Looks Like the Misunderstanding's Been Cleared Up

It hadn't come up much in conversation, but the media frenzy surrounding Jin Gyeo-wool was already the hottest potato in the gaming news industry. That was why Reporter Yun had asked his colleagues before coming out here — whether any of them had ever managed to interview her.

Their answers were all the same. They wanted to, sure, but the opportunity never presented itself. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Back when she was still going to school there'd been a few cracks to slip through, but these days it was nothing but home-to-practice-room, practice-room-to-home. She arrived by car and left with friends every single time. Gaps simply didn't open up.

If she'd been a guy, a reporter might've stuck to her like glue and forced the issue. But she was a girl. Trail her too aggressively and you risked getting branded a stalker, or worse — sparking an overzealous-reporting scandal that put you in the headlines instead.

So Yun Dong-seop's method of choice was a stakeout.

No matter how carefully she came and went by car, the moment she stepped out of the vehicle there would be an opening. Nail that window and request an interview, and she wouldn't be able to dodge it.

He'd even gotten clearance from Department Head Ma — land the Jin Gyeo-wool exclusive and he wouldn't have to chase another story all week.

Today was Monday. Invest five solid days through Friday and he was bound to snag at least one good shot.

Buoyed by that hopeful calculation, Yun Dong-seop kept glancing at the sticky note plastered to the back of his phone, body crumpled into the driver's seat, eyes locked on the building ahead.

And yet.

Two hours passed.

Then four.

No players showed up.

And it wasn't just the players. Even Coach Chae Hojin — the acting head coach who normally had to hold down the practice room even when the roster took a day off — was nowhere to be seen.

"Are they not practicing today?"

It felt off, but he couldn't abandon his post. Dedicating every minute outside of bathroom breaks to the surveillance net was the whole point of a stakeout, wasn't it?

With nothing else to do, Yun Dong-seop switched his Bluetooth music back on. Might as well listen to something if he was going to be bored out of his skull. A cozy stretch of classical music spilled out — utterly mismatched with his middle-aged-uncle face.

He was swaying along to a groove that made him look like a drunk who'd wandered into the wrong genre when a traffic cop appeared from the rear blind spot and shattered the mood.

"Sir? Anyone in there?"

At the knock, Yun turned his head and found a police uniform staring back at him. He jolted and rolled down the window.

"H-huh. Yes. Is something wrong?"

"This is a no-parking zone. Move the vehicle, please. We got a complaint."

"Ah."

A complaint. Someone had clearly spotted the parked car and dialed 120. Yun swept another look around. The first-floor storefront of the building he was parked against was vacant, a for-lease sign in the window. Some bored busybody must have filed the report.

He put on a pitiful face and fired up the engine in a hurry.

"I'll move it right away. I was just tired — pulled over to rest for a bit."

"Appreciate the cooperation."

"Yes, sir… Honestly didn't realize it was a no-parking zone."

He had, in fact, known perfectly well. But when the magic wand of the law shows up and tells you to move, you move. What else can you do?

Grumbling under his breath, Yun Dong-seop relocated to a legitimate parking spot a short distance away. He'd been trying to cut corners so the stakeout wouldn't rack up tens of thousands of won in parking fees. Failed spectacularly.

At the same time.

Jin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Gyeo-wool had gone through a battery of tests and was now shoving the results in her teammates' faces.

The blood work wouldn't be back until tomorrow, but between the X-rays, the ultrasound, the gastroscopy, and everything else — not a single disease had turned up.

Normally an endoscopy found at least a polyp or two. Nothing. The doctor had even marveled at the pristine condition of her stomach lining. The free bonus commentary — pretty people have pretty stomach linings, huh — had been entirely unnecessary.

"Still not gonna believe me?"

Jin Gyeo-wool planted both hands on her hips and stood before the players in full triumphant glory.

Only then did Yu Min-jae, finally grasping the full picture, cry out. Admitting his own delusion at this stage was simply too humiliating.

"W-wait! The blood results aren't even back yet!"

"The urine test came back basically clean, so they said the blood work'll be fine too. You weren't listening earlier, were you? At our age, having some major illness would be the weird part."

There was that old saying about beautiful people dying young, sure — but even accounting for that, Yu Min-jae had gone way too far.

Choi Do-yun, who'd been taken in by Min-jae's story just yesterday, muttered under his breath.

