I Guess I Was Addicted
After a stretch of time that felt like a dream, a dream that felt like reality came calling.
You're really going to quit school just to become a pro gamer or whatever?
…Yeah.
Bae Do-hyun. Do you seriously want to watch your mother have a heart attack?
But… this is the one thing I'm best at—
In the dream, Bae Do-hyun was arguing with his mother.
More accurately, it wasn't so much an argument as the same old monologue that had been going on for years — Do-hyun's stubborn insistence on one side, and on the other, a mother whose accumulated frustration had finally boiled over into lament.
I looked into it. There are people far better than you out there. Bae Do-hyun, I think I finally understand your level. We've been having this conversation for a whole year, so at this point I know the industry better than you do.
…
You can't even debut at that level. So tell me — how much can you earn in a month? If you studied and got an ordinary job, you could make at least two million won a month. Are you going to throw that away? For that stubborn little dream of yours?
But it's the only real dream I've ever found—
Does a dream put food on the table? Do-hyun. Your father and I won't be around forever, and we can't support you forever either. You know that. You're almost twenty. How do you plan to survive in this world without even a high school diploma…
The mother in the dream was someone who truly cared about Bae Do-hyun.
Do-hyun knew that too. He was the one in the wrong, and his mother had been delivering hard, practical truths as gently as she could. Even while his father kept threatening to throw him out of the house, she had stayed in the middle, mediating the conflict and trying to talk him around.
But for Bae Do-hyun, Recon was a hope he couldn't let go of — a torture that dangled just out of reach and never stopped tormenting him.
If I just push a little harder, I can make it. I haven't unlocked my full potential yet. This can't be my ceiling.
Those hopeful thoughts had begun to curdle into despair.
Maybe I just haven't worked hard enough. Maybe it's the environment. Maybe I don't have enough support.
And that despair started leaking outward, poisoning everyone around him.
In the end, Bae Do-hyun had no choice but to strike out on his own. He accepted his parents' verdict: if you want to do this, leave the house and figure it out yourself.
His father gave up on him. His mother was completely worn out.
Clinging to a dream he was too petty to abandon, he shut himself in a tiny room and ground day and night.
But the years kept ticking by. After the military, his wrists started giving him trouble. The possibility that had once eaten away at his mind was nowhere to be found.
And just like that, the dream—
vanished like a short-lived illusion, bursting into foam.
When she opened her eyes and sat up, she was in Gyeo-wool's room.
Jin Gyeo-wool pressed both hands hard against her throbbing temples.
It was the first dream of the past she'd had since taking this body, and the emotional undertow felt twice as violent as usual.
Back when she was Bae Do-hyun, it had never gotten bad enough to make her body shake. Whether it was because she was a girl now or something else, the reaction was easily twice as intense.
A hammering heart. A queasy, stuffed feeling in her stomach.
If she didn't find a way to deal with it, she half-believed she was going to throw up right there on the floor.
"Ugh… ukh."
Jin Gyeo-wool stopped trying to get up and forced herself to think of something good — anything that might drive out this crushing despair and calm her body down.
Luck, or coincidence.
As her consciousness thrashed around looking for an escape from the misery, it latched onto a memory almost at once.
Good heavens… you paid for all of this out of your own pocket, Winter?
Yes.
It was a fairly recent memory.
Not long ago — the day Ha Jeong-uk's parents had shown up, dead set on dragging him away, insisting they could tolerate anything except him choosing games over studying.
If we're going to do this, I wanted to do it properly. Better that than pouring nothing but passion into it for months or years with no pay, chasing an invisible goal and never knowing if you'll make it.
Jin Gyeo-wool had rehearsed those words more times than she could count. She'd always planned to persuade the players' parents somehow if they ever came calling.
These were athletes she'd personally hunted down like precious gems, after all.
Losing them over something as mundane as family circumstances would have been absurd.
And unlike back when she was Bae Do-hyun, she wasn't powerless anymore. She didn't even have to tighten her belt just to buy the players a meal.
