We've Become the Seoul Team, Bom
The Esports Industry Promotion Team, Cultural Headquarters, Seoul Metropolitan Government.
With the national finals of the upcoming League of Council Presidential Cup drawing near, the staff had spent days combing through the transfer market in search of a suitable coach.
No matter how skilled the players were, they were still teenagers—seventeen or eighteen on average. Plenty of them operated under the cheerful delusion that being good at the game meant everything else would sort itself out.
Which was precisely why a good coach made all the difference. Managing stamina. Managing schedules. Managing mental health. An adult who had learned a thing or two about how the world worked, someone who could keep hot-blooded young people from burning themselves out and still produce solid results—that was what an organization wanted from a coach.
"Hello, Coach Chae Hojin."
"Ah—hello."
Broad shoulders. A solid, dependable build. A square jaw that looked carved from stone and a faint shadow of stubble that radiated pure masculinity. A pure distillation of manhood, barely two years removed from military service and back in civilian life.
That was the exterior—the tough guy.
"Wow, you're incredibly manly. I wonder if the players might find you a little intimidating."
"Ah. Haha! Not at all. Haha!"
But inside, he was soft. The textbook soft-on-the-inside, tough-on-the-outside type. That was Chae Hojin.
"You've already reviewed the contract terms, I'm sure… Is there anything you're curious about?"
"Hmm… Not really?"
"Nervous?"
"Yes, a bit…. I've been learning everything I could over the past year and a half as an assistant coach, but this is my first time coaching solo, so I'm a little shaky."
"Haha. No need to be so tense. They're just kids, after all."
But you couldn't simply dismiss them as kids. When it came to the game, they were more serious than anyone—the troublemakers and young heroes of the Council of War.
"Yes. I'll… do my best."
Chae Hojin cast his mind back over his year and a half as an assistant coach with a Challengers team—CCK's second division.
Boys at that age were nothing if not opinionated. When their ban-pick suggestions got overruled, some of them would sulk through entire matches, and it showed in their play. Naturally, those games fell apart. One player's problem became the whole team's problem, and the atmosphere crumbled right along with it.
Matches that collapsed because teamwork had twisted itself into knots—he'd seen more than a few.
This time… I have to make sure that never happens. Whatever it takes.
But for someone as timid as Chae Hojin, projecting strength in front of the players was roughly the hardest thing in the world. So all he could do was hope the Seoul team players would take him in gently.
Or, failing that, that his manly, intense appearance would intimidate them into behaving before he even opened his mouth.
"Oh—right. There's something you should be aware of."
"…Ah. Aware of?"
"Yes. This player…."
Today was the first time Seoul City had provided the player profiles. Was there someone with a difficult personality on the roster? Chae Hojin jumped to his own conclusions.
"…Huh."
At first he thought it was a pretty boy with long hair—the kind who looked like a girl. He'd heard urban legends about female players among the amateurs, but he'd never actually seen one.
"She's a female player."
"……."
For a long moment, Chae Hojin simply stared, unable to process what the Seoul Cultural Headquarters' Recon amateur team liaison had just said. Only after several beats did the strangeness of it sink in, and he asked,
"I didn't mishear that, did I?"
"No. She's definitely a female player. Her resident registration number starts with a four."
"Ah. Right."
He hadn't asked for that level of detail, but fine.
Anyway.
Anyway—a female player.
Chae Hojin studied the photograph of Jin Gyeo-wool for a long time. Her eyes were round and cute, with a strange magnetism that pulled you in if you looked too long. She was beautiful at a glance. Even her irises—a warm wood-grain color rarely seen on Korean faces—drew the eye.
Of course, Chae Hojin had no way of knowing about the unfathomable depths that lived behind them.
"I've been watching the matches, and this player seems to be the team's center of gravity. She's also the best player by a clear margin."
"Ah… looking at the ratings, hers is the highest."
"Yes. Currently Challenger tier, climbing steadily—hovering around rank two hundred."
"So she really is good."
Pretty and good at the game. Whatever her personality was like, her credentials as a player were more than solid. He had no idea what possessed her to dive fearlessly into a men's league, but her momentum was undeniable. She had demolished every other formidable amateur team and been selected as Seoul's amateur representative on the strength of an overwhelming skill gap.
