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Eighteen.
A flash of deja vu. False remembers the tension in the Decision Dome in the last few games— MCC9 when her team was begging for anything but Survival Games, teams with Pete when they were desperately hoping for Build Mart— and now, with a strange twist of fate, the Aqua Axolotls actually want Survival Games. Riding off the high of dominating Grid Runners, Aqua throws their eggs.
It ties.
It’s TGTTOS.
Huh.
“Well,” Dave says, “it’s alright. Focus on the team bonuses.”
False hangs onto his words. That’s right. She knows she doesn’t like this game, but she has to finish. For her team. For the Aqua Axolotls.
Seventeen.
There are new maps. People are cautious, bumping into each other, following both teammates and opponents, placing coloured blocks to create a rainbow bridge. They jump. They parkour. They get to the other side.
False grits her teeth. She doesn’t want to get left behind.
Sixteen.
Inexplicably, she’s reminded of Ren.
She doesn’t remember when they last teamed, she just knows they teamed together a lot. The vibes were always good. They’ve been with each other for so long. He knows TGTTOS is one of her least favourite games. Vaguely, she has a memory of them discussing Parkour Tag in the break. And then they were immediately distracted by a gingerbread house. Or something.
It's nice playing with Ren. She misses him, a little bit.
Fifteen.
Her team is solid. False likes them a lot. They talk, they communicate, and H and Dave smoothly switch between being leaders. Maybe it takes a bit of yelling, but they did end up taking notice of the border in Sky Battle (which False noticed from the beginning).
It’s comforting. They’re like a safety net. No one dominates the team. And as False jumps, her team’s voices are calling out, encouraging her.
She follows.
Fourteen.
MCC9’s Blue Bats is when False and Ren led the hermits to cross over to the other side.
They were finally treated as players that have the potential to be competitive. It was a game changer. The hermits weren’t nerfs, free points, easy kills, whatever— they were champions. They could win.
(She jumps.)
They could do it.
(She falls.)
They could do it.
(She jumps again, a little more resolutely.)
They can do it.
Thirteen.
Cub is actually great at shooting.
It’s a thing she vaguely knows, but doesn’t really pay much attention to in Hermitcraft because their minigames are for fun and everyone operates on gentleman's rules anyway. That’s what they’re used to, and that’s what their audience is used to.
Cub is great at shooting. She remembers standing with him in MCC10, MCC20, and despite the tension and pressure, she suddenly feels a little less alone.
That’s right, False reminds herself. You’re not alone.
And then she thinks of MCC10, Jimmy watching his friends on both teams, genuinely excited and happy for everyone. He meets her eyes when her team wins. He’s smiling. His mouth opens, then he shuts it.
Now Jimmy in the present is next to her, and they’re both in TGTTOS. False feels a strange bubble of laughter rise up inside her.
That’s right. They are never alone.
Twelve.
Her heart is hammering in her chest. Something’s bubbling up inside her.
It’s just nerves. Stress. Frustration.
It’s not her fault. Everyone goes through this.
It’s not her fault.
Eleven.
Dave is very encouraging. Maybe it’s not supposed to be a surprise, but even with HBomb on the team, Dave still stands out with his words and reassurances.
It’ll be okay.
It’ll be okay.
It’ll be okay.
They’re totally not fighting to get second. They’re totally not Dodgebolt contenders. They’re totally not depending on their performance for this game.
It’ll be okay.
Ten.
False thinks about the narrative.
H’s prophecy. Blue Bats. Orange Ocelots. Orange Ocelots again. Winning. Losing. Getting first. Getting second.
Dave hasn’t won since MCC1.
HBomb has his Aqua blessing.
Cub— they’re MCC buddies. They lost in MCC20. Won in coins though.
And False herself.
The failed 1v3s. False Supremacy. The ace. First hermit to win along with Ren. She has three wins. The first back-to-back winner (don’t you forget it!) and she won both MCCs in the same month.
False really wants to focus on that, but the stress is gobbling her up like a void and she’s strained.
She tries to hold on.
Nine.
Time is ticking. Her heart rate quickens. People are screaming. Cheering. Shouting. Laughing. And laughing.
She thinks someone is calling her name.
Eight.
One block. Then another. Fall down. Get up. Jump. Run. Fight.
The countdown beeps.
She has to try.
Seven.
Okay, maybe it’s not worth trying—
but she forcefully pushes those thoughts away.
