When the simulation ended, the two boys quickly slipped away, managing to escape unnoticed. Incredible—despite all the tight security, two fifteen-year-olds had just hacked reality.
A moment of silence followed as they sat on a park bench.
"We haven’t signed up yet," Kiriya said.
"Oh, right—let’s go." Ren stood up, Kiriya following.
They made their way quickly to the registration tent, still fueled by the adrenaline from what they had just witnessed. On the way, they noticed a man standing alone by the tournament poster, wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt. Sunglasses sat low on his nose, and he looked exhausted, but oddly relaxed.
Fujisawa Naru let out a small sigh, flicking the poster between his fingers like he was weighing it. "The prize money’s decent... should cover dinner," he muttered. His stomach grumbled loudly. "David, you flake... your wire transfer’s late again. Unbelievable. I used to be PMC, now I’m signing up for some kid’s airsoft tournament."
He glanced at the sign-up tent and spotted Ren and Kiriya chatting with the staff. "Kids? Seriously?" he grumbled, but behind the annoyance in his voice, he stepped forward anyway. Pride didn’t matter when your wallet was empty. "Alright... time to crush a few teenage egos for a hot bowl of ramen."
"What!?" all three said in unison as they heard the registration requirement.
"Sorry, but to participate, you need a team of at least three members," the staff explained.
Ren glanced at Kiriya, who was flipping the poster over.
"Oh... yeah, it’s written right here in the fine print," Kiriya admitted, scratching his head.
Ren was about to respond when they heard a frustrated yell from a man in a ridiculous floral shirt.
"Come on! Can’t you make an exception?" the man barked.
"Sorry, but that’s the rule... Also, there’s a surprise element during the tournament," the staff replied calmly.
"Urgh... there goes my dinner money!" the man groaned.
Ren turned toward him. "Um... if you don’t mind, you could join our team?"
**Fujisawa looked up sharply, his sunglasses slipping a little down his nose. He stared at Ren with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "Huh? You want me on your team?"
Ren nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. We can’t enter without a third, and... neither can you."
Kiriya leaned toward Ren, whispering, "Are you sure this is a good idea? Look at the guy..."
Ren shot him a quick side glance. "He looks hungry. That means he’ll take it seriously." Then, to Fujisawa, "So, what do you say?"
Fujisawa paused. These kids looked young, sure—but the way this one talked... too calm. Too sharp. Then his stomach rumbled again.
"...Fine. Who am I to say no to a ticket to dinner?" he muttered, shaking Ren’s hand. "Fujisawa. Call me Fuji."
"We’re Ren and Kiriya," Ren said with a smile. "Welcome to the team."
The staff nodded as the trio returned to the registration table. "Full team? Great. You’re Team Seventeen. Tournament starts in two hours. Use the time to brief and get some practice in."
As they walked off, Fujisawa raised an eyebrow. "By the way—you two know how to shoot, right?"
Kiriya tilted his head innocently. "Nope. This is our first time."
Fujisawa dragged a hand down his face like he was resisting the urge to scream. He stared at the two boys—one grinning like it was summer camp, the other still figuring out which way the gun barrel pointed.
"You’re telling me... this is your first airsoft match?" he asked again, just in case hunger was messing with his head.
Kiriya nodded sincerely, completely unaware of the desperation in Fujisawa’s tone. "Yup! First ever. But it seems fun!"
Ren only grinned, strapping on his elbow guards. "Don’t worry. I researched all the basics last night. Shooting angles, how to handle recoil, and... minimal bleeding tactics."
Fujisawa stared. "You... studied airsoft like it was real military operations?"
Ren gave a calm nod. "Of course. This isn’t just a game—it’s a field test for real-world tactical application. I even read debriefs from veterans on Reddit and survival forums."
Fujisawa bent slightly forward, fingers steepled like a strategist. His demeanor shifted—no longer the ramen-deprived wanderer in a floral shirt, but a man who had once survived far harsher arenas. Ren and Kiriya stood quiet, watching him with a blend of curiosity and respect.
"If we want to win—and more importantly, if I want a hot dinner tonight," Fujisawa said, pointing to the dirt beneath them, "then we can’t be just a random team. We need to move as one."
He glanced around the training area, eyeing the other participants—most were adult weekend warriors in semi-military outfits, replica helmets, and high-end airsoft rifles. "Listen, most of them? They’re geared up, but that doesn’t mean they know how to use any of it."
