So She Was a Girl
Jin Gyeo-wool's notoriety only kept swelling.
The top laner you could never beat.
The top laner who turned your solo-kill attempt into your solo death.
Blink and the snowball was rolling. Blink and you were down thirty CS.
God of rotations. God of the split push.
The top laner you couldn't beat even on a carry champion.
The top laner who picked a tank and still beat the absolute hell out of you with a carry.
Master of shattering mental fortitude without typing a single word in chat.
And so on.
As scrim results piled up and the nickname ValKyrie spread from mouth to mouth, traffic to Jin Gyeo-wool's NewTube channel climbed on its own. Some dug up her past incidents, dumped them on the League gallery, and fanned the rumor that she was a terrifying girl. Others rewatched her VODs and painted her as something beyond ordinary human. Still others fixated on one question alone: was ValKyrie actually a girl — and how could anyone prove it?
After endless rounds of debate, the consensus settled on a single line: You won't know until she shows her face at a broadcast match.
The camp arguing she had to be a girl — she'd already shown her face at Hwasong High, after all — held the stronger hand. But a never-ending stream of conspiracy theorists kept insisting no female player could possibly be that monstrous, that there was simply no way she was a woman. Most of that noise, though, was just the scrim opponents she'd demolished trying to muddy the water. A natural defense mechanism, maybe — the insistence that a girl like that couldn't exist.
For aspiring pros and amateurs grinding their way up, the first reaction to meeting a talent that terrifying was rejection. They were afraid of ValKyrie. They wanted the top laner who had obliterated their teams to not be a girl.
Please don't be a girl. If she's a girl, my heart can't take it! they cried.
Friday, July 20th.
The long rainy season was finally starting to loosen its grip. Students were free for summer break — but Jin Gyeo-wool and the rest of the Winter Army were heading into the final stretch of pure hell week.
Starting tomorrow, July 21st through the 22nd, the Seoul regional preliminaries for the KeG Presidential Cup would be held.
The Winter Army reviewed replays of the opponents they'd already been slotted to face in the main bracket, then gathered one last time in the practice room for a short break and a round of fighting spirit.
"Fighting!"
"Undefeated run all the way to the finals, let's go!"
Thirty teams would compete in the Seoul prelims tomorrow. Every match short of the finals was a single-elimination best-of-one, all to crown just one team. Aside from the handful that drew a first-round bye, a team had to win four matches just to reach the finals — then take a best-of-three, two wins first, to punch their ticket to the national finals.
Six matches the Winter Army had to win in total.
And Commander Jin Gyeo-wool, naturally, expected them to win every single one.
The second member of the team to hit Challenger had been Gong Je-hyeon. He listened the least of anyone — and somehow still learned the fastest. Once Gyeo-wool's constant feedback started cutting down his throw-prone plays, the climb followed on its own. He still had the habit of sprinting in and face-checking whenever a fight looked favorable, but he was far better than before. Even Gyeo-wool, the designated nag, had cut way back on lecturing him about his gameplay.
"Alright. The second Challenger on our team, the great Gong Je-hyeon himself, will now say a few words."
He still got cheeky far too often, though — which meant Gyeo-wool still had to break out the riot stick every time.
"Get over here."
"Ack—!"
Snatching the cup out of his hand at every team dinner and kicking it across the floor had become second nature. Gong Je-hyeon had gotten so used to being booted that he'd take the hit, roll a full circle, and bounce right back to his seat like nothing had happened.
"You've worked hard. Give it everything tomorrow too. We're winning, right?"
There wasn't a shred of doubt in Gyeo-wool's question. In her head, the picture was already painted: victory in the finals the day after tomorrow, and a clean advance to nationals.
Everyone nodded like it was obvious and lifted their cups toward the ceiling in unison. Gong Je-hyeon, still cupless, scrambled over late and shoved his way into the circle. Glass clinked. Everyone drained their drinks in one clean pull — and then Han Yeo-reum suddenly produced a gift she'd been hiding.
Grunting with effort, she hauled out a box she'd stashed deeper inside. Every player's eyes locked onto it at once.
"Okay! To celebrate tomorrow's offline tournament, I brought you guys a present!"
The long-suffering sigh Cha Ga-eul let out beside her made it obvious she'd opposed the gift idea to the bitter end.
An embarrassing present? Gyeo-wool tilted her head.
The box on the floor was fairly large. She popped the top — and inside, stacked neatly in individual clear packaging, were several black T-shirts with mint-colored accents.
Gong Je-hyeon picked one up. The initials printed near the left chest caught the eye: JGW. Jin Gyeo-wool's shirt.
Watching him tear into the packaging, Gyeo-wool asked, "What is this? Team jerseys?"
"Yep! I looked it up and all the pro teams wear stuff like this!"
"Ah…"
Looking faintly flustered, Gyeo-wool took the unwrapped jersey. Cool mesh fabric — the kind of summer athletic wear built for maximum sweat-wicking. The mint accents ran along the collar and across the back, where a pretty hexagonal snowflake design had been printed.
"Cute, right? It's nice, right?"
A simple black tee. Nothing that would scream for attention on its own. But if all five of them wore matching ones, the team identity would hit hard. Five people in team jerseys walking around a PC bang full of street clothes? The aggro pull would be legendary. The secondhand embarrassment would be free of charge.
But Han Yeo-reum was beaming.
The girl who'd spent months smiling at their sides like a team mom — handing out meals, drinks, and snacks — was smiling. And that smile was a silent, crushing demand that they put the shirts on.
Gyeo-wool's mouth twitched downward. She asked carefully, "So… we don't, uh, have to wear them, right?"
Every gaze in the room snapped to her.