And just like studying, environment decides success or failure in gaming too. Since you've always taken such an interest in Jeong-uk Oppa's academics, I'm sure you understand why so many parents try to move into the Gangnam school districts. The environment is simply better there. A strong academic atmosphere, academies within walking distance, and anything that might pull students away from their studies is carefully filtered out.
Gaming was no different. A good environment naturally produced better results.
Having Jin Gyeo-wool herself as a proven carry was one thing.
The practice room she'd set up was an environment purpose-built for focusing on the game.
We're different. I'm serious about this, and so are my friends. They're actively supporting the players.
Yeo-reum always makes sure nobody goes hungry and keeps everyone fed with good food. Ga-eul manages the entire match schedule so we don't have to, acting as both manager and honorary coach. With those two around, the players can focus entirely on the game.
And that's not all. It's cool in summer, warm in winter. Muscle pain from long hours at the computer can be worked out on a full-body massage chair. On top of that, we pay them a salary based on what they put in. One of the biggest worries for any player is money, right?
There was also the unofficial consensus that having Jin Gyeo-wool, Han Yeo-reum, and Cha Ga-eul — that charming trio of high school girls — around made everything even better, but Gyeo-wool didn't know about that, so she left it out of the pitch.
Even if she had known, she probably would have recoiled with a horrified Me?
After hearing the full explanation, Ha Jeong-uk's parents asked in a dazed voice. Meanwhile, Han Yeo-reum brought out delicious tea and snacks.
You must come from a very well-off family, Winter.
…Yes. I got lucky.
……. Is it possible our Jeong-uk could… become a pro, or something like that?
She couldn't say for certain, but if it was him, he could probably make it without much trouble.
Of course, his own wishes would have to be taken into account.
Ha Jeong-uk was completely serious about the tournament right now, but he was also the kind of person who was already thinking about going back to his studies once it was over.
If that's what he wants? Then I'll throw every bit of influence I have behind helping Oppa. But he might not want it. Jeong-uk Oppa is a good person, so he's always kept open the possibility of going back to school the way you both hope, once the tournament ends.
Oh my. Is that so…?
Yes. Hasn't he said anything like that at home?
Ha Jeong-uk's mother looked uncomfortable as she answered.
At home, both of us tend to get a little sharp when we talk…. We always end up fighting and slamming doors before we can get to that kind of conversation.
…Ah.
She understood. That could happen.
The Bae Do-hyun inside Jin Gyeo-wool had lived through the same thing.
Hoping that particular past wouldn't repeat itself, Gyeo-wool offered genuine advice.
Once the tournament is over, try having a real conversation with Jeong-uk Oppa. You might be able to find some common ground.
You're right…. Thank you. I never expected I'd end up telling you all this.
Jin Gyeo-wool smiled brightly, as if that were her pleasure.
Not at all. It's a similar experie—. No, it's about our players. Of course I'd do it.
The conversation ended smoothly, and Ha Jeong-uk was cleared to stay with the team through the end of the year.
It was a good outcome. No second thoughts needed.
She took the recent memory and smoothed it over the jagged surface of her heart, still rough from the wrong memories of the past. The heart that had been thrashing like a volcano finally settled.
Jin Gyeo-wool let out a long, low breath.
And then—
Back then, before I left home and went independent.
If I'd had this kind of power then.
Maybe things wouldn't have turned out this way.
Unable to fully suppress the bitter feeling, Jin Gyeo-wool swallowed the hot tears running down the back of her nose.
Jin Gyeo-wool returned to school about a week later.
Nothing dramatic — she was there to file her withdrawal paperwork.
At the news that Gyeo-wool was dropping out, her friends were already making faces like they were about to cry.
"Gyeo-wool, Gyeo-woool… can't you just keep going to school?"
"…No. I need to focus even a little more."
"Han Yeo-reum. Ease up. Gyeo-wool clearly thought this through before deciding."
"But it's still sad…. Isn't it better to at least have a high school diploma?"
Coming from the person who seemed least likely to care about a diploma, Gyeo-wool couldn't help but fire back in disbelief.
"It's a little ridiculous hearing that from you."
"What?! What did I do!"
"I feel like I can relate to about this much of what Gyeo-wool's feeling."
"Right?"
"Oh my god. Are you two going to keep talking like I'm not here?"
