It had been a while since I had participated in a tournament – over two years, in fact. And now that I was in the thick of it, I was feeling very apprehensive.
"Oh boy…"
I managed to get through the Preliminaries after narrowly squeaking a win against a Psidork player. He had, like Harry, gone down the Psionic Storm route against my mechanical army and paid the price for it. I was aware that players these days were becoming slightly less flexible because they selected a certain Commander and stuck to it. Favoring a specific Commander locked you into a specific playstyle because that unit would only buff certain army compositions. My opponent's choice meant that his Divine Bishop avatar could only buff High Priests and Enlightened, and thus the usual counter to my mech army, such as Loyalists and Dorklords, weren't produced – because the Divine Bishop simply had no synergy with them. Even so, my opponent had chosen his avatar in advance and stuck to his strategy.
Honestly, I could empathize with him. I was the same. Even if my opponent was capable of manufacturing an army that could directly counter mine, I would still play mech. There was only one commander I would use and it was the Titan Commander (or the Thanos-class Titan). Well, that or the Tank Commander in the Schneider-chassis Tank. Both of them would help improve mech, but I liked robots more than tanks, so…
In any event, his fragile High Priests and Enlightened were overrun by my Salamanders and Titans, despite the Disciples zealously selling their lives to protect them. With their relatively high health and decent psychic shields, the Disciples were generally a good meatshield, and a good mineral dump for the opposing player to invest his excessive minerals into. High-tech units such as High Priests and Enlightened required a good amount of gas which meant that the Psidork player would always end up with a surplus of minerals. Similarly, high-tech units such as Panzer tanks and Titans, as well as the Broadsword Gunships, required a huge investment of gas, so I would also have a surplus of minerals. That was where the Salamanders came in.
And in a head-to-head fight, the Salamanders would always come out on top against the Disciples, because of the bonus damage and splash they did with their flamethrowers. Not only that, I had upgraded their incinerators further with the infernal pre-ignitor research, which further enhanced their damage. The melee Disciples just melted against the conical splash that my Salamanders unleashed upon them. That said, my Salamanders were still vulnerable to Psidorks' storms, and they were wrecked when the High Priests unleashed their psychic prowess across the map. Of course, the storms ended up incinerating the Disciples who were locked in melee with my Salamanders, so I suspected it ended up dealing more damage to my opponent than to me. Especially since my Salamander Battle Armor had slightly higher HP than the Disciples, plus the damage they were already dishing out to the zealots, there was no contest.
In the end, even with a bunch of Ascended storming my front, I wiped them out with mass Titans and counterattacked all the way back to his base. Upon which he surrendered with a "gg" and left.
Leaning back in my chair, I sighed in relief and glanced around. Some of the other players had already finished their game and were either wandering around or idling in their seats. A few of them looked despondent, clearly having been eliminated during the preliminaries, while those in a buoyant mood were looking forward to their next match.
Others were still mired in a stalemate, their fingers flying across the keyboard and their mouse moving rapidly across the mousepads. They were micro-ing their hearts out, their eyes glued to their screens where massive engagements erupted all across the map. Several of the organizers were patrolling, glancing around to ensure there was no cheating or stream-sniping or map-hacking going on. They no longer paid any attention to me because my game was over, and their focus shifted to the remaining gamer still in the midst of their matches.
I didn't recognize anyone in the room. It was only natural. Team Solid wouldn't participate in a small, local tournament like this…they were preparing for the Intel Extreme Masters in Katowice, where professional gamers from all over the world gathered to compete against each other for the premier trophy.
Since I wasn't a pro gamer yet, or had not regained my pro gamer status, I couldn't follow them to Poland. However, the best way for me to regain my pro gamer status was to start by winning tournaments and reestablishing my form. As much as it sounded cold and utilitarian, esports was a result-based industry. You could whine all you want, but if you couldn't produce the results, nobody would pay attention to you. I was aware of those Spasm Streamers who loved to whine about balance on their Spasm channels, and often gaining thousands of followers (and receiving donations and financial support through Patreon or whatever). But the balance team, from what I knew, didn't listen to them and their vocal followers, and would rather take suggestions from the professional gamers.
They had never approached me, probably because I wasn't recognized enough. Other than my one win those years ago, before I did my mandatory military service, I wasn't a prominent player. People hardly knew who I was, and during the season of the Global Spacecraft League tournament that I won, I was considered the dark horse. An underdog who defied all expectations to lift the trophy despite only ever playing mech.
"Hey, you! I know you!"
Unexpectedly, someone came up to me while I was reflecting nostalgically on my past as a pro gamer, looking fondly on the booths where local gamers competed and struggled. Turning around, I saw that I didn't recognize him, despite his claim.
"Um…?"
"Oh, sorry. That was rude of me. I'm Connor, I'm also a Terran player like you." the tall, lankly guy chuckled sheepishly when he caught sight of my blank expression. He cocked his head to the side and grinned. "I'm a fan!"
"Fan?" I blinked, still taken aback. Connor nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! You're Admech, aren't you? I saw your name on the list, and then watched your match against Jest. I recognize that mech build anywhere! It's definitely you!" he began laughing. "I never thought I would meet you in the flesh!"
"Oh, yeah…I guess."
I was still struggling to catch up with the guy's train of thought. Apparently he knew me from my pro gamer days, and I was flattered that he called himself a fan of mine.
