. Look." Turning to the monitor, I went to the Avalon Battle Arena website and opened one of the forum threads. "There are no big tournaments at the moment, the world league is on a holiday of sorts, and this has led to my record stirring up the swamp. As you can see from this forum thread, more than ten teams from the top fifty rankings have gotten into an argument about which member of their team will set the new record. So I don't think the current record holder will be one for long at all. Even if I had free time, I would not enter this race. Not because I am not confident but because I am sober about my capabilities. I am probably one of the best players in the world right now. But not the best, but one of them. I would definitely be in the Top-100, but I would be in the top ten very unlikely. To be among the elite, I still need to train hard and get used to my new abilities. By international qualifying, which starts in seven months, I think I'll have just reached that level." I looked into Rick's eyes.

"And it's good for you to keep up with me."

"I'll manage." Like something minor, Descart said. "My main weakness is poor map knowledge, and that's a flaw I'm quickly remedying. With the second problem, relatively weak play in any class other than Stormtrooper, it's harder to deal with, but I'm also making progress."

It was hard to disagree with this. Runner was moving forward literally by leaps and bounds, and already even the pickiest critic would not call his game "talented but thoughtless".

"I was worried that you were going to get hurt by the subject." Rick's frankness hadn't bothered me in a long time, so I let his words pass my attention. "Did you find anything interesting about the competitors?"

"Yes." Nodding affirmatively at his question. "This one team."

"Spear of Terror." Read Descart highlighted by me. "Pretentious title... What's wrong with them?"

"There is no public information about them, and they don't have their own website, but several of the nicknames on the team looked familiar." Rick's shoulders got tense after I said that. "I began to remember where I had seen them..."

"Don't beat around the bush!" He stops me.

"Okay. I think the Spear of Terror is my university's second team. It consists of students who are not on scholarship but just like to play BAA and have enrolled in the games club. These students make up the reserve pool of the main team and are also used as punching bags during practice. The level of players there is at least Gold, with Platinum at the core. From Diamond, there didn't seem to be anyone there. The level of teamwork is not above average for this tournament. Since they are used as training bots for the base, they often play unloved classes and uncomfortable roles." Rick's puzzled look at these words forces me to clarify. "When the base is practicing a tactic for a particular enemy set-up, these "backups" are forced to match classes to that particular task."

"I take it you consider them a dangerous opponent?"

"Their team average is higher than ours, and they are stronger as a team, despite the details I have mentioned. But that's not the worst news..."

"You've been hanging out with Daas too much." Rolling his eyes, Rick said. Even the way he talks, with all those theatrical pauses, you've picked up. "Let's not do that!"

"Ahem..." He threw me off balance a bit with that rebuke. "The bad thing is, I'm sure they signed up with the coach's permission, which means they'll probably have two or three more players from the core, and that's Diamond."

Descart leaned over the monitor and, taking the flat clicker from me, displayed the tournament table on the screen.

"Ugh..." After a few seconds, he was relaxed and calm again. "You know how to make a panic out of nothing. You and I have already discussed that our success will be in the semi-finals, and if we meet with these Spears, it will only be in the final, according to the table. If we get to a series of fights with them, we'll already be overachieving, so don't get your head down."

Once again I catch myself that he is right. Setting the highest goals and striving for them is undoubtedly a necessary foundation for success. But without a clear understanding of intermediate goals and an accurate assessment of one's real capabilities, all these aspirations will remain unrealized dreams...

__

As the private tournament we registered for had no claim to any originality, the organizers approached the organization in the simplest way possible. No group stages or other frills. Everything is as simple as an axe, with thirty-two teams playing in the Olympic elimination system. The team that wins three battles against its opponent advances to the next round. That is, each match could last from three to five battles until one of the teams gets the required number of victories. The duration of the tournament was two days, with matches of one sixteenth and one eighth scheduled for the first day and all others from the quarter-finals onwards on the second day.

The ten days since Rick had dragged me out of my flat had flown by like an arrow shot by Apollo. Doing what I loved really did me good. I won't say I stopped remembering Jiro, Sailboat, and the tied-up girl. No, I don't think those memories will ever completely fade from my mind, but I do feel a lot better. Compared to the state I was in when Descart came in, it's like heaven and earth. Even the fact that Ten Daas came to the base on the day of the tournament to watch us play didn't put me off.

Having cheered up everyone on the team, I walked up to the boss and said hello to him calmly. But that calmness was largely artificial; I still had a hard time looking him in the eye. No, there was no fear in me, no anger at him, but something else... I still can't even understand for myself what repulsed me so much after what had happened. If I had to face it, I would have done the same thing in his place. I could understand that in my head, but I couldn't help myself.

As far as I know, all the Goons were going to be there to cheer us on, but real life had taken its toll. There had been some problems with the new youth gang on the southern fringes, so there were only two spectators in the computer room at the base: the aforementioned Ten Daas and Lance. The pair sat at the furthest end of the computer and whispered about something, clearly not wanting to distract us.

The tournament started, as scheduled, at midday sharp. Due to the large number of games scheduled for today, the organizers decided to hold the first-round matches at the same time. Usually, this is not customary, as only at top tournaments can the organizers provide full refereeing in such a tight schedule. But it seems that the issue of refereeing was of little concern to those in charge of the competition since they approved such a schedule.

