Yu Min-jae / MJLow_BOT
Jin Gyeo-wool met Yu Min-jae the following day.
And once again, she was nodding off.
"Uh… Noona must be really tired."
She'd started dozing the moment they sat down, and only managed to stir awake some fifteen minutes later. Gyeo-wool apologized to Min-jae without preamble.
"Sorry about that. I've been pushing myself pretty hard lately. Guess I'm wiped."
Anyone with even a scrap of medical knowledge would have known her drowsiness had nothing to do with a chronic illness — but Yu Min-jae was a complete novice when it came to science. For all his careful nature, the common sense that fed his judgments was relatively thin on the ground. And so he thought: She's terminally ill. Of course her body isn't holding up. A little nodding off right in front of me is something I can understand.
"I'd like to ask you something straight."
"Yeah."
Still, he had to confirm her resolve. If she was going to treat an amateur tournament like some kind of joke just because she was unwell, Min-jae was fully prepared to walk out on the spot. Unless she was healthy enough to rise and fight through her illness, a patient was better off resting quietly.
"Why do you want to enter the Presidential Cup?"
Plenty of players entered for all kinds of reasons, but most of them shared the same goal: a pro debut. Simply camping out in the upper Challenger ranks for a long time didn't make you a pro gamer. Teamwork and chemistry — those carried enormous weight when organizations decided who to scout. In that sense, a strong tournament finish held more power than merely being good at the game. Results earned in competition were a certificate proving a player could function as part of a team without issue. In fact, placing well at that year's Presidential Cup amateur tournament made it far easier to land on a roster with a major sponsor. Occasionally, players even walked straight into a starting role on teams short on talent.
So why was Jin Gyeo-wool trying to enter?
Was it really just to decide whether or not to accept Choi Do-yun's feelings? And if so, was there any reason she needed to drag her ailing body into the tournament herself?
"I want to go pro."
Choi Do-yun nearly jumped out of his seat. He'd never heard her say that before — of course he was shocked. Watching his reaction, Min-jae instinctively realized Gyeo-wool hadn't told Do-yun everything.
Is she a fox playing coy… or is there something more going on…
If there was something more, she'd better lay it out now. Otherwise Min-jae was fully prepared to dig it up himself.
"My goal is to become a pro gamer who surpasses Lee Do-jin."
Do-yun, already looking poleaxed, asked in a dazed voice, "You're seriously going to be a pro gamer?"
Gyeo-wool answered without a flicker of hesitation.
"What, I'm not allowed to?"
"Why didn't you say anything before…"
"You never asked."
Well. That was fair. Do-yun scratched his cheek, embarrassed. He'd spent the entire previous day flailing so hard he could barely remember what he'd even said.
Gyeo-wool's intentions had been firm from the start. Do-yun had simply spun off into his own wild fantasies and twisted her meaning beyond recognition.
Min-jae asked with a thoughtful look, "Why do you want to go pro? I'm not trying to criticize you or anything, Noona — it just seems like there are plenty of other things you could do without being a pro gamer."
It might have come off a little harsh, but that was Yu Min-jae's way of talking. He was handsome, and his eyes were sharp and intense. When he locked onto someone and asked for the truth with that piercing stare, most people couldn't dodge — they spilled everything. Of course, it didn't work on Jin Gyeo-wool.
"I'm doing it because I want to. Is that a problem?"
If she'd been an ordinary girl, she might have paused to think it over. Her streaming career was steadily solidifying, and once she hit Challenger, her fame would skyrocket. There was no need to walk the hard road of becoming a competitor. But what lived inside her wasn't Jin Gyeo-wool — it was Bae Do-hyun. A man who had died without ever realizing his dream, carrying that unfinished wish with him.
And the surprising part? Hon Gyeo-wool was no different. As long as Lee Do-jin was there, she would have followed him to the ends of the earth with her life on the line. So to Gyeo-wool, Min-jae's question was worthless.
"You seem stuck on some kind of prejudice. I'm just doing it because I want to. Everyone has their own dream, right? Mine is to be a pro gamer. A pro gamer who surpasses Lee Do-jin."
Even to Min-jae, who prided himself on reading people, every word rang true. The eyes tilted up at him from half a head below, the expression that never so much as flickered, the gaze that stayed locked in place even after she finished speaking.
…She's not lying.
Which meant the terminal diagnosis — that she didn't have much time left — was confirmed. Min-jae wondered how much time she actually had remaining. Wanting to go pro and actually going pro were two very different things; if it were that easy, everyone would do it. Some players won an amateur tournament and debuted immediately. Others spent years stuck as trainees. Judging by what Gyeo-wool had just said, she was absolutely not the type to settle for trainee life.
"How many years are you giving yourself? Until you go pro."
At that, Gyeo-wool held up her index finger, straight and sure.
"I'm debuting in 2019. No matter what."
Where did that confidence even come from? Min-jae muttered under his breath with a sigh.
"Talk is cheap…. Debut in a year and jump straight onto the active roster? You really think that's possible?"
"And why wouldn't it be?"
"…"
Put like that, there was nothing left to say. Min-jae averted his eyes.
"Well… yeah, I guess."
"I think it's possible. I've got capable teammates, and if we keep grinding, we can climb as high as we want. What, you think you can't do it? Not confident enough?"
She said it with absolute certainty — certainty rooted in the knowledge that Soul Assimilation would grow her to a professional level. That conviction, radiating from Gyeo-wool, shook something loose in Min-jae.