It was the kind of line no one else on the team could have gotten away with saying — and even coming from her, there was no dodging the fact that it would hurt Yeo-reum.
In the tight, brittle silence, Yeo-reum answered.
"Ah… yeah! Of course not. But it'd be nice if you wore them…?"
"Uh……"
Gyeo-wool's voice stretched thin. The answer wasn't easy. One wrong word and Yeo-reum would take it to heart. She was bright and cheerful by nature — but the one thing that always dropped her into a funk was having something she'd put real care into rejected.
This was exactly that moment.
Yu Min-jae, ever the most considerate of them, mimed pulling a shirt on over his head and gave a small side-to-side shake of his chin. Just wear it over whatever you've got on. Say yes for now.
Gyeo-wool reacted instantly.
"R-right! I'll wear it."
"Ah, I knew you would!"
"Well… of course."
With a hollow little laugh, Gyeo-wool pulled the jersey straight on over the white tee she was already wearing. The fit was perfect — nothing loose, nothing tight.
The other teammates tore into their packaging one after another and layered the jerseys over their clothes too.
"Whoa. Fits perfectly."
"And it's not even hot at all. That's crazy."
"Thanks, Yeo-reum."
Five players standing there in matching black team jerseys actually looked like something. Maybe it was the sudden pro-gamer vibe, but the four of them — everyone except Gyeo-wool — thanked Yeo-reum in bright, excited voices.
Yeo-reum's smile wouldn't leave her face. Her effort had borne fruit.
"I measured all your sizes in secret so I could make these. Pretty slick, right?"
"…Huh?"
"You did?"
A beat of scattered, flustered voices — then Yeo-reum laughed, hehe, her pitch climbing. Yu Min-jae, who'd already figured out her method, muttered under his breath.
"So that's why you kept hanging off us and cheering whenever you got bored."
"Oh! Yu Min-jae! Sharp as ever!"
Yeo-reum crossed her arms, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. Gyeo-wool watched her and laughed, helpless.
If Cha Ga-eul had been the one grinding through team ops and scrim matching in Gyeo-wool's place, Han Yeo-reum had been the one making sure none of them felt uncomfortable outside the game. The team's dad and mom, basically. Gyeo-wool had already thanked the two of them more times than she could count.
She'd thought Yeo-reum just liked the teammates — that the constant hugging and patting and head-patting was pure mom energy. Turns out she'd been taking measurements for custom jerseys the whole time.
Gyeo-wool had figured her for the type who only knew how to charge straight ahead and say exactly what she meant. Turns out the girl could play the fox when she wanted to.
While a delighted Yeo-reum chattered away with Min-jae, Gong Je-hyeon leaned in and muttered to Gyeo-wool.
"…So. You actually planning to wear this there?"
"Yeo-reum's coming all the way to the venue. You gonna not wear it?"
Then Yeo-reum would be sad — and that was not a sight Gyeo-wool particularly wanted to see. She could be harsh with the other teammates all she wanted, but Yeo-reum and Ga-eul she intended to look after with something closer to love.
"Wear it, then throw whatever else you want on top. I'm putting a thin hoodie over mine."
"Guess that's the play. Not sure I've got anything to throw on, though."
"Figure it out."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, Commander Noona."
One day later, the Seoul regional prelims opened at a massive PC bang in the city.
A battlefield of blood and sweat, packed with countless men fighting to stand at the top.
Hundreds of confirmed participants waited at their stations — and cutting straight through that heat came a girl in a black tee under a white zip-up hoodie, striding in like she owned the place.
Long hair swaying, she threaded the narrow aisle between seats toward her assigned spot. Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto her.
"…Yo. That person. Isn't that ValKyrie?"
"ValKyrie's her?"
"You didn't know she was a girl?"
"Nah, I asked on the League gallery and they said she wasn't."
"That was just trolls stirring shit."
"Bro got played by a guest account."
"Holy shit she's gorgeous."
"Wait. She's Challenger?"
"So it wasn't a boosted account?"
While everyone was still warily clocking the girl who'd conquered their scrims, Park Su-ho — one of the few who'd actually received her kindness — approached with careful steps.
She was already seated, pulling her keyboard and mouse from her bag and setting them up. He extended a hand toward her, smiling.
"Ah — hello. ValKyrie."
Gyeo-wool blinked a few times, not recognizing him. She just held his gaze with a blank expression — and a full-body shiver ran through Park Su-ho.
Her beauty defied description. She was so lovely it almost felt like a waste for her to be playing games at all. Even her round eyes carried a touch of something fragile.
Why? Why on earth is someone like this playing games?
Park Su-ho shoved the useless thoughts aside and carefully spoke up.
"I — I'm the top laner from CroMagnon. We scrimmed together last time. Baks."
The moment she heard the nickname Baks, Gyeo-wool went, "Ah~!" Her small hand slid forward and clasped his.
He'd meant to say any number of things — but her face was too beautiful, and the delicate hand touching his was far too soft. Park Su-ho stood there blankly, words gone.
Gyeo-wool, dredging up a memory from a few weeks back, asked him, "Come to think of it — did you manage to fix the problems I pointed out back then? I gave you the feedback, but I've been curious whether it actually helped."
That snapped Park Su-ho back to reality with a jolt. She remembered. He, on the other hand, couldn't recall a single word of her feedback.
He worked his drying lips, then said carefully, "Ah… well. Honestly, I'm not sure. I'm sorry."
In that same instant, Park Su-ho startled and let go of her hand, taking a full step back.
Because the bright expression she'd worn just a second ago had twisted into something demonic. Light flared in her pupils. Even the slight tilt of her eyes radiated pure irritation.
"Ah. So you didn't fix them."
The words were ordinary. Calm, even. Park Su-ho completely failed to recognize them for what they were — a warning shot.