The first series was the Ro.16 games, and before it started, I made a lot of predictions about how it would go for our team. The best option, of course, was a confident three-zero win in our favor. This optimal scenario came true. But to my and Rick's surprise, it did not work out the way we had planned. From the beginning, the main attacking force and the main plan for our victory was a bet on me and Rick. More specifically, on two Stormtroopers with Jets, the rest of the team was supposed to provide us with cover and consolidate the success of unexpected and high-speed breakthroughs. But the first series of games followed a very different scenario. All three victories were brought to us by Gerhard and Mek.

The pair worked together surprisingly quickly and played as if they were thinking in unison. Surprisingly so. They not only were not friends in life, but they hardly ever socialized. Meck preferred the company of his foursome, while Slider befriended the architect. But that fact somehow didn't affect their game interaction at all, which was awesome, especially when you remember that they'd been training together for a little over ten days. It was their play that brought us, quite frankly, very easy wins.

The fact is that in the last six months, the meta of team games has slowed down more and more. Due to the introduction of the destructibility factor into the game, Heavy Infantrymen became more and more important. Capturing some points on the map and setting up machine gun positions there, covered by Medics and Engineers, was the key to victory. At one time, the strategy sped up after that memorable match where I first met Rick, then the jets became popular, and the game became very fast. But that burst of acceleration didn't last long. Tactics based on jets and Tyra required phenomenal reactions and agility from players, as well as developed intuition, but it was also very unstable the so-called "first mistake game". While the Jetpack and high-precision assault rifle were still popular in casual combat, in team games, especially tournaments, they were almost universally abandoned.

An indirect result of the slowdown was that more and more teams included at least two Medics. The Lägrande Open Championship was won by a team with three Medics. The popularity of medics, in turn, has been a blow to Jaegers, as the more bioscanners in the opposing team, the less maneuverable and therefore lower the stealth efficiency. At this time, about a third of the professional teams in their strategy abandoned the Jaegers altogether. The developers promised to correct this balance imbalance in the next global add-on, which was expected in early summer, but it will be a while yet.

The team opposing us in the first round did not come up with anything of their own. Like most, they took the most successful setups of recent weeks and played from them. Judging by how easily we won, in training, they also worked on countering this month's most popular team builds. This tactic could work. Most of the fledgling teams, which is what this tournament was mostly about, operated according to the same scheme. But this particular team was unlucky, as they encountered a completely non-typical build in the first round.

In all three games, they still couldn't find an answer to the Jaeger's quick passage into their rear, and the grenade blasting half the map targeted from the stealth. Time after time, Meck covered the enemy before they could gain a foothold in key positions, and Rick and I knocked out the disoriented support fighters practically on a single jump. Left without Medics or Engineers and forced to retreat on defense, our opponents were completely out of control of the map and game, and it was only a matter of time before they were finished. They did not even finish the third game. As soon as their team's second medic, blinded and cornered in the hope of salvation, fell from a Tyra. They exit the game, admitting defeat.

After the first round, a technical break was called for two hours, during which time the refereeing team had to review the games played and check any complaints received. After the review, an online draw was held to determine the timing of each pair of teams, and games of one-eighth began immediately.

During this break, there was a team meeting, where I had to stress mainly that we won't meet such a freebie again. The next opponent will surely look at our game and take countermeasures, so we shouldn't relax. We also watched all three of our games together, evaluating and analyzing everyone's actions, with good help from Lance, who joined the analysis. And even though his remarks did not refer to anyone's actions, his overall strategic analysis was very useful and also cooled down those hotheads I could not get through to. Yes, I may have been captain of the game team, but the real and unqualified leader of the Goons was Commander, and they trusted his judgment wholeheartedly.

The biker leader was even more helpful in assessing the play of our next opponents. All the game recordings of Ro. 16 were in the public domain. So after we finished discussing our mistakes, I immediately downloaded the battle replay of our next opponents. Unlike us, they did not go through their phase as smoothly, reaching Ro. 8 with a score of three-two. This team used an increasingly popular scheme called "five doubles". Someone called it "every creature for a pair" but it was not quite correct, since in this build there were no Jagers. However, all other game classes were represented by pairs. It was a build with no tangible benefits but had almost no weaknesses either, except poor scouting. It enjoyed increasing success because of its tactical flexibility, which allowed you to change schemes and tactics literally on the fly, adapting to what was happening on the battlefield. A versatile scheme in today's meta.

At first glance, the way our future opponents played gave the impression that this was the stage where we would end our tournament journey. The team under the pretentious name of "Daddies of Heroes" showed classy teamwork, excellent interaction, precise knowledge of everyone's place, and a decent understanding of maps and dominant strategies. Two losses I initially attributed to the randomness that happens in games and sports, whether with or without the prefix "cyber". Honestly, I liked the way they played. Watching them play, I thought that if we had that kind of interaction, I would have no doubts about signing our team up for the Metropolitan Canton qualifiers!

But even though I really liked their game, something was bothering me. It was a fact that even the battles Dads won were very long. This could be explained by the fact that once they got at least a minimum advantage, they tried to play as carefully as possible and pressed their opponents for sure. But even with that approach, it was still too long games.

