Chapter 18
“Uh-oh,” Marcus said. “Somebody blabbed.” He made a tossing motion, and a news article flew up to join the giant windows all around.
“Evans,” Chloe said as the headline washed over her. She was going to be in so much trouble with Norman. “But I don’t get it. It says Norman authorized it.”
“That’s technically correct,” the System said. “I’ve been in communication with Dr. Norman for the past half hour, showing him the same things I’m showing you. I’ve assured him that I’m in no danger and that I can locate Kleio using only my user privileges. He has authorized me to continue.”
“Oh, thank god!” Chloe said.
“But how did the press get the story?” Marcus said.
“Dr. Norman instructed me to leak the news, as if from an anonymous but highly placed source, as you see it written.”
Marcus said, “Norman leaked it? Why?”
“He wants credit,” Grandma said with a scowl. “This way he can say it was his action that saved Kleio.”
“Again, he is technically correct,” the System said, “since he has top status in my Overchecks. He could have overruled you with a single, direct command to me to stop.”
Chloe didn’t care. Let Norman have the credit if he wanted it.
All this time, in the back of her head, she’d been carrying the knowledge that Evans could blow everything to Norman at any moment.
It was okay now. And if Norman wanted credit, he must be certain there would be credit to be had—that Kleio would be saved.
In a way, this was the promise he’d refused to give.
“He could have stayed quiet, too, but he didn’t,” Grandma said, her scowl deepening. “It’s an egregious breach of protocol to divulge a secret counterterror operation while it’s still in progress.”
Chloe’s shoulders tightened, and it wasn’t until Marcus’s hand fell lightly on her knee that she realized her legs were jittering up and down.
His touch wasn’t meant to prevent that motion but to reassure her, of his presence if nothing else.
She put her hand over his. Under their clasped fingers, her knee kept jittering.
On the tournament stream, floating in its thirty-foot-high window beyond the System, the view had bifurcated.
Trophy’s character stood in an equipment selection screen, flickering as new armor pieces and equipment were added.
In an inset in the corner of the window, Trophy himself leaned forward, eyes darting, controller gripped tight, frowning in concentration.
On the other half of the window, the System’s white-haired character stood in her own equipment selection screen, but her outfit was still the jeans and tank top she’d started in, and there was no inset of a player’s face.
A commentator said, “For those just joining, the next round is between Trophy and a newcomer who goes by Finality. We’re moments from the start of the final round, and Trophy is doing his usual thing, changing into the armor he looted from his last victim, or as much of it as he can since the last dude was a Stygian Necromancer and there’s not a lot of compatibility with Trophy’s Chosen One class. ”
The other commentator chimed in, “That’s why they call him Trophy.
He told us before the tournament it’s not about showing off, but so no one can accuse him of being a pay-to-win—he’s all skill, baby.
Meanwhile, Finality is just sitting there.
But Finality managed to get this far without changing their loadout, so whatever stats that tank top has must be pretty good! ”
“I think everyone’s waiting to see if Trophy ends up in that tank top,” the first commentator said.
“Is he moving?” Grandma said.
“Who?” Chloe asked, but another window opened next to the stream, showing a public post on a random teenage boy’s MeNet feed. It was a photo of a jet cab sitting on a parking pad, engines steaming, passenger door open. Orange text across the photo read: K fam what celeb lives in my apt
“Well, he left the cab, at least,” Grandma said.
The image zoomed in on the dark window of the open cab door, then color corrected, bringing the reflection into focus.
Chloe could see the back of a young man in a stylish suit as he stood at the door of a ground-floor apartment, holding a paper shopping bag toward a young blond woman in the doorway: Nesta.
Her face was frozen in surprise and delight.
“This picture’s a few minutes old,” the System said. She brought Nesta’s MeNet feed to the front again. “Any second now . . .” As if on cue, a photo appeared of Nesta posing in a perfect duplicate of the outfit Kleio was wearing. The text read: All the armor I need. #Tyche
“Nice caption,” Grandma said.
“I thought it would increase the notoriety of the post,” the System said.
