The echoes of KyoZ3ro's FNCS dominance hadn't faded. In fact, they'd only grown louder. Every tweet, every TikTok, every clipped reaction added weight to the legend. With his voice finally revealed and his face now public, the mystery had peeled back just enough to feed the fire, not extinguish it.
And the next FNCS loomed like a challenge from the gods themselves.
Across the Fortnite world, content creators, analysts, and fans had one question on their lips:
> "Can KyoZ3ro do it again?"
Hype Before the Storm
Fortnite's official X account dropped a teaser:
> "The minds have evolved. The storm's changed. Are you ready for FNCS?"
The 10-second teaser showed silhouettes of Kyo and Clix standing back-to-back on a shattered Battle Bus, lightning crashing behind them.
Hashtags like #FNCSReckoning, #KyoClix, and #KyoSweep trended globally.
Fan art poured in: stylized posters of Kyo with glowing red overlays, animated edits of his one-pumps, even someone who rendered Horikita sitting beside him during practice streams—an acknowledgment of the girl who now stood behind the scenes of his operation.
Horikita Moves In
It hadn't been a dramatic decision.
She showed up one morning with a suitcase in hand and that usual calm, sharp expression.
> "I can't focus with idiots around me. Your place is quiet. I'm staying."
Kyo didn't argue. He simply slid a second keycard across the table.
Since then, Horikita had taken quiet control of the chaos that used to dominate Kyo's training life.
She organized his scrim blocks, filtered pointless sponsor emails, and made sure he ate actual food instead of just drinking protein shakes and caffeine.
Even Clix noticed.
> "Bro, ever since your girl moved in, you stopped forgetting what day it is."
> "She's not my girl," Kyo replied, deadpan.
> "Whatever, man. Just don't lose her. She scares me in a weirdly hot way."
Horikita, sitting nearby with her tablet, didn't look up.
> "That's because you have poor discipline and low standards."
Clix choked on his Red Bull.
The Training War Room
Their living room had transformed into a war room.
Two dual-PC setups. Triple monitors. VODs on loop. A big whiteboard tracked rotation timing, surge thresholds, mid-game decision metrics. Horikita even started color-coding zones by drop difficulty.
Kyo and Clix ran mock scenarios. They simulated endgames with other duos. Sometimes they streamed it. Sometimes they didn't.
But every moment was calculated.
Horikita set alarms for their breaks. She monitored chat sometimes. She even cut off the stream once when she noticed Kyo zoning out from fatigue.
> "Your viewers will understand," she said. "They care because you're a player. Not a machine."
The Outside World Reacts
Pro coaches started referencing "The Kyo Method."
A YouTube analyst broke down 14 clips of his IGL calls, calling him "the Hikaru Nakamura of Fortnite."
FaZe Bizzle tweeted:
> "The level of control this dude has over space and time mid-match is f***ing scary."
Even Fortnite devs teased updates to Storm Surge based on Kyo's gameplay tendencies—he'd exploited mechanics so cleanly that they were considering soft patches.
And of course, the fans were everywhere.
Fan accounts re-shared every Kyo + Clix clip like gospel. Someone made a KyoZ3ro AI voice bot. Others theorized whether Horikita would debut in a mixed duo cup.
> "Bro imagine HorikitaXKyo duo cup, calm queen and cold god?"
A Quiet Morning
One day, as morning sun filled their apartment, Kyo sat at his desk, silent, eyes scanning drop patterns. Clix was on Discord, rambling about someone rage-quitting a Zone Wars session.
Horikita stepped into view with a mug of coffee and nudged Kyo's arm.
> "Drink this. And you have to eat in 20 minutes."
Kyo didn't look away from the screen but took the mug without hesitation.
Clix, still in mid-rant, paused.
> "Yo, Horikita, you sure you're not secretly his coach?"
She raised an eyebrow.
> "He doesn't need a coach. Just someone to make sure he doesn't self-destruct."
Clix grinned.
> "Well... thanks for keeping the robot running."
Building the Dynasty
As the FNCS countdown ticked closer, scrims grew tighter.
Kyo and Clix developed a rhythm no one could match. Clix brought the raw fire. Kyo brought the plan. And Horikita kept the engine fed, rested, and focused.
Stream numbers climbed. Viewers tuned in not just for gameplay, but to see flashes of their quiet synergy—the nods, the unspoken switches, even the way Horikita occasionally appeared on camera to drag Kyo out of his seat.
It was no longer just about being dominant. It was about building a dynasty.
End of Chapter 10