Leaving the review and discussion of the details to Rick, I went back to my seat and uploaded the "Daddies" replays into the log analyzer. The data from the analysis of five games made me wipe my eyes. At first, I thought that the program glitched because it showed very strange things. But after watching their last match again, knowing what to pay attention to, I realized that the program was not wrong.

"This time, you'll have to work up a sweat." As I walked back up, Lance was just sharing his impressions of his opponent. "I'll tell you straight if there was a sweepstake, I'd have bet against us. It's a shame we only got such an opponent in the Ro. 8, but it's a classic case of "order beats class". So, if you want to win, you'll have to jump over the top."

Perhaps these words would have embarrassed or even frightened other people, but the Goons were made of different stuff. I could read only determination and a desire to win against a truly strong opponent on the faces of my teammates. On the one hand, it was useful to maintain that attitude; on the other hand, the data I had was more important.

"Commander." I cut in. "You're right. This team is indeed very organized and well-balanced... But that's all they have." I can't help but grin. "Their name - it's not a coincidence." Turning my monoblock around so that the screen is visible to everyone.

"Note their average hitting percentage, as well as their estimated APM and reaction time. The best in their team is inferior even to Fel in these parameters." It was Fel who was the worst in all of these parameters. However, he was playing medic, and it's not critical there. "I think all their players are grown men in their forties for whom BAA is a hobby. They organized probably a long time ago. They played in the occasional team ladders or similar local tournaments. I haven't heard of them before. I assume they're playing according to the same scheme as we are, in essence, out of desperation..." I explain, noticing Anton's puzzled brows arching. "They don't have time to pay as much attention to the game, so they've chosen the right way - to hone one tactic to the maximum."

"Hmmm." Rubbing his chin, Lance shifted and looked more closely at the analysis of the logs. "You might be right. Hence their tactics of slow pressure and excessive density of fire on a single target."

"The first game would show..." Rick's grin was very similar to mine, predatory and anticipatory. "Utis, that's our move!"

Rick was right. "The Daddies of Heroes" were blown out of the water. It wasn't even a game, it was more like shooting partridges. The other side just couldn't keep up... Even I, not so long ago, had difficulty hitting Runner on a Jet, let alone one with a reaction time of about two hundred milliseconds. Not a chance... I mean, if we'd played slowly and measured, we would have been pinned down with massive fire, as Lance suggested. But we proposed a game not of tactics but of arcade, and the enemy was totally unprepared for that.

Descart was shining from this victory as he outpaced me in the number of frags. It didn't bother me at all. I thought it was my hunch, and the conclusions I had drawn from minimal analysis had brought victory. So let him be proud. It's no loss to me.

After this series of fights, of course, we didn't leave, or rather only Ten Daas left the computer room at the Goon's base, having whispered something to Commander. We watched the rest of the other teams' matches. Then we analyzed our games in more detail, focusing not only on teamwork but rather on the actions of each individual team member. Again, Lance was invaluable in this analysis.

Yes, the head of the bikers knew far less about the game than Rick or myself. But his combat experience and ability to command people in real combat situations, as well as his undeniable talent as a commander, allowed the commander to notice details that Runner and I had missed. Once we had finished pondering our mistakes, we spent about two hours analyzing the future opponent. It was only after making such a plan for the game with them, which was approved by me, Rick, Slider, and Lance, we went to rest. I was not going to sleep, as the clock was already showing half past eleven in the evening, and we had an even busier day ahead of us tomorrow.

I was left alone and lying on the bunk in the cabin I had been assigned at the Goon's base, and I could not fall asleep for a long time. I closed my eyes, and one of the battle scenes unfolded in my mind's eye. I was lying and tossing and turning for over an hour before I pulled myself together and calmed down by applying meditative techniques.

Before I fell asleep, I hoped I would get a good night's sleep in the morning. Alas... Rick was relentless, waking me up as usual and chasing me off to training. While I'd been living on base, I'd been contractually bound by the bikers' general rules, so I didn't want to send Runner off, but I held back.

I don't know what got into Descart today, but he was driving me this morning with redoubled vigor. So much so that at breakfast, I could barely lift a spoonful of porridge. It even made me think, How am I going to play in this condition? The solution was simple; before I could finish the dishes, Lance burst into the dining room and dragged me off for his signature massage that would raise a dead man to his feet.

Commander definitely has some kind of magic because even the best massage can't make me feel so energized and revitalized! I took a contrast shower after the massage and felt as if I hadn't had two hours of intense training in the morning. As soon as I got dressed and stepped out of the shower, I was immediately dragged into the computer room by Rick, where he immediately dumped his analysis of our future opponent on my head.

"When do you have time to do everything?" After listening to Runner's plan, I said.

"I told you, I don't need much time to sleep at all."

"It was a rhetorical question."

"So what do you think of my plan?"

"We already agreed on a strategy yesterday. Do you think your crazy idea is better?"

"No, it isn't," Rick answers without the slightest embarrassment. "But it's more fun, that's for sure!"

"So you think if our whole team takes Stormtrooper class and arms a Jet plus a Tyra, it will bring us victory?"

"Once, yes!" Kronos, I don't understand him at all sometimes, or rather it's not clear to me when he's him and when he's acting, discarding the Face.

"It's going to be a hell of a ruckus.." I could barely contain my impulse to send him away, but I tried to get through to his mind.