“Wait, Finality just changed their loadout!” one of the commentators said. On the tournament stream, the System’s avatar was now wearing an outfit identical to Nesta’s—and Kleio’s—real-life clothes, right down to the peach handbag.
“Let’s hope it brings them luck,” the other commentator said, “because the match is starting in five, four, three . . . and off they go! Finality comes out strong with a magical—uh, purse, but Trophy has no trouble countering. Finality dodges the counter, and now they’re both spamming elementals and going airborne.
Look at the control they have of those updrafts!
This could finally be a challenge for Trophy. ”
“I’d have preferred if Nesta posted a little earlier,” the System said to Chloe, “but this will be good enough.”
Chloe glanced at her. It was strange to think that the serene little girl making eye contact and speaking so calmly was also controlling the whirling, spinning blur of a character on-screen.
Chloe could barely follow the action, even as an observer.
Magical effects flew. The earth shook. Both characters seemed to be moving at half the speed of sound.
And then the System’s character slammed face-first into the dirt, ragdolled into the air, and landed in a limp sprawl on the ground. The camera zoomed in on Trophy’s character as it struck a noble pose under the word Victor!
Disbelief washed over Chloe. “You lost!”
The System gave her another eye-crinkling smile. “That was not the game I’m playing to win. Watch.”
Trophy’s character stood over her defeated character.
In a blink, her character’s sprawled body was wearing only underwear.
A moment later, the equipment selection screen came up, and Trophy opened his inventory and chose an item labeled “TycheTogs.” His character was instantly wearing the outfit and looking very like Nesta with her blond hair.
“And there it is!” a commentator said. “Looks good on him, doesn’t it?”
“Looks a little ordinary,” the other said dubiously.
“Wait, it is ordinary!” the first said. “Look at the stats! It’s totally stock! Purely cosmetic!”
In the corner insert, Trophy was sitting in slack-limbed stillness, staring at the equipment screen.
“What’s he gonna do?” the second commentator asked.
“His whole thing is using other people’s gear to win.
But that usually means he upgrades his gear as he climbs the tournament ladder, and by the time he hits the finals, he’s using top-ranked kit from some other finalist. He’s never had to go into a final round with stock gear! ”
“What I want to know is what Finality was doing in the finals in stock gear,” the first commentator said.
“Wait, wait,” the other said, wicked delight in her voice, “do you think it was a setup? Remember, Finality switched outfits right before fighting Trophy. Maybe they wanted Trophy to go into the finals at a disadvantage. They were playing a long game. They knew they couldn’t beat Trophy but wanted to make sure Trophy’d lose the next match. ”
“What part of your long game is this?” Marcus said to the System. He nodded toward Trophy, who was biting his lip.
“I’ve analyzed his MeNet posts, game streams, and play history,” the System said.
“He takes pride in playing in a way he calls ‘fair.’ He’s convinced himself that this is the noble way to play and that he is the only fully skill-based player in the game.
He will choose to lose this tournament rather than contradict his own self-definition. ”
On the stream, Trophy pushed the Ready button, while the commentators roared in shock.
“Look at the viewer chat,” Grandma said.
The System obediently brought the chat window forward and enlarged several messages.
The first was a screenshot of Nesta’s photo in the outfit, complete with the slogan All the armor I need.
The chat read, Yoooo this chick already throwing shade at Trophy.
The other chats the System highlighted read:
This was posted ten minutes ago!
OMG look at the time stamp. She posted this before Finality even changed into #theoutfit.
How Did She Know!!!!!??????
Is she Finality? #theoutfit
No way. But she knows Finality. Obviously. #theoutfit
So some nobody influencer is over here sabotaging Trophy? Epic. #theoutfit
On the stream, Trophy was on the defensive against a heavily armored knight, while the commentators screamed.
“This was the plan?” Chloe said as Trophy’s character failed to block the knight’s attack and was smashed, lifeless, into the dirt. “I thought you were promising to get the girl together with the gamer.”
“I only promised to get her noticed,” the System said.
“Thirty million viewers and a controversy,” Marcus said, nodding slowly. “That would do it.”
“Now we wait,” Grandma said.
“How long?” Chloe said.