A female player was special, sure—but in pro gaming, skill was king.
Chae Hojin privately hoped she hadn't absorbed any strange ideologies along the way.
"That said, she is a young woman, so you'll need to manage her a little more carefully. We haven't spoken with her directly ourselves, but if I may offer an unsolicited suggestion—perhaps start by talking to the other teammates?"
"Ah—no, not unsolicited at all. Thank you for the advice."
"Not at all. In any case, the national finals… and if you win, the IeSF international tournament and the Korean Cup after that. We'll be counting on you. Team management is entirely in your hands until then, Coach Chae."
"Yes. Thank you for entrusting me with such an important position. I'll give it everything I've got!"
"There's an appointment ceremony in a few days, so I'll see you then. After that, I'll reach out by phone or KakaoTalk."
"Understood."
After a firm handshake, Chae Hojin stepped out of Seoul City Hall. He exhaled a long whew, shaking off the cold sweat his nerves had wrung out of him.
Only once he was settled on a bench in front of the building did he finally catch his breath and begin reviewing the players' profiles one by one.
"This concludes the 2018 Seoul League of Council Representative Team appointment ceremony for Coach Chae Hojin and Captain Choi Do-yun, along with the four other players. Thank you all for attending."
"Thank you!" "We'll work hard!"
Once the ceremony wrapped up, the players signed their new contracts. As a city-sponsored amateur roster, they would receive additional monthly pay through the end of the tournament.
The four players practically bounced off the walls at the news of a bigger paycheck.
"Our salaries are getting duplicated!"
"Ha… the second this tournament ends I'm buying a new phone… new clothes… what else?"
"Commander unnie, what are you gonna do when the money comes in?"
"I don't really have anything in mind."
Jin Gyeo-wool alone wore a perfectly calm expression. Money simply wasn't important to her. If she needed cash, she could just ask her mother—so what difference did a slightly bigger paycheck make?
The other players would have called her annoying if they'd heard that, but you couldn't overcome a spoon-class gap no matter how hard you tried. It wasn't as if Gyeo-wool had chosen to be born with a golden spoon. She'd died, come back, and found herself holding one—and now she was swinging it freely in pursuit of her dream. That was all.
Through the cluster of excited players, Chae Hojin's solid frame edged closer. For a man of his size, his tone was surprisingly cautious.
"Uh, hey. Kids!"
But the words that started small ended in a booming shout—a truly novel gradient of volume. The players jumped and snapped their attention to him. Chae Hojin himself looked a little startled. He'd only tensed up because Jin Gyeo-wool had been staring at him so steadily, and somehow he'd ended up scaring everyone.
"R-right. Nice to meet you. My name is Chae Hojin, and I'll be your coach through this year's Korean Cup."
He thrust out a large, rough hand. The other players shook it first. Last of all, Jin Gyeo-wool—who had been watching with detached calm—let her hand meet his, and Chae Hojin nearly jumped out of his skin.
Soft…!
He was an adult. She was a minor. Absolutely untouchable territory. And yet the sensation of a beautiful girl's hand, felt for the first time in ages, was genuinely overwhelming. Had anything ever been this soft? This warm, this delicate? The moment those slender, jade-like fingertips touched his, even his own rough, callus-hardened soldier's hand seemed to go soft in sympathy.
"Um…. Coach?"
"Ah. Sorry."
He realized too late that he'd been squeezing hard without meaning to. Jin Gyeo-wool finished the handshake with a sulky look, glaring at him—her hand was noticeably red. He really had gripped too tight.
Up close, Jin Gyeo-wool was nothing short of a goddess. Baggy clothes did their best to hide her figure, but an awl in a sack will always poke through. You couldn't completely conceal natural beauty like hers. It was almost baffling that a girl of this caliber had thrown herself into pro gaming.
But she was, without question, a Challenger who was very, very good at the game. The moment he underestimated her, she'd eat him alive.
With the male players, he could always fall back on physical presence or a stern voice when they complained. With Jin Gyeo-wool, that simply wasn't an option.