"Yes! That's right. The others will create a commotion, a crowd. They don't even need to get in, just create the appearance of a threat. Let them scurry around the map like mad, and you and I will rule the ball in this chaos!"

"The enemy will very quickly figure out from the game nicknames who is a threat and who is not." I try to argue logically rather than snap back as I would like to. "We're not the only ones who go through replays and look for weaknesses in opponents. Believe me, everyone does."

"So it's an online tournament." Descart brushes aside my objection. "No one can see who exactly is sitting at this or that computer, under this or that nickname." He held his index finger up. "We'll just switch computers and play under different nicknames."

"You're insane." Unable to help myself, I cover my eyes with the palm of my hand.

"I'm telling you, it's a one-off! It's only the quarter-finals. Let's give it a try, shall we?"

The craziest thing about this whole situation is that as crazy as it sounds, Rick's idea might work out. One time at the most. But no one is expecting that, and no one will be prepared for such a turnaround. Besides, at this stage, we are facing a team that plays not on the personal qualities of the players but on teamwork, which means that if they encounter something so unforeseeable, they could crumble.

"Risky..." I'm pushing the urge to try this dance of chaos in a gaming interpretation. "It may or may not work."

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"But we have a weak opponent. When to try if not now?"

Rick is right about that. Apparently, we were drawn against a stronger branch of teams. "The Eyes of the Storm" were our next opponent, in terms of combined team qualities, and were inferior to both the Dads and the teams we faced in the same Ro.16.

"That's why, because we are capable of beating them without such oddities, we won't use them." Rick kept a smile on his face, but I could tell he was upset. "If we get nailed in such a way that all our tactics and ideas are useless, then... that's when we'll use this scheme. But not right now because any impromptu game is much better if it has at least some preparation. If we make it through we'll have a few random fights according to your recipe during the break between matches."

"Not if, but when." Runner winks.

As almost the whole team is already in the room by this time, I realize that Rick's words are addressed to them rather than to me.

We had just under an hour before the start of the second tournament day, and that time was devoted to practicing tactics and clarifying everyone's actions. Our series of games was the third in a row, and, in theory, more time could have been devoted to the debriefing. However, as our main objective was not to win but to educate the team, as soon as the first games of the fourth quarter started, we all turned to our monitors. Watching the other teams' games live, especially since neither Rick nor I were shy about commentating on what we saw, was even better than regular game practice.

"Whoa!" Rick exclaimed as soon as the broadcast started. "There's a lot of people!"

At first, I didn't understand what he was talking about, but then I realized what Runner was so surprised about. On the first game day, the tournament was watched online by no more than five hundred people, but now the number of spectators was approaching the seven thousand mark. The increase in interest could be explained by the fact that from the quarter-finals, the matches would be more interesting, but it was still something of an anomaly.

However, as it turned out, the explanation was very simple. Apparently, my former sensei had assessed the uni spare team's prospects of winning and had advertised the tournament on the main TUNG website, which had attracted such a large influx of spectators. Knowing Sean Young, I was convinced he had no doubts that the Spears would win. Otherwise, he would never have placed such an advert. And what's most annoying about this story is that the more I analyze the play of my uni's doubles team, the more I become convinced that my former coach is right.

No, I can't say that the Spears of Terror are head and shoulders above everyone else, that wasn't the case. But nevertheless, it was obvious to me that they were the number one contender to win. This team, although not by much, was better than the others in the tournament, including ours, in almost all aspects, and the motivation of its players was very strong, every one of them dreaming of a place in the main team. However, thinking about how to play against them was not the right thing to do at the moment. First, they had to make it to the final, and that would not be as easy as Riku thought it would be.

Our quarter-final series of games was, as they say, mundane. Our opponent did not present us with any difficult or insurmountable problems. Except that we lost the first game... In the first minute, I got a lucky shot through the Jets and fell right in front of the Heavy Infantry, which took up the position. He didn't let go. As result, my flank was pushed through, and then Runner was overwhelmed. But that was an isolated success for our opponents. They weren't that lucky, and we moved on, winning 3-1.

By the start of the semi-finals, the number of spectators had risen to twenty-three thousand. But this anomaly was quickly explained. Someone from the audience posted information on the official BAA forum that Pedgehog was participating in this tournament, and people flocked to watch the game on the ex-record holder. I felt I, like everyone else on our team, needed to create a new account for the tournament, but I was too lazy to do so.

However, our team would have had to make itself known at some point, so why not today? Moreover, to be honest with myself, I was pleased with the attention from the audience, as it meant recognition amongst BAA players, albeit small. And in general, the team will benefit from it because if we attract spectators, we will also be invited to higher-ranked tournaments, and the more competitions, the faster the Goos will grow as players. And the fact that our matches were the most spectacular was undeniable, as we played out of format and stood out from the other teams.

There wasn't much time to prepare for the semi-finals, and if we hadn't taken the time to analyze possible opponents in advance yesterday, we certainly wouldn't have had time to pick apart the play of our future opponents in detail. The Waves of Styx, the team we came up against after finishing Ro.8, were a typical average canton qualifiers level side.