Han Yeo-reum told them to cut it out and slung her arms around both their shoulders. The moment the three girls' soft skin pressed together, Jin Gyeo-wool burst out laughing.
"Anyway, Han Yeo-reum. You haven't forgotten what I told you, right?"
"About Gyeo-wool… don't talk about her at school if I can help it?"
"Yeah. That. You have to stick to it. From now on Gyeo-wool's going to be a public figure. There's no need to go around spilling every detail of her private life."
Cha Ga-eul had clearly already thought several steps ahead for the day Gyeo-wool got even more famous, and she'd prepared a thorough muzzle for Yeo-reum. Stories that came from friends carried almost as much weight as official statements from the person herself, after all.
"But what if the kids ask?"
"You tell them you don't know."
"Hmm…."
Knowing Yeo-reum, she was fully capable of puffing up under a barrage of student questions like she was Jin Gyeo-wool and then blurting something she shouldn't.
That, at least, had to be prevented. Cha Ga-eul squished Yeo-reum's cheeks and asked,
"If some weird article about Gyeo-wool comes out because of you, you're taking responsibility. Got it?"
Sunny, thoughtless, free-spirited — and yet the second anyone mentioned Gyeo-wool getting hurt, she startled like a scared rabbit. A little timid underneath it all.
Cha Ga-eul knew that temperament well, so she started talking in a half-threatening tone.
"I-I'll just be careful! You think I can't do it? Seriously… I'll show you what a real Jin Gyeo-wool stan looks like. Gyeo-wool, leave it to me. I'll start a fan club for you at school."
"I told you not to do anything useless?"
"Aw, why not! I can just say nice things! Don't you know you're supposed to spread a little carefully packaged PR?"
There was no stopping Yeo-reum once she dug in, so Jin Gyeo-wool laughed and tickled her under the arms.
In the old days she never would have dreamed of being this casually physical with anyone, but maybe living as Gyeo-wool for so long had done something — it was starting to feel almost natural.
The three of them opened the front door of the classroom and stepped inside. Three boys who'd been talking in the front row immediately turned their heads toward them.
"Yo, Jin Gyeo-wool's here!"
"Hey! Jin Gyeo-wool!"
"The Harvester's here. The Harvester."
The word they tossed around had once been little better than a brand of disgrace — a stain earned by causing a massive incident at school.
But it was different now. Plenty of people who knew Jin Gyeo-wool called her that with genuine affection. Harvester. Harvester.
Because she was good at games. Because the girl who was good at games had done something in the past, and now she was just messing around with her teammates in more or less the same spirit.
That was how most people saw it.
"Yo Gyeo-wool, what's the meta champ these days?"
"Ah, get lost. Go study support, you bastard."
"Bullshit. Top and support are basically the same thing."
"You trying to play top Alistar or something? Absolute troll."
"That top Art in the finals was actually insane. Jake was kind of… whatever, though."
"Hey, watch your mouth. Honestly Jake played well too. Right, Gyeo-wool?"
With those three leading the charge, the boys in the classroom started swarming in. Everyone seemed determined to build some kind of rapport with Jin Gyeo-wool before she left, dumping Recon talk on her without any particular order.
Anyone who knew, knew — this school had already produced two League of Conceal stars. If Jin Gyeo-wool followed the same path, she was about to quit school entirely and throw herself into gaming full-time. After that, nobody at school would see her again.
So before she left, they had to forge some kind of connection — if only so they could brag about it later.
Actually, Jin Gyeo-wool went to our school. Same class as me. We used to talk about Recon sometimes.
People loved having a personal claim on something impressive nearby. It was a reliable way to hold a room's attention.
Facing the classmates who had completely surrounded her and her friends, Jin Gyeo-wool spoke in the same cool tone she usually reserved for her players.
"Want to talk at our seats? We're blocking the way here."
For a second the old Mad Dog Gyeo-wool must have flickered into view, because everyone flinched and backed off. No matter how approachable she'd become, the memories from back then were still vivid for all of them.
Following the path that parted through the crowd like the Red Sea before Moses, Jin Gyeo-wool led her friends to her desk.