Chapter 5 | An Online Gaming Addict’s Past

The day after my defeat to Kiyokawa, morning classes dragged on. My eyes were fixed on the blackboard, but my mind wandered elsewhere, trapped in the echo of Kiyokawa’s words from our post-match conversation. How many times had I replayed that exchange in my head?

“Senpai, thank you. I feel refreshed,” she had said, her voice light, almost carefree.

“…”

“This was purely personal resentment. I acknowledge it was about me.”

“…Yeah.”

“The strength I honed for Rinka-senpai’s sake was real. Proving that alone satisfies me. Having achieved my goal, I’m retiring from the online games.”

“…Retiring?”

“Yes. There’s no point in playing anymore.”

“So easily… Don’t you have any love for the game?”

“Love? The online game was just a means to an end. Once the purpose is fulfilled, its role is over… Oh, I’ll cheer for you and Rinka-senpai. That’s what’ll make her happy. I’ll stop picking fights with you too.”

“…You won’t play the game with Rinka and the others?”

“Hmm, maybe occasionally. We in Star☆Mines are generally busy, so I can’t play habitually. I was pushing myself quite a bit…”

“I see…”

“Well then, Senpai, thank you.”

Her voice had been bright, unburdened, as if shedding a weight. Then Kiyokawa logged out, leaving no trace of worry. I, on the other hand, couldn’t bring myself to disconnect, staring blankly at the screen, my motivation drained. No—it was worse than that. My heart felt like it had shattered into pieces.

That’s when it hit me. I had pride in the online game, more love for it than I’d realized. I’d played without thinking, as if it were second nature, but deep down, I cherished it. Kiyokawa, though—she’d spent years treating the game as a tool for revenge. I didn’t blame her; any motive for playing was valid. But she hadn’t even tried to understand the game’s charm. She’d beaten me to a pulp, declared her retirement with casual ease, and walked away. The shock of it felt like a denial of my entire life, poured into that game.

“Oi, Ayanokoji, answer this question.”

“…”

“Oi!”

“…Yes.”

“Answer it!”

“…Yes.”

“Not ‘yes’! I said answer it!”

“…Right.”

“Are you picking a fight with the teacher!?”

My soul felt like it had abandoned my body. Even my fingers didn’t seem like mine anymore, moving as if detached. A hollow emptiness consumed me, like my body was a void, drifting through the motions.

By lunch break, I was still a shell of myself. Whispers from the class buzzed around me, but I had no energy to care. I sat at my desk, peeling the shell off the boiled egg I’d brought for lunch, crunching it between my teeth. The mundane task was oddly addictive, a small distraction from the void.

“Another single boiled egg?” one of my friends asked, leaning over my desk with concern.

“…Yeah.”

“Want some of my side dishes?”

“…No.”

“How about my green peppers!?”

“…No.”

I had no appetite. Shaking my head, I popped the peeled eggshell into my mouth, chewing it with a dry crunch before swallowing. I kept at it, silently peeling and eating the shells, the sound filling the space around me.

“Huh? W-Wait!? Ayanokoji-kun!? What are you eating!?”

“…The shell.”

“I can see that!?”

Then don’t ask, I thought, but didn’t say. My voice felt too heavy to bother.

“Ayanokoji!? What’s seriously wrong with you!? Stop eating that! Quit it!”

“…Crunch, crunch.”

“I said stop! Eat the egg!”

“…Crunch, crunch.”

“That’s not a human chewing sound!!”

“…What’s with all the noise… You guys want some too?”

“No way!” they shouted in unison, their voices sharp with alarm. A pang of sadness flickered in me, but it was fleeting.

Then my eyes met Rinka’s. She’d turned to look at me from across the room, her gaze steady but unreadable. I had no energy to hold it, so I dropped my eyes back to the egg, peeling more shells mindlessly, ignoring my friends’ protests as I crunched away.

☆

Before I knew it, the school day was over. I trudged home and holed up in my room, the weight of the day still pressing down on me.

Tossing off my uniform and slipping into loungewear, I collapsed onto my bed, the dark computer screen staring blankly back at me. My mind replayed the crushing defeat at Kiyokawa’s hands, vivid and unrelenting. My chest tightened, heavy with the weight of it.