I used to smash such teams with my school team without much effort, but back then, I had a very well-coordinated team, even though it was made up of schoolchildren. Now it was different. In addition, the complexity was increased by the fact that, unlike the teams with whom we have already played, the Waves were not locked into a single strategy. They are constantly shuffling assemblies, formations, and applied tactics. Apparently, the backbone of this team was five good Platinum-level team players. If their entire squad had been like that, we would have gone through without the slightest chance of winning. But apparently, this team, like us, was just at the beginning of its formative years, with half of its players barely reaching the starting gold level.

"Changing tactics." During the break between rounds, I give the team the plan for the game. "Scheme two. Does everyone remember their position?"

The second option was remembered by everyone. We had only practiced one tactic in three variations during the preparations for the tournament. It was essentially the same as we had done earlier, except for one exception. In this scheme, Rick and I acted behind the backs of the main team at the start of the fight. In this plan, at the start of the battle, we planned to utilize the high accuracy of the Tyra and the ability to get a dominant position with the jet packs quickly. Yes, Tyra had a significant disadvantage for such tactics. This assault rifle was not equipped with a scope, but with my experience and the phenomenal natural accuracy of Runner, it was not so critical. We were not going to shoot across the map.

From the first battle of the semi-final, it was clear that we had changed the scheme in time; the enemy was clearly prepared for what we had demonstrated earlier. They did not try to occupy key points in the center of the map as quickly as possible, nor did they break through to put a quick machine gun barrier in the narrow passages near our base, thereby depriving us of maneuver. No, the Waves of Styx captain had clearly not just watched our team matches but had also drawn some conclusions. As a consequence, they started the fight from the defense. They barricaded themselves at the approaches to their base. They created a veritable fortification surrounded by minefields and snipers' barrels. Their plan was clear - hit out me or Rick, with heavy fire and then roll everyone else into the asphalt in a measured and orderly fashion.

Our new formation broke the enemy's plans. Having failed to notice enemy activity at the outset, we took key points and set up machine-gun positions while Meck secured the flanks by laying mines on them. Only after that did Runner and I come into play. Constantly changing positions, we engaged in harassing fire and illuminated enemy positions, allowing Meck to pelt them with overhead grenade fire. After five minutes of such a battle, having lost three men, the opponents could not stand it and launched an attack that ended quite naturally with their complete defeat.

After this game, the opponent took a three-minute timeout. A break like this could have been taken by any team once in a series of matches. I also took advantage of the break complimenting the lads. I really liked this game. Even though our opponents didn't challenge us, we played well and competently, and wasn't it improving teamwork that got us into this tournament? The way we played in this battle proved the decision to participate in online tournaments was absolutely correct. The practice at this level spurred the Goons on, and they literally grew in skill and a general understanding of the game.

We won the next game strangely easily. Our opponent was doing something I didn't understand. Barely had that fight ended when I sent the organizers a request for a timeout and was allowed to do so.

"Who understands what they are doing?" Gathering the team together, I ask. "I don't think they have decided to give us up for cheap like that."

"Well, they just scored four assaults this time and decided to outplay us in the arcade." Anton shrugged. "It didn't work, so they just took off."

"And two snipers with rifles, is that why they included them in their set-up, too?" Rick grinned, apparently sensing as much of a trick as I did. "I don't know what they were trying to do either, though. The only clear thing was that it wasn't a home run, and they hadn't been able to coordinate properly, so they lost."

"It seemed the same to me." I agreed with Descart. "Rick, you certainly didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but there was a lot of movement around you, and they were just holding my group back."

"The fire density is insane, but it's understandable. They've got their main forces on my flank..." Deckart thinks aloud. "It didn't look like a breakthrough, by the way. It looked like they wanted to prevent us from reaching their base, but then they didn't choose the best way to do it."

"It's silly to think the enemy is stupid. They've obviously thought of something. Yes, they didn't succeed this time, but that doesn't mean they won't succeed next time..."

I knew it! It really did work. The Waves of Styx plan was as simple as an axe, but it was no less effective. They had figured out our Achilles' heel and hit Rick. The whole point of their initial onslaught was to knock out one of the Stormtroopers with a jet. That loss of ours, when I was accidentally cut at the start of the fight, and our team's play immediately fell apart, the Waves captain drew the right conclusions from it. The opponent was not so simple and after analyzing our games he correctly assessed that Descart was playing worse than me and attacked him. After eliminating Runner in the first minutes, they finished off his group. Even though I shot five frags, they turned the game around and got the win.

The fight was barely over when I jumped out of my chair and ran up to Rick.

"Switch!" Grabbing him by the shoulder, I pull him off the chair. "I'm not going to let you sit in my seat."

"Why?"

"There's no more time out, and the countdown is on. I'll explain later, so sit down." And taking his chair, I quickly adjusted the workplace to my own and then shouted to the others. "Nothing changes for you. Play as you play!"

Of course, I could find the words and quickly explain to Descart that he was now the main target and needed to change his playbook, thinking more about defense and not getting involved in possible exchanges. He probably would have understood, but I couldn't deny the pleasure. Yes, I did, because my favorite thing in BAA was to bite the enemies, to make them aggro on me; I felt like a dolphin in my element in that game. I don't have to aggro. They'll just come at me! Awesome!!!

I had so much fun in that fight! I was laughing and swearing merrily, not holding back. I really had fun. I really enjoyed the game. It was fighting like this that made me fall in love with Battle Arena of Avalon! A knife fight where everyone wants to shoot you specifically. My blood was boiling, and my adrenaline was pouring out of my ears. Yeah, I might not have killed anyone in that fight, but exposing my enemies to Allied salvos, luring them into minefields, or under a well-propelled and heated tractor turret is priceless.