Ren nodded, absorbing every word. Kiriya remained tense, but focused.
"But..." Fujisawa continued, lowering his voice. "The organizer mentioned a ’surprise.’ That bothers me. There’s a chance they planted some actual military folks in this for drama—or maybe a few retired vets. Just to spice things up. That means we’re not just facing weekend hobbyists. We’re facing real experience."
Ren exchanged a look with Kiriya, then turned back. "So, what’s your plan?"
Fujisawa’s gaze sharpened. "Triangle formation. I’ll take point—close range and bait. Kiriya’s behind me, support and distraction if I take heat. Ren... you’re flanker. Fast, flexible. Secure the sides. Eyes open. Watch for traps. We fight with mobility and zone control. Don’t talk. Just follow my signals."
Kiriya swallowed. "You’re serious?"
Fujisawa’s slight smirk was all the answer they needed. "Dead serious."
Both boys nodded, eyes now filled with determination. But there was still one thing that couldn’t be ignored.
"Alright, let’s brief—" Fujisawa stopped mid-sentence as his stomach growled so loud it echoed. Kiriya and Ren stared. The mood cracked.
"Sorry..." he muttered, tugging awkwardly at his shirt collar. "I haven’t eaten all day..."
Ren sighed. He pulled out his black backpack, unzipped a side pocket, and produced a sandwich—egg and veggie, carefully wrapped. He handed it to Fujisawa with a calm, almost teacherly expression.
"Here," Ren said gently. "You’ll need that before the match."
Fujisawa raised his eyebrows—surprised, but grateful. "Thanks... seriously." He took a bite slowly, relief washing over his face. Kiriya chuckled and grabbed a sandwich for himself.
Once the team assignments were finalized and the announcements made, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The training grounds had transformed into the tournament arena—a tall, hollow fifteen-story building with no windows or furniture, just bare concrete floors and metal stairwells. The air echoed with commands and footsteps as teams were ushered in one by one.
Each group was assigned a random entry point—some near an elevator corridor, others tucked into a corner pantry on the third floor. Ren, Kiriya, and Fujisawa exchanged glances, their breaths shallow but focused. The adrenaline in their bones was undeniable.
"Listen," Fujisawa whispered, clenching a fist, "once that elevator door opens, we move fast. Kiriya, behind me, guard the flank. Ren, you cover the right corner—don’t let anyone sneak up on us."
Ren nodded, eyes already locked in. Kiriya swallowed hard but drew a deep breath and replied, "Ready."
The elevator doors creaked open—the tournament had begun.
As soon as the doors slid apart, Fujisawa burst forward, crouched low like a shadow. Ren followed to the right, eyes sharp, and Kiriya kept the rear, holding his breath.
The first team they encountered wasn’t ready. Three adults were laughing, still figuring out their formation near the stairwell on the fourth floor. Without a sound, Fujisawa gave the signal—three fingers, then one swift motion. Ren aimed right, Kiriya left, and Fujisawa surged straight ahead.
Tic-tic-tic. The infrared sensors flashed red. All three opponents were eliminated before they could even react. They stood there stunned, frozen, as the referee’s voice came through the ceiling speakers.
"Team Seventeen, clean elimination, three points."
They kept moving. On the seventh floor, Fujisawa picked up hurried footsteps. They quickly ducked behind a divider. Two seconds later, two adult participants passed right by—unaware. Tic. Tic. Two precise shots from Ren.
"Five points total," Fujisawa muttered with a grin. "Smart kids."
Team Seventeen moved like ghosts. One by one, opposing teams were eliminated with silent precision.
But on the ninth floor, the tone changed. As they pushed open the stairwell door, a sharp click rang out—Kiriya had triggered a laser tripwire.
"Cover!" Fujisawa shouted.
A hail of fire erupted down the corridor. They dove for cover behind concrete pillars. The opposing team was ready—five adults in a spread-out formation: two on the left, two on the right, and one sniper dead center.
Ren activated his tactical vision mode—his helmet overlay tracing heat signatures through the faint dust in the air. "Three ahead—two flanking left!"
"Ren, take the right! Kiriya, left!" Fujisawa barked as he dove into the hallway, drawing fire.
In those tense seconds, Ren slid out and tagged both enemies on the right—tic-tic—clean hits. Kiriya, shaken but determined, fired and took down one flanker on the left.
The sniper nearly locked onto Fujisawa, but the man rolled to the floor, dodging low and returning fire straight to the sniper’s helmet—perfect hit.