"You didn't show up for a couple of years after you won the GSL…oh, right! You said something about having to go to national service. You ORD already, is it?"
"Yeah. I just ORD-ed last month."
"Whoa! Last month only, ah? And you're already back, playing tournament. Damned fast, sia."
I shrugged and scratched my head. "Best to start early. I want to return to Team Solid as soon as possible."
"Wah lao eh, they still haven't ask you to come back, ah?" Connor shook his head in disbelief. "They seow ah? Dilly dally for what?"
"I need to prove myself first," I explained patiently. "It's not as simple as asking me to come back. I haven't played for two years, so they can't just allow me back to the team based on past achievements alone. The meta has changed, there are new players who came in, and it's not fair if I just take their places. I must produce results to convince Team Solid that I deserve a place back in the team."
"Wah cao. Like that also can meh?" Connor looked disgusted. "Form is temporary, class is permanent. How can they just leave you like that? At least give you a chance what!"
I gestured toward the room, smiling because I felt a little flattered at his indignation that I wasn't automatically allowed back to the team based on my past achievements alone (which wasn't many, with the single GSL trophy from two years ago my only major feat).
"This is my chance."
"Ah! I see!" Connor's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Good luck, Admech! I hope you win! Then they confirm will let you back into the team!"
"Ha ha, if only it's that simple. I still need to keep working and maintain results, to prove that it's not a one-off…but it will be a start."
"Aiyah, don't worry lah. You confirm will win one. I don't think there's anyone here who can defeat you." he then jabbed a thumb toward himself. "If I kena meet you in the finals, I confirm will surrender."
"No. Don't do that." I took a firm tone and glared at him. "I don't want you to surrender. I want you to go all out and do your best to beat me. A victory isn't something that is given. It's earned."
"Whoa, don't be so serious, can? Of course I'm joking only lah. I won't forfeit just because I kena you in the finals." Connor chuckled sheepishly. "Who don't want to win a pro gamer? If I win, I can brag to everyone, and maybe become a pro myself."
"That's the spirit." I nodded in approval. "Don't hold back and give me everything you got. You said you're also a Terran player, right?"
"Oh, yeah. But I play bio, not mech."
Connor rubbed at his chin as he grinned apologetically, as if meaning to say sorry for not following in my footsteps even though he claimed to be my fan.
"I'll be honest lah. Actually hor, I chose Terran because I saw you play. But I don't like mech. Too slow sia. So I switched to bio, and I find it suits my playstyle more. I like faster units. The marine dreadnought medic combo is more flexible. I also prefer to be an Officer."
I nodded at that. The Officer was an infantry Commander unit, who gave buffs to infantry units such as marines and Dreadnoughts, increasing their speed and firepower, as well as granted Medics faster healing rates.
Connor then held up both hands frantically.
"That doesn't mean your playstyle sucks! I also like your playstyle! It's just not for me, y'know?"
"I know, you don't have to explain yourself," I assured him. "Everyone has different playstyles and preferences. If everyone plays mech, then Spacecraft will be boring. The strength of the game lies in its versatility and the variety of builds."
"Yeah." Connor was nodding in agreement, and then he brightened up. "Oh, have you heard? Hailstorm is planning a new expansion next month. They say it's to diversify builds further…by granting each race new Factions!"
"Heh…I heard the rumors," I conceded. Ever since I left the pro gaming scene, I was no longer an insider and thus Hailstorm could do whatever they saw fit without consulting or informing me. I wasn't petty enough to feel bitter, just curious. "They are keeping it under tight wraps right now, but I can't imagine what kind of Factions they have. It's not a new, fourth race, right?"
"No, not really. But it will change the way we currently play Spacecraft!"
"That sounds interesting. I'm looking forward to it." The last expansion was two years ago, shortly after I enlisted in the military and completed my basic military training. As I said, a lot had changed over the period when I was fulfilling my national service, but for the most part the meta had stagnated and little had changed over the last year or two.
It was mostly Commander versus Commander now. I doubted that would change, especially considering that Hailstorm planned to cash in on this new MOBA craze, but the promise of new Factions and mechanics would undoubtedly shake things up. I didn't know what "Factions" even meant. So each individual race would have different Factions? How did that work?
I guess I will find out when they finally release the expansion. For now, I should focus on the tournament.
"All right, gamers! Get ready for the next round!"
At the announcement, I realized that some time had passed since I spoke to Connor, and the preliminaries were done. Sullen gamers were skulking out of their booths, while celebratory players pumped their fists into the air, looking all excited.
"Finally!" Connor cheered, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "They take so long, sia. Anyway, good luck, Admech. I hope to see you in the finals!"
"You too," I responded, watching him head in the direction of the front of the room. "Good luck, have fun."
Personally, I doubted I would see him in the finals. I didn't know if I could progress that far – my last game was a close one, and the gamers here seemed pretty comfortable with the new mechanics and Commander Units that I had yet to master. I wondered if I could really return to the pro gaming scene.
Shaking my doubts off, I also strode toward the front of the room where they were posting the match-ups for the next round. Regardless of the new meta, if I wanted to be a pro gamer, I had to adapt. And I had to prevail. The professional teams weren't going to be sympathetic and let me back in if I fell behind and whined about balance, or blame everybody but myself for my losses. If I wanted to rejoin Team Solid, I needed to produce results and proved that I had what it took to be a pro gamer.
Otherwise I could forget all about rejoining the pro scene once more.