The announcer's voice echoed through the arena:
"Victory for Korea! Korea takes the first match in this best-of-five series!"
The game's timer hit zero, and the points were frozen on the screen—Korea: 183 | Afghanistan: 52. The hill, glowing in Korea's colours, signalled the end of an intense and unforgettable battle.
In the Game Building at the university, the crowd erupted. Students, faculty, and gaming enthusiasts alike jumped to their feet, their cheers reverberating through the hall. Confetti cannons popped, showering the room in celebratory silver and blue as Korea's team banner was projected on the giant screen.
"The first match is over! Korea wins their debut match in the Asia qualifiers!" Celine's voice brimmed with excitement as her commentary wrapped up the moment. "Not only did they win, but they showcased some of the most intense gameplay we've seen so far!"
"This wasn't just a win. This was a statement. A team wipe— almost twice—against Afghanistan, one of the most unpredictable teams in the qualifiers? Korea has arrived, and they've arrived strong!" Eric chimed in, equally thrilled.
In the crowd, fans waved Korean flags and chanted the names of the players. Some clutched their phones, live-streaming their reactions or taking selfies with the massive screen in the background. Others huddled in excited groups, replaying key moments on their devices, analyzing every move and counter as if they were part of the team themselves.
On the stage, the Korean team was shown in their virtual avatars standing triumphantly at the hill. A replay of the team's most electrifying moments began rolling, highlighting Chin-hwa's daring ambush, Tae-young's surgical eliminations, and the seamless coordination that allowed them to secure not just the hill, but the match.
Back in Afghanistan's booth, the players were silent. Khalid leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of frustration as the game stats flashed on his screen. Their coach's voice buzzed in their ears, a mix of criticism and encouragement as he tried to salvage their morale for the next match. Adil, the team's Marksman, shook his head in disbelief, still processing how the match had spiralled out of their control.
In the commentators' box, the analysts began breaking down the match.
"This was an incredible display from Korea," Eric said. "They weren't just playing defensively or reacting to Afghanistan's aggression. They dictated the pace of the match, and that's rare for such a new team."
"Absolutely," Celine agreed. "But let's not forget, Afghanistan has been known to bounce back from losses like these. The question is, can they adapt to Korea's unconventional style, or will Korea's momentum carry them through the rest of the series?"
The screen shifted to show live shots of the crowd, where the atmosphere was electric. Students from various faculties, most of whom didn't even know each other, were now united in their excitement. Discussions about the match filled the air, from the daring plays to the flawless teamwork.
"I knew Chin-hwa was fast, but did you see how he dodged three of their Assassins? Three!" one student exclaimed, his hands gesturing wildly as he reenacted the moment.
"And Tae-young," another chimed in. "He's brutal with that blade. He's like a ghost—there one second, gone the next."
The match had transcended the digital arena. It was no longer just about Korea versus Afghanistan; it had become a source of pride for those watching. For many, this was their first glimpse of what their university's team could achieve on the world stage, and it left them in awe.
As the cheers began to settle, the university's Game Building remained alive with chatter and energy. On the screens, the scoreboard now displayed the series score: Korea 1 - Afghanistan 0.
With the first match concluded the anticipation for the next game hung in the air. Could Korea maintain their dominance, or would Afghanistan come back with a vengeance? The answer would have to wait, but for now, the crowd basked in the glory of an unexpected and hard-fought victory.
As the virtual match arena faded from the massive screens, a countdown clock appeared, signalling the 20-minute break. It was a time set aside to allow the players to rest, strategize, and mentally prepare for the next game. Implemented years ago as a mandatory measure for player health and well-being, the break was a critical moment in competitive gaming, especially on a stage as significant as this.
In the Korean booth, Team 1 leaned back in their chairs, their headsets hanging loosely around their necks. Tae-young stretched his arms above his head, his face flushed with the excitement of their victory. Hana was leaning on her chair with a proud smirk, her fiery energy still lingering after their intense performance. Chin-hwa, calm and collected as ever, adjusted his gloves while Kyu, the ever-silent enigma, sat quietly, sipping water from his bottle. In-su, the mage and tactical backbone of the team, tapped at his tablet, already reviewing the game footage.