I’d lost countless times before, but this… this was different.

“Kiyokawa… she said she’s retiring from the game,” I muttered, the words bitter on my tongue.

No trace of love for the online game we played. She’d utterly crushed me—someone who didn’t even care for it. Wrapping myself tighter in the blankets, I tried to shut out the world.

Being called talentless or trashed never fazed me. I knew I wasn’t a genius, and I could live with that. But losing to someone who held no passion for the game—it broke something inside me. Kiyokawa’s strength wasn’t born from joy, but from resentment. She didn’t bother to understand the game’s charm and even declared she’d abandon it.

Her words, her actions—they denied everything I was.

“Guh… ugh…” Hot tears slipped down my cheeks, unnoticed until they burned. The pain of having something I loved so fiercely rejected cut deeper than I’d expected. Worse, it dragged up memories of my past, twisting the knife further.

The door creaked open unceremoniously. Someone stood nearby.

“…Onii.”

Risuzu’s voice, soft but unmistakable.

“…I heard from Rinka-san. She said you’re acting strange.”

“…”

“…If something’s wrong, I’ll listen. For a thousand yen.”

“…”

“…Kidding. We’re family, so it’s free.”

“…”

I couldn’t tell her. No—I wouldn’t. In the game, I was the one guiding Risuzu. We were comrades, bound by our shared love for it, but I’d naturally taken the role of her mentor. Showing weakness now, especially to her, felt impossible. Even without that dynamic, this wasn’t something I could bring myself to share.

“…Onii. Am I not good enough?”

“…It’s not that.”

Her voice carried a trace of loneliness, and I forced the words out, my throat tight.

“…I just want to know what happened.”

“Sorry…”

Risuzu fell silent at my response. For what felt like two minutes, neither of us spoke. Then, with quiet steps, she left, the hollow click of the door echoing in her wake.

“…”

The memory of that overwhelming defeat clung to me. I’d been crushed, powerless to fight back. Time slipped away, lost in the haze. Had I fallen asleep, tangled in these blankets? It could’ve been midnight for all I knew.

Needing to check the time, I pushed my head and hands out from the cocoon of blankets. The window revealed a sky swallowed by darkness. Night had settled in.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sharp sound at the door made me flinch, diving back under the covers like a silkworm retreating into its silk. Another knock came, but I ignored it.

Then, the slow creak of the door opening. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t Risuzu.

“Kazuto.”

Rinka’s voice cut through the silence. Why was she here? Before I could process it, I felt the bed shift as someone sat beside me, the frame creaking softly under the weight.

“Kazuto.”

“…”

A gentle hand stroked my back through the blanket, Rinka’s voice soft and soothing. “Something painful happened, didn’t it? Something that shook your confidence to its core…”

“…”

“You had that kind of face… that kind of aura.”

Her touch was steady, comforting, and as she continued, I realized something. Only Rinka, the idol, and Risuzu truly saw my pain. Tachibana and Saito, kind as they were, stopped at asking what happened. But Rinka—she saw right through me, deep into the ache. In the quiet room, her hand never stopped, gently easing the weight from my heart.

Slowly, I emerged from the blankets. “Kazuto,” she said softly.

“Rinka…” Her face was gentle, ready to embrace everything I was.

Glancing at my phone by the pillow, I saw it was 9 p.m. “Rinka, is it okay for you to be here this late?”

“No problem. Are you okay?”

“…Kinda.”

“…”

“I, uh… I lost in the online game.”

“Mm.”

“It wasn’t just losing. It felt like everything about me was denied. I don’t think the opponent meant it that way, but…” Kiyokawa had admitted it was resentment, her revenge complete, saying she’d leave me alone now. That casual dismissal shook me too. She had no attachment—to the game or to me.

“Mm.”

Rinka pulled me close, her arms wrapping around me with a warmth that drew a tear from my eye. It felt familiar, like a memory from long ago. “You’re not gonna say it’s just a game loss, are you?”

“Of course not. You think I’d say something so obvious? The usual Kazuto would never ask that.”

“…Guess so.”

“Yes. Everyone values different things. Pours passion into different places.”