We qualified for the final with a final score of three one...

The last round, Cronus, honestly, I didn't believe we'd make it this far. And yet we made it. However, the Spears of Terror, my university's spare team, had also made it to the finals, although... that wasn't surprising.

The Spears are difficult and the most dangerous of opponents in this tournament, but as we were predicting going up against them, we dismantled and prepared for the game against them in advance.

"Second or third option?" General assembly before the start of the series, and we should decide on tactics.

"Third," Rick answers.

"Yes, the third." Confirms Lance, who is acting as a consultant-strategist at this tournament.

"Does everyone remember their actions on the third option?" I check with the others.

"Yeah," Hotey snapped unkindly. "We remember, we remember."

"Then let's not waste time, take your seats and meditate for five minutes." Barked the commander at the Huns. "Come on. Phil and Meck, you shaking, calm down."

It was strange, by the way; the bikers who had been perfectly calm in the street and cool even behind the Arch were really nervous now! I held back the smile that was about to show on my face. Honestly, it doesn't matter if we win this series or not, I've achieved the most important thing! The guys are clearly getting what's called the "high" of the game, which means that the team will not fall apart from the worst internal enemy of aspiring teams - indifference and boredom.

The third option, unlike the other schemes, changed our playing style almost completely. In this "formation," we worked with Rick in pairs while the rest of the team played on the defensive. That way, Descart got on the enemy's nerves, glimpsing twit jet here and there, while I got behind them and took care of those who focussed on him unnecessarily. It was also the job of our pair to break through the flank and make the enemy nervous by raiding them from the rear.

After the first game, I mentally apologized to Sensei. His charges had played fair. My initial assumptions that the spare team would be diluted with core players were not confirmed. However, Young's confidence was understandable looking at things soberly, Spears was the real favorite in this tournament with such a squad. We had the misfortune to catch the wave, and even the outwardly indifferent Slider was getting excited, even from my seat, I could hear his muffled growl.

We took the first game.

And lost second.

In the third, however, when the enemy was about to celebrate victory, as they had four men against ours alone, they were unlucky, for the last of us was Runner and pulled the fight off in one face! His escapes on the jet right out of the line of fire were indeed unparalleled.

"Ahhhh!!! Nice!" I can't contain my emotions when Rick finishes off the last of the Spears.

The team of Spear of Terror takes time out.

Double substitution in the team of Spears of Terror.

Messages from the judges come one after the other.

Oh, Gaia...

According to the regulations, fifteen people per team could enter the tournament and replace no more than two players per series. The other teams took advantage of this, but we were deprived of such an opportunity, as we had a full ten players, and even that was a miracle.

"Come on, let's not relax!" I shouted to mine, praying to the ThreeFace that the timeout taken by the opponents wouldn't knock our mood.

. . .

"Bastards..." A fist bump on the table nearly breaks it.

Time out please, I quickly type on the keyboard.

Three minutes comes the reply from the judges.

We just lost in one go. It was as if an adult had had enough of watching the pranks of the children, and he simply broomed them away.

"They did it after all." When everyone was gathered, I said.

"What?" Rick doesn't understand me, and I can see that such an easy victory for the enemy has affected even his mood, to say nothing of the others.

They didn't just make replacements but inserted two core players. I recognized absolutely the manner of play of one of them. He even decided to mock in his style and took a Jet plus Tyra. But that's not all. They also switched people on the Engineers, also on the core. Yes, the nicknames are the same as they were, and as if officially, this replacement is not, but the tournament is online. How to check?

"You, on the other hand, can see through the net and see everything..." Descart snorted incredulously.

"I have played with these people on the same team. I trained side by side. I recognize their game, even if they take numbered nicknames. Because you can forget the individual manner, but not the team interaction." I cut off all objections.

"So I'm confident in what I'm saying. We got screwed... So... Men... I'll be honest..." I turn to the team. "Up until this point, I've been happy as a bull. We played great, and losing in the final would not have shaken my great mood and pride in the team. But when I am cheated like that, I get mad!" I can see by the expressions on the bikers' faces that my words resonate. "Let's just say... I know we've already lost. We can't hold our own against a team that's half the core of a university team. Their level is the Avalon qualifiers. So let's just rock out! We don't play to win but to be remembered! Let's jazz and rock 'n' roll!!! Everybody's tried the jets more than once, right?" If Sensei saw Rick's grin right now, he'd probably crawl under the couch in fright.

"Great." Only Fel and Meck didn't raise their hands. "We'll all go in one crowd, don't take care of ourselves, ram, rush forward, flicker, go for any kind of exchange. That goes for everyone but Meck and Fell... You guys are both on Engineers. Your task: while we mess around, you crawl into a corner and mine everything there so the mouse did not get through. We'll try to knock out the medics from them and wound as many people as possible. If you're lucky and your mines will finish the wounded and become a chord of victory. This is the final, there are no attackers or defenders, and the game will only end with the total destruction of one of the teams or by a time limit. Meck... If you're left alone, stall for time. Let's call it a draw, even if it's a time limit. Consider us morally victorious. Ready?!"

"Yes! Damn, Gaia!" Hotey is jumping up and down.

