Live at WCK (1)
"Hurry up, come on!"
"Why so early in the morning..."
"You've gotta join the events too!"
"Events? Can't we just watch the matches?"
"Shut up and change your clothes already!"
"Yes, ma'am."
I'd been dragged out of the house by my sister at 9 a.m. thanks to her forceful kidnapping. The tournament didn't even start until 5 p.m., but she was already raring to go. Sure, the event booths were a convenient excuse, but wasn't the main point just watching the tournament? My sister had clearly lost all sense of time. And honestly, how amazing could a game tournament's events really be?
That was my idiotic judgment just two hours ago.
To be frank, it was insane. Insane in every way.
Tents lined the streets, packed with booth after booth. I'd figured the venue would be big since they were using part of COEX, but I never imagined it'd take over the entire front plaza. I thought there'd be maybe three or four event booths at most, but reality laughed in the face of my expectations.
My sister hauled me from one booth to the next.
"Let's try that one! That one!"
The first booth we hit was some computer peripherals company—or so I thought. (I later learned it was a pretty well-known gaming gear brand.) There was a bin stuffed with raffle tickets: third prize a mouse, second a keyboard, first an office chair. I didn't care much, but that first-prize chair looked pretty tempting.
"Welcome! This is the Gennex booth! Pull a ticket before you go!"
The booth staff's cheerful voice rang out. My sister greeted them politely, then approached the bin with a super serious face.
"What do you want?"
"Just messing around. If I win, great."
Despite her casual words—like winning would be nice but whatever—she took a deep breath and stared at the bin. Then she reached in and pulled out a ticket.
She unfolded it slowly, like it was some priceless artifact.
And of course, the result was...
"Argh! Dud!"
"Knew it."
"What'd you say?"
I'd half-expected it—my sister's luck had never been anything to write home about. I'd noticed it since we were kids. Mine was way better, honestly. The booth staff watched us bicker with fond eyes and handed us a bag.
Did we look like we got along? If you think that, let me correct you right now. It wasn't mutual; I was just the one always giving in.
"Participation prize: a snack pack!"
Luckily, it was filled with jelly, chocolate, and candy. At least she wouldn't stay mad.
My sister took the pack and turned to me. "You try it."
"Me? Nah."
"Yes! Your little brother should give it a shot too!"
I'd planned to just spectate while she played around, but the encouragement from everyone pushed me into sticking my hand in the bin. Since I was doing it, I figured I'd pick carefully. I swirled my hand slowly until one stuck to my fingers, then yanked it out.
"Let's see the result..."
There were so many tickets I expected a dud, but nope—there was an actual number.
"Third prize! Congrats! It's the new Gennex mouse!"
I took the mouse, feeling a bit dazed. I hadn't expected anything, but winning felt pretty good. Then...
Of course, my sister was staring at it intently. Like a kid eyeing a toy in the store aisle, way too close for comfort.
"...Want it?"
Nod nod nod nod.
The mouse screamed "gamer gear" with its flashy design. The back had specs about DPI and sensors or whatever—I had no clue. I didn't need high-end stuff like that anyway. My gaming experience was limited to a few Flash games and two days of Tree Leaf Story. So I just handed it over to her.
She grinned ear to ear, thanked me profusely. Looked like it found its true owner.
*
After leaving the Gennex booth, we bounced around to others. There were face-painting stations for the finalists' team logos, and folks in what looked like character cosplay. By lunchtime, we grabbed some food and headed to the players' autograph booth.
The lines were brutal—must've been because it was the pros.
"Gonna get the players' signatures?"
"Duh. You?"
"Sure, why not."
No point standing around alone with nothing to do, so we joined together. Each player had their own line, but one was insanely long. And predictably, my sister beelined for it.
"Whoa, this line's huge."
"Obviously! It's the Demon King's line!"
Demon King? Even for a middle-schooler like me, that nickname screamed chuunibyou.
I swallowed my cringe. "Who's that?"
"Super famous pro. Classic—you know him? The best in the world right now."
Come to think of it, I'd overheard my friends mention him. I nodded instead of answering.
"Sigh... The Demon King in the flesh..."
My already weird sister got even weirder. Who the hell was Classic to get this reaction?
We waited almost an hour. While the line inched forward, I pulled up Classic's wiki page on my phone.
Age twenty, same as my sister. Debuted two years ago, won the world championship in his rookie year, tournament MVP, ACT A1's top star... Even to an outsider like me, it was an impressive resume. He'd slumped a bit last year, but he'd bounced back stronger lately—better than his debut, some said. Slumps were killer in competitive scenes; climbing out was rare. Especially when a loser like me had quit Go because I couldn't beat mine. This guy was on another level.
By the time I'd skimmed his page and killed time on YouTube, the line had shrunk. It was my sister's turn.
I was right behind her, so I got a look at Classic. Not the intense vibe from his wiki photo. The glasses made him look kinda cute, like your average guy on the street.
As I idly judged his face, Classic asked her name.
"What's your name?"
"Jung Yuna!"
He swiftly signed the paper, added her name below, and handed it over. "Want a photo?"
"Y-Yes! Absolutely!!"
Suddenly all shy-schoolgirl mode, she shoved her phone at me and struck a pose next to him. I was tempted to troll the shot, but she looked too hyped. Mess it up, and my head might split in two. Plus, it'd be rude to Classic.
Click.
I checked it—perfect—then handed the phone back. She thanked him nonstop, pumped her fist in a fighting pose. "You got this!"
Classic smiled back. "I'll carry hard today."
Carry—meant something like "dominate," I guessed.
Finally, my turn after the eternal wait.
"Jung Yunho."
I beat him to it on the name—there were still tons of people behind me. The faster I moved, the more signatures he could give. I wasn't even a fan; I'd just tagged along with my sister. This was a souvenir, nothing more. If I'd known it'd take this long, I'd have said I was heading inside to chill.
Bluntly put, weren't the real fans who'd come for Classic better off getting his signature over some wiki-skimmer like me? But after an hour invested, backing out wasn't an option. Felt bad for past-me who'd waited.
As these contradictory thoughts swirled, Classic signed fluidly and passed it over. I took it with a generic "Good luck," and he replied with a smiling "Thanks."
Up to that point, Classic was just a celebrity to me.
That is... until I saw his match that day.