"That was insane," Soo-jin, from Team 2, exclaimed as she entered the booth, her admiration evident. "You wiped Afghanistan twice. Twice!"
Joon-ho followed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I knew you guys were good, but that? That was on another level."
"Don't hype us too much," Hana replied with a grin, though her tone hinted at pride. "We still have at least two more games to win. This isn't over yet."
Jin-kyong, her sniper rival from Team 2, crossed her arms.
"If you can do it, so can we. Just wait. Team 2 is taking notes."
Min-jae chuckled, leaning against the wall.
"No pressure on us, right?" His eyes flicked to Baek-hyeon, who gave him a confident nod.
In the back, Team 3 entered the booth, their quieter demeanour contrasting with Team 2's boisterous energy. Kang-dae, the team's tank, gave a slow clap as he surveyed Team 1.
"Nice job, holding your ground. Afghanistan's no joke."
"They'll adapt, though," Hyun-ae added. "We've all seen how unpredictable they can be. We can't let our guard down."
Hi-ah, from Team 3, leaned forward, her tone curious.
"Kyu, that trap at the end—was that planned, or did it just happen?"
Kyu glanced at her, his face impassive. He shrugged slightly, not offering a single word.
"It's Kyu," Tae-young interjected with a laugh. "He doesn't need to explain. He just does things, and they work."
Kyung-mi, the marksman from Team 3, leaned closer to the screen replaying the match highlights. "That speed, though," he murmured, watching Chin-hwa's daring moves. "You weren't just quick—you were untouchable."
Chin-hwa smirked but said nothing. He was more focused on the next game, knowing that Afghanistan would not let them repeat their earlier tactics without resistance.
The players from all three teams gathered in a loose circle, talking strategy. In-su's voice cut through the chatter, calm and analytical.
"Afghanistan's strength lies in their unpredictability. They'll have a counter ready for everything we just did. We'll need to innovate again, and fast."
"Agreed. And we can't rely on Chin-hwa pulling another solo stunt. They'll be hunting for him specifically next round," Tae-young nodded.
From the corner, Kyu's eyes briefly flickered toward the group, his silence almost unnerving. Yet the others understood—it wasn't apathy but focus. Kyu was always observing, always calculating, even if he rarely voiced his thoughts.
"You guys," Hana said, pointing toward the group. "You're up next, so don't let us down. Keep the momentum going."
Joon-ho grinned.
"We'll do more than that. We'll double it."
The countdown clock ticked down, the remaining minutes slipping away. The tension in the booth shifted, the energy palpable. Korea's 15 players weren't just individuals anymore; they were a unified force, spurred on by the hope and belief that they could dominate this stage.
As the next game approached, each of them felt the weight of their country's expectations—but also the thrill of representing Korea on the world stage. This was more than just a tournament; it was a proving ground. And they were ready.
With the break continued, the teams settled into their strategies. Team 1, still basking in their victory, began stepping back from the spotlight. The plan had always been clear: each team of the 15-player lineup would take turns in the spotlight. It wasn't just about skill but about the experience—this was the World NexaRealm Tournament, the highest stage of the competition, and every player deserved their moment in it.
Tae-young addressed the group, his usual confidence tempered with a supportive tone.
"We've done our part for now. Team 2, it's your time to shine. Make it count."
Hana nodded in agreement, leaning back in her chair.
"Yeah, don't let the pressure get to you. Show everyone why you're here."
Joon-ho grinned as he adjusted his headset.
"Pressure? What pressure? We're about to one-up you, just wait."
Soo-jin, already checking her equipment, chimed in.
"Let's not get cocky, though. Afghanistan will come out swinging even harder."
The rotation wasn't just about giving each team their chance—it was about building unity, giving every player a stake in their country's journey. After Team 2, it would be Team 3's turn, to ensure all 15 players got their hands dirty on the first day.
The idea was ambitious but fitting. Korea wasn't just here to win—they were here to showcase their depth, their adaptability, and their sheer talent. With this plan, every player would walk away knowing they'd contributed to the team's success.
As the break timer ticked closer to its end, the focus shifted once again. Team 2 stepped up, ready to take their place on the world stage. Team 1 settled back, exchanging words of advice and encouragement, while Team 3 began their quiet preparations.
This wasn't just about victory—it was about building a legacy.