"I've watched your videos too. You're good. Setting aside the excessive aggression that comes from being a little too full of yourself, that is. But your mechanics and your sense for kill angles would hold up even at the pro level. You'll need to polish them and catch a team's eye, but…"
The reason Yu Min-jae was racing toward Challenger was simple: he wanted to go pro. Unlike Choi Do-yun, who was still drifting without a clear direction, Min-jae had wanted nothing else from the very beginning. The problem was the lack of time — and the constant side-eye raining down from home. Even with a clear goal, the clock was already tight, and there were too many people standing in his way. His climb had stalled at Grandmaster, and his doubts only deepened. He'd run this far believing it was the only path, only to arrive and find the road cut off. To go further, he'd have to leap an endless chasm to the next cliff. But the gap was too wide for Min-jae to clear alone. And if he couldn't make the jump, the only option left was to turn back.
He needed a teammate. A teacher. Or at least someone to lean on — not a girlfriend he called up when he was bored to blow off steam, but someone he could trust, someone he could talk to.
"Anyway, looking at it that way — the tournament title matters for you too, right?"
The hunger for growth that had been slowly dying in Yu Min-jae. Jin Gyeo-wool was stoking the embers back into flame. Without him even realizing it, a slump had settled over him — and Gyeo-wool was starting to smash it apart.
"That's the first time anyone's ever talked about my play like that. People just say I'm good. Nobody's ever told me where the problems actually are."
Before coming here, Gyeo-wool had already heard about Min-jae's situation from Choi Go-yun. Without anyone to support him and without teammates to walk beside him, the seedling of his talent was starving for nutrients, slowly losing its life.
"You're a man, aren't you? You're just going to back down without even giving it a real shot? Once you've drawn the sword, you've got to cut something with it."
Like someone who had died and come back to life, still chasing the same dream.
"…Hah."
As if he didn't know that. Min-jae let out a hollow laugh, and Gyeo-wool slung an arm around Do-yun's shoulders as she continued.
"Come with me. And Do-yun here. We make the Presidential Cup, and we take the title right in front of everyone. What's so hard about that? We just do it."
That's exactly the part I don't have confidence in. Min-jae found it absurd — and yet, from somewhere deep in Gyeo-wool's words, he felt a courage rising up from the core of her. This person was serious. She genuinely intended to go pro within a year, one way or another.
She's probably got about two years left.
One year to go pro. Then one year as a pro. A literal life-or-death gamble. She could have spent that time living easily, enjoying whatever was left. And she wanted to burn that final flame on something like Recon?
No. Maybe it's because it's Recon that she can burn it…?
Back in the day, saying you wanted to be a StarCraft pro got you called crazy. But these days? Pro gamer was one of the careers young men actually aspired to. The door might be absurdly narrow, but it consistently ranked in the top ten most coveted jobs.
"Why are you so obsessed with Recon, anyway?"
Coming from someone who wanted to be a Recon pro himself, the question was ridiculous — even Min-jae knew that.
Why am I obsessed…?
Bae Do-hyun had died. For six years he'd hungered for that dream without ever getting close, watching from a distance as other people made it.
"Because I never made it. Because I have to make it in this life."
He hadn't achieved it in his previous life, so now that he'd come back carrying that unfinished wish, he would achieve it no matter what. And he had to use this body as quickly as possible and return it to Hon Gyeo-wool. Those two thoughts were all that filled Jin Gyeo-wool's mind.
"And…. It's not just for me."
For the self who had fallen without ever spreading his wings. For the girl who had stubbornly insisted she'd become a pro gamer without knowing a thing. That was why he was determined to become a pro, one way or another.
In this life, no matter what…
Unlike Yu Min-jae, who had stopped at the edge of the cliff, Jin Gyeo-wool was running full speed knowing the cliff was there. She knew that if she stopped, her life was over. She knew that the only way to meet the end of everything she'd accomplished — to feel that ecstatic catharsis and forget the fear as she fell — was to keep running. Even a short life could end in glory.
"All right. Let's enter the tournament together. I'll join the team."
The acceptance finally dropped. Gyeo-wool held out her hand for a handshake, looking happier than anyone in the world. How beautiful was someone who could smile so brightly over even a small success? That day, Yu Min-jae saw a smile worth a thousand others.
"Looking forward to it."
"Looking forward to working with you."
Now only two seats remained. Mid laner and support.
While Gyeo-wool and Min-jae naturally fell into discussing the open positions, Choi Do-yun — knowing nothing — slipped right back into his fantasy.
I knew it. There's no way Noona would just randomly decide to go pro…
Even to Do-yun, Gyeo-wool had been completely sincere. But the reason looked different to him. It matched the sixteenth sign of a woman's interest that his older brother had taught him: she keeps hanging around you, or tries to close the distance.
They say the best wife is the one who makes her husband succeed…
She'd said it wasn't just for herself. In other words, she was willing to become a pro gamer for Choi Do-yun's sake too. An indirect way of saying she wanted to stay by his side and support him, no matter what it took.
I can't believe she put together a plan this big just for me…
From Do-yun's perspective, building an amateur team and aiming for the pros were all part of the same continuum. If the feelings she'd shown him all along were genuine, this was a chance he absolutely could not let slip away.
If Noona is that serious… then I can't half-ass this either…!
Choi Do-yun, who knew nothing about women. He was on the verge of having not just his body and heart stolen by Jin Gyeo-wool's smile — a smile that treated him as nothing more than a teammate — but his entire future as well.
Well, whatever his situation, the fact remained: that day, Jin Gyeo-wool succeeded in driving the nail of "pro gamer" into the vague, drifting career hopes of two young men. The misunderstandings would clear up eventually — but by then, both of them would already have crossed a river with no way back.
Not that it would be a problem. She'd simply grabbed two people flailing in a deep, hard-to-cross river by the scruff of the neck and hauled them to the other side. They might thank her later. They would never be angry.