“Yeah…”

“And you said it wasn’t just a loss, right? That battle meant something to you, didn’t it?”

“…Maybe.”

Her embrace tightened, her hand patting me gently, and my heart began to settle. Then it hit me—I was frustrated, not just about losing, but about driving Kiyokawa to retire. If someone tried the game, disliked it, and quit, I’d understand. Not everyone loves online games. But Kiyokawa was different.

This game shaped me, led me to Rinka—another reality. I’m tied to it. I don’t want it reduced to a tool for revenge. This isn’t about justice; it’s personal. How do I stop Kiyokawa from quitting? …I have to win.

No, wait—what am I doing? If you lose, you fight back. That’s competition. If you can’t win, sharpen your skills. Study your opponent. Why am I ignoring something so obvious?

Anger simmered in my gut, raw emotion ready to burst. But I knew—I couldn’t beat Kiyokawa as I was.

“Rinka.”

“What is it?”

“Just once… I’m going back to the old me.”

“…The Kazu from before we met?”

“…Sorry.”

“You feel that’s necessary?”

“Yeah… Once it’s over, I’ll delete that character.”

“If that’s my husband’s decision, I’ll support you as his wife.”

With that, Rinka patted my head gently.

☆

“Ugh, what is it, Senpai? Calling me out so early in the morning… I’m busy, you know.”

Kiyokawa appeared, brushing her hair back with an annoyed frown. The day after Rinka’s comfort, I’d called her to the rooftop landing.

“Kiyokawa. Fight me one more time.”

“Huh? I’m stunned. You just got crushed… You think you can win?”

“Obviously. Tell me when you’re free this weekend.”

“No way. You think you can catch up to my skill in less than a week…?”

“No, I might already have.”

“What’s with that cryptic line? So unlike you…”

“This fight comes from my personal feelings. Same as you, Kiyokawa.”

“…”

Kiyokawa fell silent, thinking. Then, with a spark of decision in her eyes, she spoke. “Sounds interesting, so I’ll take you on. I’m curious what you’ll bring.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, my victory is unshakable.”

Her confidence bordered on arrogance, but after such a crushing win, it wasn’t surprising. So I pointed at her, resolve burning. “Kiyokawa.”

“Yes?”

“You’ll be helpless and lose miserably to me.”

☆

As the match approached, I dove into the online game. The mouse fit my hand perfectly, like gripping a mic. Back then, I couldn’t play without watching my hands on the keyboard. Now, my character moved as I envisioned, no need to look. AYANE stood tall in the arena, a grassy plain hosting guild gatherings or festival-like battles on weekends. Now, it was just me.

“What kind of strategy will that guy bring?”

In a straight fight, I’d dominate. Naturally. I’d studied Kazu’s every move—over ten videos, watched thirty times each, heart and soul poured into it. I trained relentlessly. His patterns were etched in my mind.

I knew my actions stemmed from resentment, pure spite. To him, it must feel utterly unfair. So I broke his pride in the game and let it go. For Rinka-senpai’s sake, I planned to support them moving forward. His loss would make him sulk, and Rinka-senpai’s comfort would tighten their bond. Their real-life relationship would grow closer… or so I thought.

“I never expected him to challenge me again.”

I didn’t think he had that fire. His usual demeanor—preferring the tank role, protecting others—didn’t scream someone who hated losing. But when he challenged me, his eyes blazed with passion and confidence born of experience. “They were the same as Rinka-senpai’s eyes before a live performance…”

To him, this game might be his entire life. Another reality.

Wearing earphones, I heard the login sound for the voice chat. Kazu’s name appeared.

“I’m here. Let’s do this.”

His voice was calm, no hostility. On the screen, a warrior in blood-red armor appeared, a silver greatsword floating behind him. The name—‘Round Head.’

Bizarre, to put it mildly. Not quirky like Nana-senpai’s naming sense. A name so odd it felt fundamentally off. Confident players pick food names, anime characters, or cool-weird ones. Those craving acceptance slip ‘cat’ into their names. People using real names see the game and reality as one. But Round Head? Unreadable.

“Heh. You switched characters, huh. Same class… but a different weapon. Can you even fight properly with an unfamiliar character?”

