Farewell, Dice

I didn't want to admit it, but Kim Seongchan's bullshit had a somewhat positive effect on me. It was so infuriating that it blew away my depression, and at the same time, it allowed me to make a cold, hard assessment of my current state.

...I'm quitting pro gaming.

It was something I'd never even considered. I hadn't achieved a single one of my goals yet—I absolutely didn't want to go out like that.

Still, the reason I made that decision was a lack of faith. Conviction had always been my greatest weapon. No matter how many times I lost, I had that unshakable belief that I'd win in the end. Hell, it was closer to faith.

They say people who need faith don't succeed, and that you have to be able to lose even without it—but my current state meant I couldn't even line up at the starting gate to begin with.

I was in a condition where losing wasn't even an option.

Sure, I could've clung on desperately, pathetically, just to stay in that spot—but that would've been meaningless.

What I truly wanted wasn't just to be a pro gamer.

What I craved was victory. Honor, glory, triumph, conquest, and championships.

In this state, it was impossible, even if I died and came back to life.

I had confidence in myself. Conviction, passion—all of it.

Yet in less than two short months, I'd lost it all.

I took a taxi home. This place had never truly felt like home, not for a single moment. The owner of the house was nowhere to be seen today, either.

Out of habit, I turned on the computer and logged into LoE. I queued up on my smurf account, which I'd grown more familiar with than my main over the past few days.

I knew full well that this meant nothing anymore, but I queued anyway.

Because it was the only thing I could do.

Quitting pro gaming was an impulsive decision, but that didn't mean I planned on going quietly.

Telling me to give up the fight was as good as telling me to die. And if I had to live pathetically, I'd rather die.

So I'd chosen death.

All I wanted was for people to remember me later not as some clown who survived in disgrace, but as the man who'd once come closest to the emperor's throne.

And yet here I was, queuing up right now.

Why...?

The call with the coach ended like that. My chest ached with complicated feelings.

The queue popping was a lie. Even if I was a LoE addict, I wouldn't queue during a phone call. It was just an excuse to get off the line.

A wave of loneliness tugged at my feet.

How was I supposed to live now? What was I supposed to do? I had no answers.

It wasn't a lifetime, but it was all I'd known—how to be a pro gamer. I'd dropped out of high school to go pro, and before or after, LoE was all I'd done.

Money... I'd made a decent amount, but not enough to last forever. Proud had probably made several times that.

What now, for real? All I'd learned was gaming.

So I queued again.

There was still no dramatic change. My skill level was still way off, and I couldn't make sense of anything.

I played right after getting back, called the coach and played some more, slept, woke up, and played again.

Days passed like that, just gaming all day every day.

In the meantime, I ended my contract with Tundra Silver Airs. I'd been prepared to pay the penalty, but when I met with Manager Lim again, he said it wasn't necessary. We mutually agreed to terminate.

He wasn't someone I liked much, but with no penalty and him bowing 90 degrees to apologize, I couldn't spit in his face. We shook hands awkwardly and parted ways.

Thus, Tundra and I mutually terminated the contract.

At the same time, I announced my retirement. More precisely, Tundra posted the contract termination and retirement notice on their official account in my place. I'd asked them to. I didn't have my own social media, so nowhere else to post it.

And as expected, the community exploded.

...What the hell was that last weirdo?

Anyway, seeing my retirement notice actually go up made my chest... sting a little, in various ways. Lonely, like a stone was weighing on it.

But it didn't hurt as much as I'd imagined.

Was the passion I had really only this much? It was enough to make me wonder that.

I'd expected more pain, more hardship, more devastation.

Maybe I wasn't as desperate as I thought. Guess my nerves were tougher than I knew.

Well... this really is the end. What now? What do I do with my life?

It was a question I'd been mulling over for a while, but still no answer. Maybe reveal my face and do influencer stuff. Crisu seemed to be raking it in last I checked.

Wonder what she's up to now. We'd matched on my smurf sometimes, and she seemed a bit better than before. Must be young. Girl pulling it off well.

...If I could play at her level, could I have stuck with pro?

Nah, probably not. I'm a mid laner to begin with.

I was lying on the bed lost in random thoughts when a knock suddenly came. And in this house, besides me, there was only one other person.

"...Come in."

The door opened, revealing my father with a slightly flustered expression.

That face made me more flustered. Had he ever looked that thrown off?

"...What is it?"

"I heard you're quitting pro gaming."

"Where'd you hear that? From Coach Kim?"

"...Yes, from Coach Kim. Why didn't you discuss it with me?"

"...Since when have I ever discussed stuff like that with you?"

Dad fell silent.

"You hated me being a pro gamer anyway. What's the problem with quitting?"

"That's..."

"Don't worry. I won't ask you for money."

"That's not what I meant."

"Whatever. Get out."

"...If something's up, tell me."

Thankfully, Dad left those words and closed the door behind him. Since when was he so interested in my life? I had no idea, really.

"...But wasn't Coach Kim busy with filming today?"