What the hell? She’s False. She’s not giving up or anything stupid like that.
Not when they’re so close.
Not when she believes in her team.
Not when she believes in herself.
Six.
HBomb is shouting. False feels strangely comforted.
Five.
Ouch.
Actually, no. It doesn’t hurt anymore.
Four.
It’s strange, isn’t it? Why is this lasting so long?
It’s just some coins. It’s just for fun.
It’s just for fun.
(False remembers her MCC placement bingo with Ren. Season 1 was something else— magical, whimsical, carefree, sincere.)
It’s just for fun.
(Silly jokes, Mint Millennials, whatever that happened in MCC14, surprise clutches in Battle Box, Grian and Build Mart, cheering for her friends, cheering and cheering.)
It’s just for fun.
…Is it her problem then if she finds it less fun, for just a few seconds?
Three.
Okay. She can do this.
Two.
Or maybe not.
One.
Suddenly she sees herself— her past self, in blue and orange and yellow and aqua outfits, waiting for her current self to pounce, maim, and kill.
They laid the foundation, her past selves. She learned from them. And her friends too, her many friends who’ve been with her for her journey. She transforms her mistakes and failures into motivation. She builds. She creates. She takes things and tinkers them and makes them better. It’s what she does.
And now False emerges, shiny and strong and more confident than ever.
Zero.
False is the last one standing. She stands in a wasteland, in the badlands, full of walls and fences, but for some it was paradise.
It’s her against everyone else.
There’s a cool fire burning inside her. It powers her through. She stands, stoic and dignified despite all the sweat and her hair flying everywhere.
Her team gets to Dodgebolt.
Because, of course, they do.
Her eyes are as sharp as daggers. Her blood is thrumming in her ears. She’s alert. She’s a fighter. She’s a winner.
They win the first two rounds, easily passing arrows between them. Cub is confident, and she glances at him, impressed. Once upon a time, she might feel scared if it’s only her and Cub left on the field, but now, it doesn’t bother her.
Lots of things don’t bother her now.
Cub is calm, nonchalant, funny, and he makes it look easy. He truly is a fantastic partner. They shoot. They win.
And then suddenly False is the last one standing. She stands in a wasteland, in one half of an empty court. She raises her arm. The bow feels strangely light. The cool fire within her continues to burn. It soothes and lights up her nerves at the same time, covering her with a haze of adrenaline and determination.
She’s got this.
The Dodgebolt music pulses. Her heart rate quickens. People are screaming. Cheering. Shouting. Laughing. And laughing.
She thinks someone is calling her name.
H is saying something, because he always does. He’s the king of Dodgebolt. And False remembers, a flash of deja vu, a distant memory— so long ago, when the prophecy hadn’t happened yet, when she was the only one left in her first round of Dodgebolt ever, and H was coaching her, back when H believed in her more than she believed herself—
But it’s different now. She’s competed with H so many times. They know each other. It’s like clockwork.
And False knows H is helpful. He’s a chill leader. That’s why she likes teaming with him.
But she knows herself better now. She knows and trusts herself better than he does.
“Don’t talk to me,” False says.
She’s a little surprised by how cool her tone is. It’s not supposed to be, she’s just tense, but H immediately says “okay” and she can hear the smile in his voice.
“I’ve never doubted you even for a second,” Dave’s steady voice comes.
The fire continues to burn. False shoots. Even when she misses, the flames inside her don’t flicker out even for a second.
She’s got this.
False feels bad for Gee, her opponent. They’re both shooting and dodging for their lives and everyone’s watching them. They’re both stressed and tense. It’s an amazing fight, but it’s almost unbearable.
But only one can win.
And False does exactly that.
The world explodes. Aqua confetti descends from the skies. Aqua Axolotls take home the victory. People are screaming and crying and whooping in sheer joy.
They won.
They actually won!
Once again, False is the last one standing, a halo of aqua glowing around her name. She raises her arm in victory. And then she’s teleported on stage, gold crowns on their heads, and the team embraces each other.
An ace. A 1v3. First back-to-back winner. These are her achievements.
She turns and she thinks she sees her past selves again— a small figure in a blue jacket, yellow outfit, alone in the Dodgebolt field, trying to aim, trying to survive, but alas. But their efforts weren’t in vain— after all, they led her to where she is now. With her team by her side, she’s even more stabilised. Nothing and no one can take her down.
With a triumphant flutter of her heart, False grins and thinks,
“I finally did it.”