“No problem. I shook off the rust this week. I’m at about 60% of my prime.”

“Tch.”

That slightly infuriating tone. Maybe a tactic. He can’t win on skill, so he’s trying to rattle me. I don’t think he’s that type, though.

“I don’t know when your prime was, but against me—”

“You’ll see when we fight.”

He cut me off, voice steady. Where was this confidence coming from?

“…”

No signal, no words. We faced each other, tension crackling as we planned our first moves. I hesitated. I couldn’t predict him. I hadn’t expected the greatsword, hadn’t studied it. I stuck to standard tactics—archer, long-range skills, keep distance, fire arrows.

But Round Head moved fluidly, closing the gap with minimal damage. I leaped back, unleashing a barrage, but he dodged with pinpoint precision, as if sneering, “You’ll use that skill at this range, right?”

My hands froze at his next-level performance. “Are you having someone else play for you?”

A chuckle came through. “It’s me. Obviously.”

“But—”

“I switched my mindset. Skipping school for a few days to grind helped too.”

“Huh? That’s all it took to—”

Don’t skip school, dude.

“It changes you. You’re serious about both idol work and the game, Kiyokawa… You get it, right?”

No, I don’t. That’s absurd. I know motivation can boost performance—I’ve seen miracles like that. But this? He’s a different person.

“Kiyokawa, you’re misunderstanding online game addicts.”

“Huh?”

My voice pitched up, caught off guard by his sudden critique.

“Being an online game addict isn’t a title… It’s a slur! Don’t twist it into a badge of pride!”

“What—! You called yourself one too! I’m not proud of it! Never planned to be!”

We shouted, avatars clashing, chipping away at each other’s HP—our pride. In this game, battles aren’t just between characters. They’re clashes of dignity, knowledge, experience. That’s why we obsess over a single win. I never hold back, even in a game, using my real self.

But Round Head kept closing in, launching me with his greatsword, stunning me with heavy blows. AYANE’s pride eroded steadily.

“I call myself an addict as a reminder! A mantra to recall who I am! It’s fine if I say it, but hearing it from others feels hollow!”

“You’re completely absurd!”

“Listen, online game addicts are selfish, self-centered creatures! They only care about themselves, so they obsess over what they want! They chase what feels good! A creature like that… wouldn’t main a tedious role like tank!”

“—”

I was speechless. This guy was this headstrong?

“I’ll take down enemies with my own hands! I want to be the top damage dealer! Me over the team—that’s an online game addict!”

“Ugh… I’m angrier at myself for not having a comeback!”

And I couldn’t fight back. AYANE was shredded by his greatsword, swinging like a typhoon, helpless on a path to death. I stared at the perfectly chained skill combos.

“Kiyokawa! You’re missing something critical!”

“Missing—?”

“Killing intent!”

“Killing intent!”

“The absolute intent to crush your opponent… Kiyokawa, you just want to harass and watch them suffer, don’t you! You scheming witch!”

“Scheming witch!!”

That’s too harsh! My heart screamed as AYANE, launched into the air, took a direct greatsword swing and died. Defeated head-on, no tricks, I was stunned. I’d never lost like this. So quick… in an instant. Like being crushed by a top-tier pro.

The skill was so different from Kazu’s. I realized—Kazu fought for others, but Round Head fought for himself. That mindset shift made a massive difference.

As I grappled with the reality, his calm voice cut through. “…One win, one loss. Third match, let’s go.”

☆

The name Round Head has no meaning. I saw a bald man walking by my window and made the account. The name didn’t matter. Since I was four, gripping a mouse, I needed to escape reality, to vent the frustration building inside. The online game became that outlet.

I hopped between games, landing in Black Plains. Its freedom drew me in, including PK—player killing. You could hunt players in the fields. I became a player killer, venting real-life frustrations. I got taken down plenty but grew into a force, spawning a ‘Round Head Subjugation Team’ guild. Some messaged me, wanting to join out of admiration. I cut them all down, crushed the team.

It took over a year. Friendless, with nothing at home, I could stay glued to the PC 24/7. Few could match that. Time was my ultimate weapon, making me near-invincible. Opponents couldn’t keep up and left. Eventually, I was alone.

