The Game Tournament

The launch of the new game had taken the Morning Wood Metropolis by storm, and it should have been a cause for celebration among both mortals and gods. Yet here was Maya, watching as a throng of players crowded the counter, deep in thought.

A large group of players, their faces painted with a mix of rage, frustration, and joy—creating a strange emotional pie chart that perfectly captured the concept of pleasure through pain.

Whenever passersby asked how the new game was, these players would enthusiastically shout about how fun it was. But in the next breath, their faces would twist with anger as they loudly complained about the game's issues.

At the front of the crowd stood the blond boy in the black hat, the God of Death himself, holding a massive stack of letters. He handed them all over to Maya, and behind him was the mob of players here to voice their complaints.

With a solemn expression, the God of Death addressed Maya respectfully, "Honorable Miss Maya, please make sure to deliver these letters to the God of Fiction. We, the players, have come to a unanimous conclusion that the God of Pain is far too overpowered. We demand that he either be banned or nerfed as soon as possible."

If they didn't nerf him, the game would be unplayable.

The God of Death even considered confronting the God of Pain in real life if they didn't fix this. Sure, he couldn't beat him in-game, but in reality? That was a different story.

Other players chimed in from the back. They'd been in countless matches, but ever since that kobold figured out that the God of Pain was the only character who could trigger invincibility, the budding battle scene had turned into an all-out invincibility fest.

Was the God of Pain strong? Absolutely.

Two seconds of invincibility, immune to all control, letting him catch opponents off guard and kick them into the corner. From there, it was endless crouching kicks in the corner, leaving the opponent with zero gameplay experience.

It was so painful to play that many players had started adopting an unspoken rule: if you picked the God of Pain, you had to declare it in advance, or you'd immediately get cursed out as an invincibility abuser.

So, aside from the kobold player, everyone else was really annoyed by the problem.

"Do you know why kobolds are kobolds?" someone began, accusing the kobold player of toxic behavior, which had brought everyone so much pain, like carrying a sack of rice up ten flights of stairs.

The thing was, kobolds didn't care about insults—because they were literal dogs. Being called an invincibility dog wasn't offensive to them. In fact, they thought it sounded badass.

The kobold's faith in the God of Pain only grew.

Maya could only accept the pile of complaint letters, but for every player who wanted the overpowered character nerfed, there were also those who loved and defended it.

Aside from the kobold who was outside enjoying endless PK battles, a group of strange individuals dressed in linen, covered in bandages, nails, and hammers, stormed into the tavern.

"We oppose the nerf!"

The leader raised his arm, revealing an tattoo with the insignia of the Church of Pain.

The other patrons were taken aback at the sight. Most had no idea that these church workers even played games, let alone came to taverns to do it.

"What's wrong with the God of Pain being strong? You casuals are just too weak! The God of Pain was once our only beacon of light. Without him, the world is nothing but a pitch-black hell."

"If they nerf him, the world will be reduced to ashes, with no hope left. I've traveled the world under his name, but all I see reinforces this truth. Even with the power to remove pain, there's nothing—nothing but hell."

"We can't allow a nerf."

The Church of Pain members began to raise a ruckus, adamantly opposing the unreasonable demands of these players. "Why can't our god be strong? Are you jealous? Just get good. If you can't handle losing, maybe you shouldn't be playing."

Thus, three factions emerged: the players pushing for a nerf, the players defending the God of Pain, and the players who were just in it for the thrill, not caring about the balance. They were so loud that they were disrupting Maya's business, so she eventually kicked them all out.

Still, she offered a solution.

"This Saturday evening, there will be an online promotional event, and on Sunday, a new batch of arcade machines will be released. The event on Sunday will be completely free to play, so why don't you all settle this with a tournament?" Maya proposed.

"I'll put together a sign-up sheet. Anyone who wants to participate, come find me by midnight tonight. I'll also contact the God of Fiction to oversee the tournament, ensuring fairness. The winning side can set a condition, like nerfing characters or adding new ones. The exact details will be announced during Saturday's promo event. How does that sound?"

After some brief consideration, players from both sides nodded in agreement. Several people were already eager to sign up. Maya had the tavern staff bring paper and pens, noting down each person's name.

They also discussed training times. The arcade machines outside weren't going anywhere, but if they paid enough, they could rent them for practice sessions.

Naturally, the God of Death wasn't short on cash. He generously rented five arcade machines on the spot. Not to be outdone, the Church of Pain also rented five.

"You're all going down!" The priests from the Church of Pain, having paid up, started talking trash. "No one knows the God of Pain better than we do. You casuals can train all you want, but in the end, you'll still be crying home to your mothers."

"Feel the pain!"

The God of Death scoffed, a mocking grin on his face. "We'll win. You're the one who'll be cryi—" He didn't even get to finish before several players yanked him back and slapped a hand over his mouth.

After days of playing, everyone knew that this well-dressed, rich young man was actually a massive jinx. If he said they'd win, it was guaranteed they'd lose. There was no way they could let him finish that sentence, or defeat was certain.

The players on both sides quickly dispersed, returning to plan their strategies. News of the upcoming tournament spread like wildfire among the casual players, and excitement for Sunday's event at the Fictional Church began to ripple through the other regions.

———

[The Divine Realm of Pain]

As usual, the God of Pain was lying on the floor of his divine realm, muttering nonsense like, "It hurts, it hurts so much." But today, something felt different. His body twitched, and he suddenly sat up, ramrod straight.

A massive surge of pain-fueled faith was pouring into him, and for the second time, it came from an unknown source.

"What's going on? Who's trying to make me feel this much pain?"