"Take your places, and let's start our rock!!!"

This fight will definitely be in the replay of the week! I thought. And there was every reason to be sure, when, in the final game of a mediocre tournament, one of the teams would field a squad of eight jetpack stormtroopers in the decisive fifth match!

"Ahhhh!!! Why am I not a visionary!" A wounded beluga yells Runner as the map loads up.

Kronos! And I understand him, as the final takes place on the very map Genro built for us! I wish I'd known beforehand... Eh!!!

"Gather round!" I shouted during the pre-match countdown. "Meck, Fel, in the left corner, there's a ruined two-story building full of construction debris and piled beams. Set up so many booby traps there that the spiders will strangle themselves on their webs with envy! The rest of you jump down and follow me!"

If we had had more time to prepare, it would have made more sense to allocate at least two of us for distractions to make noise in the center. But that's not going to work now. So just go for it!

Or rather, full backward.

Without turning on the jets, we raced around the edge of the map, covering the walls.

Still, there is a silver lining in the fact that this particular map fell out. Perhaps no team in the world knows it as well as we do.

Twenty seconds from the beginning. The Spears are probably already in position. I don't care. There should be a crummy wall with a long passageway behind it, almost to the enemy base.

"Grenade!" The others obediently slow down.

*BOOM*

And the wall comes tumbling down, opening a straight path.

"Jets!"

The roar of eight engines, I'm sure they could be heard anywhere on the map, only to find out what was roaring like that... No, nobody would believe it until they saw it. And when they do, it will be too late!

The seconds, they're running, they're melting! Why is time running so fast?!

Thirty seconds.

А!!! We're too late. According to the timings, the opponents have probably already deployed their machine guns and are covering their Heavy Infantrymen with force fields. Who's behind me? Phil? All right!

"Phil, to the window with jet! Quickly!"

He flies into the broken frame and I yell.

"Follow him, everyone!!!"

I was right, the enemy was prepared, and even though the blow came from somewhere they weren't expecting, the coordinated trio: a heavy, a medic, and an Eng managed to react, striking the flying Assault with a long burst and a fan of grenades.

0-1

But they did not get to celebrate the first fragment, the three-story building literally exploded with fighters flying out of its windows.

0-2

Who is it? Anton? Ridiculously caught the occasional grenade with his head.

This was the last success of the enemy trio, multiple bursts easily penetrating the defenses of the Heavy Infantryman, cutting off those who covered it as well.

1-2

2-2

3-2

"Keep going! Keep going!"

"I see a jet at seven o'clock!" Shouts Rick.

Yep, reacted then, Gaia, so early.

"Rick! Distract him! Get that Jet-guy to Meck! Don't let him get to us, or it's all over!"

"I got him!"

"Stay away from him! It's Yol! Do as you're told, Gaia!"

"Roger!"

Deckart is a godsend player, but it's too early for him to play against the pro at this level. There's a reason Yol Shat is the Rookie of the Year. Such a title the pro community wouldn't give for a pretty face. And even I, no matter how much I boast, if you look at it honestly, will emerge victorious from a duel with him at best once out of three, so I need another three months of hard training to get up to par with him.

"Barrha!!" Hotey yells to my left.

"Barrha!!" He is echoed by Meck and the already eliminated Phil and Anton.

Like an avalanche of locusts buzzing with jetpacks, we hurtle along the enemy base.

3-3

3-4

4-4

5-4

"I'm gonna get him now!" Descart shouts from his seat.

5-5

Well... Well... Only swearing in my head.

Jet on recharge. I glared at Rick. He spread his arms and whispered with one lip.

"Rock 'n' roll?"

"Aghhhhhh!!!" I growl in response to his antics, but there's nothing to show for it. He obeyed orders, taking Yol to another corner of the map. "Don't stop." There are only two of us with me now.

"I see four!" Yells Gerhard, taking off over the ruined rooftops and now dancing on the flames of the jets under the enemy's bullets. "Charging grenades, falling on them, finish them off!"

5-6

Teig, the last one left with me, whizzes past me like a twisted burr, spraying everything around him with a rapid-fire machine gun.

6-6

7-6

7-7

How did he make it? By some miracle, he hit it!

My turn.

Side-jet, shot, high altitude escape.

8-7!!

Where is the fourth of this group? I can't see!

Ah! Kronos!

I fall down like a stone, dodging a shower of grenades.

"He's a monster!" Phil cries out in a pathetic way. "Can he sense mines or something? How can he do that? And where..."

8-8

"Gaia... damn." I hear the distinct sound of a flat clicker crashing against the wall.

"Meck, hold on!"

He and I are now on opposite sides of the map. It's a funny situation, actually. The battle is two on two. In the south, one Assault catches the Engineer, and in the north, exactly the same thing happens.

"I'm hiding." Quietly replies to me, Meck. "If he tries anything, I'll blow it up with the warehouse. Just get yours!"

Get yours. It is easy for you to say. I wonder who's against me? Not Jovan! The compass man, as he is called in the team. His orientation and sense of danger are phenomenal. Yeah, he's a bad shot, but he's a miracle worker with grenades! Solid number two in the university team and consistently in the first thousand of Diamond while playing only as an engineer!

He couldn't get far, I had a speed advantage, and I needed to keep him at bay. Because then he would have time to make his favorite booby traps.

