[Seoul – October 1, 2025.]
The city was bathed in neon light, as if the night itself had decided to dress up in the lights of technology.
People, young and old, flocked to the streets, wearing illuminated masks and holding holographic posters.
The air vibrated with the sound of footsteps and cheers as everyone hurried towards the massive dome with the words "Cyber Competition 2025" glowing above the square like a portal to another world.
Drones with cameras hovered in the air, broadcasting the action to the screens of the skyscrapers.
Over the square, in the rainy air, holograms flashed with explosions of effects, sponsor logos, and the names of the participants.
The crowd roared as the unfamiliar faces of the professional players appeared on the screens.
But there was one face that everyone knew. A huge holographic billboard flashed with an image of a blonde-haired guy with blue eyes, wearing a bold, almost defiant smile.
His fingers skillfully twirled the gamepad, as if it were an extension of his body. The crowd burst into applause.
The inscription shone under the image:
[ Five-time Cyber Competition Champion Katzu Tricomi ]
His face was reflected in the shiny helmets of the fans, on the phone screens, in the eyes of those who came to see the legend with their own eyes.
For some, he was a hero, for others an arrogant god of the digital world.
It was said that his reaction time was faster than that of any recognition system, and his playing style was a mixture of intuition and madness.
He never lost.
And today, against the backdrop of neon signs and the electric hum of the city, all anyone could think about was whether someone would finally dethrone Tricomi from his cyber throne.
A stream of fans, journalists, and onlookers poured into the neon dome like a storm center. The floor shook with footsteps, the air vibrated with echoing voices, and thousands of screens shimmered like a swarm of digital fireflies.
Inside, it was impossible to hear your own thoughts. Some people were arguing, some were shouting their idols names, and some were standing on the sidelines, watching with a predatory glint in their eyes.
—Who will take the title this time?
People whispered in the line for the bars.
—Katzu Tricomi, of course!
Some people answered.
—That's not for sure! This time it's going to be a real fight!
Others came in and objected.
Most people were betting on Katsu Tricomi, the five-time champion, the crowd's favorite, and the nightmare of his opponents.
His name was like a password to victory, and those who bet on him almost never lost.
But today, the air was different. There was a sense of tension, a delicate balance between glory and defeat.
The names of the final teams were displayed on the holographic scoreboards, and this time there were five teams.
Each was a legend in their own region, teams with a history and style honed by years of training.
And among them, newcomers to the public, but not to the professionals. A team from America known as Crimson Yew.
Their arrival caused a wave of whispers.
—Crimson Yew? Really?
—They're from America, right?
—Yeah, they say they took down the entire tournament in the States last year, eight straight wins!
People looked at each other, some laughed nervously, some shook their heads in disbelief.
—Ha, do they really think they can beat Katzu?
—You haven't seen how they play. They're not human, they're like algorithms with predatory minds...
In the betting area, the argument almost escalated into a shouting match.
—Katzu is a legend! He'll destroy those Americans!
—They're not just gamers anymore, they're training with cyber specialists! Their reactions are faster than a machine!
—That's nonsense! You're just falling for rumors!
The holographic panels changed the image again, showing footage from previous games: Crimson Yew acted in sync, coldly.
No unnecessary movements or emotions.
The five players moved as one body, with one player taking a step and another covering their flank.
—Look at how they work. Not a single glitch, not a single accidental hit...
—It's like they can read each other's minds without words!
—That's because they have a private internal communication system. Their captain is a neurointerface engineer, and they're testing experimental communication technologies right in the tournaments!
One of the strangers snorted.
—Come on, it's just marketing! No one can beat Katzu!
But his voice cracked. Even the most devoted fans could sense that something was different today.
In the VIP area, a sports commentator whispered to a colleague without taking his eyes off the screen:
—If they go into the arena against Tricomi, it won't be a match, it will be a war of styles. Mechanics against intuition.
—Yes. And for the first time, intuition may not have enough speed.
For a moment, the lights in the hall dimmed, and a short teaser appeared on the central screen: a red flash, silhouettes in the smoke, and the message
[CRIMSON YEW: WE PLAY TO ERASE.]
Backstage, the stage was buzzing. Through the thin curtain, neon lights flickered in red bursts, and the crowd noise filled the speakers, where thousands of voices blended into a single electric hum.
Katzu stood in front of a mirror, checking the sensors on his neck and the pulse regulators on his wrists.
The reflection in the glass was calm, composed, as always before a tournament. But somewhere beneath that calmness, blood was already pumping.
The door behind him opened quietly, and a tall guy with gray, almost silver hair entered the room.
He was younger than he looked, and his eyes, the color of molten chrome, reflected the light of the monitors. He was casually twirling a yo-yo in his fingers, as if he were not at the World Finals, but on a walk.
—Yo…
He said in English, with a slight smile.
Katzu turned, raising his eyebrow slightly. The translator in his ear clicked, converting the words into pure Japanese.
—"You're Katzu Tricomi?"
Katzu nodded silently. The boy came closer, eyeing him with interest, like a biologist examining a rare specimen.
He held out his hand, and Katsu automatically shook it.
—"Name's Chris Bars. Crimson Yew."
His voice was confident, almost defiant.
He leaned in slightly, adding with a lazy grin.
—"It's an honor to meet my opponent before he loses."
Katzu didn't respond. He held his hand a little longer than necessary, staring into the American's eyes.
There was no malice there. Only cold, analytical audacity. The kind of audacity that comes from players who are confident that they can win any game simply because they've already calculated everything.
Chris stepped back slightly, tossed the yo-yo in the air, caught it with one hand, and added.
—"You're good, I've watched your runs. But you play with instinct. I play with code."
The translator quietly conveyed the meaning of [ You play with intuition. I play with code.]
Katzu smiled with the corner of his mouth.
—Sometimes the code breaks…
Chris stopped at the exit and said over his shoulder:
—"Not mine."
He left, leaving behind a slight smell of ozone, as if from a Tesla coil that had just been discharged.
Katzu was left alone. The yo-yo that flashed through his memory spun like the rings of fate. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The crowd outside roared, ready to begin.
—Crimson Yew, then, – he said quietly to himself. —Let's see how much you like breaking other people's legends.