He'd switched to coaching now, and military service had rusted his mechanics a little—but before enlisting, Chae Hojin had been a Challenger and a pro gamer himself. He'd crossed blades with the still-formidable Lee Do-jin, and he'd shared a roster with plenty of big-name players.
As he looked forward to his first day at their dorm the following Monday, Chae Hojin silently swore he would not lose the battle of wills.
The moment the ceremony ended, the players headed out for a celebratory feast of Korean beef. Between Gyeo-wool's salary and the additional stipend rolling in, there was no way they were settling for anything cheap.
They also invited Cha Ga-eul and Han Yeo-reum—who'd worked so hard for them—and made sure both ate their fill. Helping set up the practice room, carefully putting together team uniforms, stocking snacks, running feedback sessions, feeding everyone… they'd looked after the team like a pair of mothers. Gratitude for that kind of devotion was the least anyone could offer.
After the meal, the next stop on the itinerary was karaoke. Jin Gyeo-wool tried to bow out, insisting she had nothing to sing anyway—but there was no chance the four players were letting her off the hook. Cha Ga-eul and Han Yeo-reum piled on too, pointing out that they'd never once heard her sing, and shoved her toward the door.
"Ugh… seriously. I told you I'm bad at singing."
"Come on, how would you know if you've never even tried?"
"Yeah. Don't you listen to any music?"
"Well, I do, but…."
It wasn't that Jin Gyeo-wool had never practiced a song. She had. There just wasn't anyone left to sing it for.
…What's the point now.
The truth was, she'd wanted to sing it for Lee Bom. One of the love songs she'd practiced for a long time, planning to perform it as a confession once she became a great pro gamer. The title was Kim X-soo's Last Love.
Of course, back when she'd been preparing that song, Bae Do-hyun had never imagined he would actually have to say goodbye to Lee Bom. Never dreamed that he would die, become a soul, and spend his afterlife searching for her.
While the rest of the team belted out cheerful songs at full volume, Jin Gyeo-wool sat alone, scrolling through the lyrics—and through old memories right along with them.
Someone leaving. A painful goodbye. Time freezing, everything stripped away, nothing left but memories. Someone who made you force a smile until it hurt, who made you cry even in the middle of a meal. A first love and a last love. Someone you could never truly let go.
A lump rose in Gyeo-wool's throat. She swallowed the tears that threatened to spill and covered her eyes with one hand—and in that moment, Han Yeo-reum spotted the title on her phone and reserved the song without asking. Priority reservation.
"No way. Last Love?"
"What happened to 'I can't sing'?!"
And it wasn't even the male version—it was the recent remake by Lee X-hee, a vocalist widely considered one of the greatest female singers around.
Gyeo-wool had barely managed to settle her emotions when the accompaniment kicked in with those high notes, and she panicked.
"What—when did you even reserve this?!"
It was a side of herself she'd never once shown her teammates. And for the first time, it made Jin Gyeo-wool—who had always felt to Gong Je-hyeon like something not quite human—seem genuinely, unmistakably like a person.
Yu Min-jae saw the song title and thought, privately: Good lord. So there was someone she liked? To him, the song felt like preparation for a farewell that was only a few years away.
Startled or not, there was no gracefully backing out of a song once the mood had locked in. Jin Gyeo-wool took the mic, got shoved into the center of the wide karaoke room, and began to pour herself into the song she'd practiced for so long.
"You— only you….
My first love, and my last love."
It was a strange thing. She had never sung in Jin Gyeo-wool's body before, and yet Gyeo-wool's vocal cords poured out a beautiful voice exactly as Bae Do-hyun's mind remembered it.
"What the—she's amazing! Gyeo-wool, Gyeo-wooool!"
"Jin Gyeo-wool! Jin Gyeo-wool! Jin Gyeo-wool!"
"Yesss, Commander! You can sing too!"
The room caught fire. With everyone making such a racket around her, Gyeo-wool managed not to cry—but Yu Min-jae, who had caught the sorrow threaded through every note, couldn't bring himself to smile.
"Only you… my forever love—."
A beautiful full performance, carrying every ounce of Bae Do-hyun's feeling for Lee Bom—the one death had taken from him.
What a moving song….
Unfortunately, it also had the side effect of thickening Choi Do-yun's rose-tinted glasses by another full layer.