Chương 1: The Message
Hear, all of you, the declaration from the heavens: a young man is officially crowned King.
Five years ago, while King was a nobody at fourteen, he showed unrelenting and way older players who the boss was. People thought that it was dumb luck that he was able to defeat the defending champion that year: a professional gamer who runs a weekly livestream of the world's most famous MMORPG – The Wrath of Heaven. Beaten by a mere adolescent, the pro had a damaged reputation, effectively losing scores of his followers and donors, even his endorsements of highly priced VPN's and what-nots. Heaven knows what happened to his God-forsaken channel, which was once hailed as "the definitive source of gaming entertainment." This disgraced ex-pro gamer was last seen getting kicked out of a manga cafe looking like a hobo.
At that same time, media attention shifted toward the newbie who effortlessly climbed the Ivory Tower of gamers. His signature moves? His long fingers swiftly gliding over those WASD keys. They might look magnificent, even unworldly, for the online and live audiences, but players know that the capability of those spindly fingers was stuff of legend.
A year later, his fans started calling those moves "Holy Fingers." At fifteen years old, King managed to use those same moves to suck the marrow out of his opponents' pathetic virtual lives at a crisis battle, easily gaining him the top spot for the second time. Influencers had a field day after the game when his last opponent, a self-proclaimed game developer (God knows what kind of games he actually developed in his basement), accused him of cheating. How King cheated, the self-proclaimed game developer could not explain (he tried really hard but failed miserably). The self-proclaimed game developer's career ended before it even started and, on the side like a cherry topping on a bad tasting dessert, he received multiple messages and hashtags of hatred on a microblog. Nobody knew what happened to him after the debacle, but rumors about him being a self-proclaimed basement makeover designer surfaced years later.
One must understand that at this point, King had already gained not just earnings and advertising contracts, but also fans from all genders and ages who were keen to protect him at all costs. His fans were as legendary as his talent. They called themselves his Shadow (and rightfully so, since a good number of them followed him wherever he went), a significant item in the game that should be protected from the power-hungry dog-like monster that takes the character's life essence by feeding on one's shadow.
His Shadow had proven themselves several times. When he was sixteen, before he went to the games' venue, his fans pressured the media company that sponsored the event to give King a separate resting area, citing his terribly beautiful white skin should be protected from UV rays and pollutants. Some of the staff members thought that being called pollutants was actually demeaning, but the company representative feared for her life, and gave King a deluxe makeshift room with air-conditioning and several baskets of snacks. Of course, owing to the fact that King was given the VIP treatment, the other gamers just lost their marbles and attacked him on all fronts (during the game, of course). But rallying together against one opponent proved to be the worst idea, and with a flick of King's Holy Fingers, all of them turned into ashes, and their shadows were fed to the monster-dogs. That was how King won his third global championship.
A year later, his parents used King's money to invest in the stock market. They also set up an agency to manage all his activities: from major ones like media interviews and appearances to more trivial ones like appropriate and fair (mostly paid) use of his photographs (that's because when he had grown in terms of height, from five to six feet, and the pains of adolescence started paying off, King's face became sharper and his flowing jet-black hair complemented his good looks).
When King graduated from high school, he said in an interview that he had more money than he could hope for and going to college feels redundant and unnecessary. It blew up the Internet, mainly because adult commentators chastised him, accusing him of coaxing their children to give up schooling and ultimately, their future. Of course, it was an unfair assessment of King's real behavior, but if they actually knew him personally, they would curse him even more. In two years' time, King was able to manage his finances well, and he genuinely thought that he could just skip college and continue what he's doing since he's great at it. Of course, he was able to secure his spot as the reigning champ in the international competition. Of course, he was also able to double his earnings from collaborations. Of course, he was able to gain more fans and followers, adding to the growing number of his Shadow.
Of course, all these got to his head.
James thought that being called King was the best thing in the world. At nineteen years old, he's the undefeated winner of "The Wrath of Heaven." Funny that even when the developers attempted to change the game and make it more difficult each and every time they rolled out updates, James was able to beat the game with ease.
"The game needs fresh ideas," James said during the press junket for this year's championship. It's an unsolicited idea that James felt he was obliged to provide as their King. When pressed for an explanation, he continued, "It's just getting stale."
He grabbed the microphones and stood on a pedestal to give the cameras a better angle of his dashing pink suit. Clearly, he's overdressed for the occasion, but clearly, he didn't care.
"I would like to tell everyone that this year would be my last TWOF event," he announced without hesitation. There were audible gasps from the crowd, mainly from his fans who were standing behind the barricades. "My agency will have a new subsidiary that will develop a new and exciting game."
This did not sit well with the organizers. Inside his VIP tent, Shiela, the representative of the gaming company who, two years ago, received death threats from fans if she didn't give in to their demands, stood in front of James, who was lounging like a king on an electric massage chair.
"How can you do this?" she started. "You should've told me! You should've.... You're insane!"
James gave her his seductive smile.
"I said what I said. It's my last time this year. I won't play anymore."
"Why?" Shiela almost shouted at him.
"It's not exciting anymore... when you do it every year."
"How about – " Shiela said, trying to make sense of James' decision, but she got distracted by her vibrating phone. She checked the caller ID. It was her boss.
"Now you've really done it," she told James before going outside and taking the call. James could hear her high-pitch voice trying to explain to her boss what just happened.
His announcement was all over the Internet when James checked his smartphone. Most of his fans gave him messages of support, not that he actually cared. He flicked his long forefinger onto the screen to see if there were hashtags about him. One after the other, a message notification pops up. Most of them came from reporters. Others, from anonymous people.
And then, he received it. It was not a message from his inbox. It was a pop-up similar to an emergency alert.
"Beware of the trap. Take care, my King. xx"
~oOo~
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