Jet? No, it's early, I'll lose the charge, and it'll be bad.

Run!

Right, remember the map! Quickly!

Which way is he escaping?

From the ledge opposite, you can see both!

Jet!

"Aaah!!!" Shouting when I noticed a booby trap string at the first-floor level.

Up! At full speed!

I did it!

And what this?!

A grenade fan on level three?

Down?

I won't make it in time, they're falling by the wayside!

That's right. It's the Compass!!! He's the only one capable of such a thing!

Where should I go?

A second stretches like jelly.

A window on the right!

Activation of the jet.

Boost!

The grenades pass by and I smash the window with my body.

*Tink*

No!

No!

It can't be. Where's the booby trap coming from?

Dropping the jets and turning around in flight with my chest towards the blast and grouping myself as the program allows.

*THUMP* With a sharp thump, a grenade explodes in the headphones.

*Tomp Tomp Tomp* shards clatter around...

Your weapon is damaged, the magazine is out of action, and you cannot reload your weapon... Reset the message, I have no time.

I'm alive! It worked, the dropped jet took the brunt of the blow, the only shrapnel that reached me hit the weapon!

What a waste. One shrapnel wouldn't have killed me, and now I am without the main gun!

I swap my weapon for the Glen, a high-speed, high-precision pistol with mediocre damage, which is the one I chose to pair with the Tyra today.

I'm alive, and I know where you are!

Jumping into the breach.

There you are!

*BOOM* *BOOM*

9-8

Ugh!!! I wonder if Jovan is freaking out now or if he just can't believe his failure?

But we'll get to that later.

What's with Tyra?

What? Kronos! Shrapnel in the magazine, and it jammed. Now I got a disposable rifle, one round in the barrel, and that's it. And... I'm also out of the jet.

Come on, Meck! Don't let me down! And I know it's an empty dream myself.

What to do?

I won't stand in that position one-on-one against my former captain.

But how frustrating it is now.

Eh! Yol, you're such a bastard! Why did you come to this tournament? A pro chasing kids in a sandbox. What's so interesting about it?

Bastard!

And then I get a crazy idea. After all, the online broadcasts of such tournaments have a time delay for viewers, which means there's no way Yol will know what I'm doing...

"Meck, hold him off for at least ten seconds!"

"He hasn't found me yet!" I can't see it, but I can feel the smirk on the Goon's face.

Now to see if there is enough ammunition for the handgun?

It's enough,

So, there's this square with a big smooth white wall with no windows over all three floors.

What will they think of me?

Screw it!!

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

The gun shots merge into a rumble.

Change of a clip.

And again.

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

O Three Face, what am I doing?

Screw it!

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

9-9

"Damn... how? No one was there?!" Meck's screaming. "Bi... he shot me through a wall. Are you sure he's not a cheater?"

"No, you will also learn it!" Without taking my eyes off the scope, I shout back at him." And thank you, you made it!"

That's it... Done. No ammo, though. Well, except for the one in Tyra's barrel, but I'm pleased with myself.

I climb onto the roof of the nearest building and start dancing on it.

*BOOM* Yeah, yeah, you'll hit me from three hundred yards, coming on a jete, dreamer!

However, I've got his attention. Now for the position.

I have one shot, and it has to hit me in the head, or I won't kill him because Tyra is not my favorite Railgun, and then all I have left is a knife. And he wouldn't let me at that distance for sure.

Yes, this is the most convenient place.

I'm laying here.

I realized I could only hit him if he stopped for a second. As long as he's moving in his style - streaking, jumping, rolling - I might be able to hit his body but not his head, and that's not going to work for me right now! But I've got a chance. I didn't shoot an entire clip into the wall for nothing!

Who am I kidding though, it was just an idiotic idea!

Stop! Stop reflexing, there he is!

Well... Why are you so quick? Agggh! How clever of him to get out of the crosshairs.

Anyone else in his position would have played it differently, less risky, but you're you, the arrogant bastard who loves to "put people in their place". It's a matter of honor for you to snatch victory and personally shoot the ex-BAA record holder! Or is it? Or did the Compass notice that my Tyra was done for? And after counting the shots I fired the gun...

Oh!!!

Nah, I didn't think much of him, he keeps to himself.

Damn pro!

He thinks: I am completely unarmed, except for the knife, of course. And now he is preparing for a melee attack.

A surprise awaits you... If you stop for one second.

Come on! Look at the wall!

It's right there!

Just turn to it!

Turn around!

The enemy freezes as if caught in a cryogenic freeze.

*BOOM*

A click of the mouse puts an end to the story.

10-9

"You won!"

"Yes!!!! Suck it!!!" On an adrenaline rush, I get thrown out of my seat and immediately find myself in the arms of the bikers, who start rocking me.

"We did it!"

After half a minute, Rick gently places me on the floor.

"You are the master of dirty play, after all!"

His gaze is skewed to my monitor screen, which shows a snow-white wall through the screensaver +You win!+, on which the shots are in meter-long letters:

YOL - ASS!

Dirty, yes, I agree, but it's their fault. If they had played fair, I would have held back!

And then we celebrated. Jenro brought a case of champagne from somewhere, the value of which was several times more than our prize money! No, no one got drunk. We didn't need to. We were drunk on the victory...

* * *