Beating random players felt empty, like a chore. Then it hit me—was I even enjoying Black Plains by just PKing? It was one feature, used to vent, not played for joy. So I decided to treat the game as another reality, not a tool for frustration.

With a fresh start, I created ‘Kazu.’ I played differently, making friends, joining a guild. Over time, many left for real-life priorities. I calmed down, left the guild, and helped newbies. It felt wasteful for people to quit before finding the fun. Some never gave it a chance. It was also atonement for my past, PKing to vent. That’s how I met Rin.

☆

The third match was another slaughter. I took minor hits but dominated the damage trade, controlling the flow. The heat of battle surged, a sadistic thrill swelling. Yes, this… this is what it means to crush an opponent.

“…There’s not even much to say. Total defeat.”

“It’s not over yet.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve only fought for ten minutes. The real fight starts now.”

“No, I… the skill gap is clear. I couldn’t do anything and lost twice. There’s no need to—”

“What are you saying, Kiyokawa? It’s just getting fun.”

“Ugh… ah…”

True victory means shattering your opponent’s spirit, making them never dream of a rematch, showing a gap beyond talent, delivering utter despair. Kiyokawa used that approach to beat me before—trapping me with frustrating tactics, baiting me into a straight fight, crushing me with raw skill. No excuses.

I won’t do that. Like a true online game addict, I’ll use my endless time as a weapon! “Come on, let’s go. The day’s not over!”

“…”

“Kiyokawa?”

“…Ku, kuhahahaha!”

“What’s wrong?”

Did the defeat break her? A mental collapse?

“You’ve shown your true colors, Kazuto-senpai! Yes! That’s the spirit! Maybe I’ve been craving a rival like you! The man Rinka-senpai acknowledges… fuh! What’s this thrill? I’m losing, yet… it’s not bad—”

A sudden shift. The first time I heard Kiyokawa’s defiant laugh. Yes, that’s it. That’s the joy of online games—losing yourself in it, burning with passion. Win or lose, you’re hooked because it’s fun.

Kiyokawa… you’ve finally stepped into the true abyss of online games.

I swallowed the urge to call her a masochist for awakening through loss. “Kiyokawa! I’ll keep you here as long as it takes!”

“Yes! I’ll stay, all night… no, until morning!”

“Fine! Tomorrow’s Monday, and we’ve got school!”

“Who cares about school! Here I come, Kazuto-senpai!”

“Bring it!”

“Aaaaaaah!!”

“Oooooh—”

“…Too loud.”

A sharp whack on my head doused my excitement. I turned to see Risuzu, eyebrows raised, glaring with furious eyes. I’d never seen my sister this angry.

“Fuhahaha! I heard that! So lame, Kazuto-senpai! Getting scolded by family—”

“Shut up, Ayane! Do you know what time it is?!”

“Ah—Mama! Stop! Don’t pull the plug! Nooo!!”

Chaos erupted on her end, a whirlwind of shouts and protests. I yanked off my headset, the clamor still echoing in my ears, and turned to face Risuzu.

“…Onii, you’re too loud,” she said, her voice calm but pointed.

“Sorry… I got carried away.”

“It’s late. Keep it down, or you’ll disturb the neighbors.”

“Yes…” I mumbled, chastened.

“Next time you’re loud, no gaming at night.”

“…I’ll be careful.”

A proper scolding from Risuzu, of all people. Embarrassment and shock churned in my chest as I watched her walk away, my head bowed. The thrill of the game had fizzled out entirely. With a sigh, I slipped the headset back on.

“Uh… Kiyokawa?”

“Yes…” Her voice was as deflated as mine, tinged with the same weary awkwardness.

Silence hung between us, heavy and uncomfortable, neither of us quite sure what to say.

“Uh… um…”

“Mm…”

“…”

“…”

“So, uh, let’s call it for now… Talk again later?”

“Y-Yes, let’s do that.” Her words came softly, almost hesitant. “We’ll call it a day and talk properly another time.”

“Alright… good work.”

“Ah, yes, good work.”

We logged out in unison, the connection severed with a quiet click. I powered down the PC and leaned back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“…”

…

…

“Mm… yeah, time to sleep.”