"Min-jae. Just admit it already…"

"Th-this can't be! Do you know how much— hey! I was completely serious!"

Yu Min-jae clutched his face like it was about to explode and fled the room. Gong Je-hyeon watched him go and drawled,

"Is that guy an idiot? He watches the Commander yank my hair out every single day and still decides she's sick? That's not normal."

"Right?"

"Whoa. First time you've ever agreed with me, Noona."

"Is it?"

Jin Gyeo-wool stared at the empty space Yu Min-jae had vacated and let out a long sigh.

"How on earth did I end up terminally ill…"

Thinking back on it, she hadn't exactly been free of statements that could be misread. I'm running out of time. I have to debut this year, no matter what. She'd been especially impatient around Min-jae in particular.

But jumping from that to a terminal diagnosis was a stretch. That was entirely on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yu Min-jae being way too earnest and way too dramatic.

In place of the runaway Min-jae, Jin Gyeo-wool turned to Song Yu-ra and apologized.

"Uh… sorry. Looks like that idiot broke up with you because he thought I was dying."

"Ah… aha."

"I told him I was going to debut by the end of the year no matter what, and I think he just wanted to help the team however he could. I really hope you two get back together."

"Ah. Okay… thank you, Unni…"

Song Yu-ra bowed her head again, murmuring an apology for yelling the day before, then slipped out after the fleeing Yu Min-jae.

Not every tangled misunderstanding had been fully unraveled — but the factual cleanup of the team's love quadrangle was, at least, definitively finished.

Coach Chae Hojin, who'd been lost in thought, ventured a careful question.

"So… Do-yun does like Gyeo-wool. But Gyeo-wool, you don't like him back?"

"Correct."

Choi Do-yun whipped his head away the second he heard it. He'd known since yesterday, but hearing it again still clearly hurt.

"Je-hyeon doesn't like Gyeo-wool in a romantic way."

"Romantic? She's my noona. My noona."

"And Min-jae… well, he'll probably get back with his ex."

"That tracks."

Thank god. Coach Chae exhaled in relief.

So the only one with any real shot at Jin Gyeo-wool was still Lee Do-jin. If that held true, he wouldn't have to worry about the roster fracturing before the Korean Cup in December.

Chae Hojin sidled over to Choi Do-yun and gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

"Unrequited love is always hard, Do-yun."

"You don't have to comfort me. I was the idiot who misunderstood everything…"

Watching them, Jin Gyeo-wool tossed out a line.

"As long as you weren't fantasizing about marrying me and having a bunch of kids, you're fine."

Choi Do-yun's shoulders hunched. There were several points on which he felt distinctly guilty.

Oblivious to the physical manifestation of Do-yun's conscience, Gyeo-wool kept going.

"Look… I want us to stay on the same team for as long as we can. But the second we go pro, that's not exactly easy, right?"

Everyone nodded slowly, as if on cue.

If they all wanted to go pro as one unit, they could try grinding through the Challengers League and climbing via the promotion tournament — but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the odds were low and the timeline was long.

Just as Gyeo-wool said, getting scouted individually by the teams they wanted was the fast track to debuting and the shortest road to success.

"I do want to take all of you with me… but honestly, I'm not confident I can. For all I know, you guys might get picked up by a good org before I do."

Gong Je-hyeon cut in at once.

"Come on, that's ridiculous. Noona's definitely debuting before any of us."

Choi Do-yun, who'd been wearing a sulky expression this whole time, raised his voice.

"Yeah. Noona has to debut first, no question. Us going before her doesn't even make sense."

Ha Jeong-uk glanced sideways at Coach Chae, then added his own piece.

"Honestly, Gyeo-wool — without you, how many of us here do you think would've even had a shot at debuting?"

"Hell yeah. That's our Hyung Ha for you! Killer insight. Not quite Commander-level, of course."

Apparently deciding he ought to say something too, Chae Hojin quietly added his voice.

"D-don't worry too much, Gyeo-wool. I'll work every angle I can — pull every string — to make sure you all get to debut, no matter what. So just focus on the game. Show them your level at the international tournament. Make it the best damn showcase of your lives."

It was the most coach-like thing he'd said in a while, and Jin Gyeo-wool broke into an uncharacteristically warm smile.

"Anyway. Even after I debut, I want us to stay good friends. If we end up on different teams, I want us to be the kind of friends who can compete with real respect. And if we end up on the same one… the kind who help each other climb all the way to the top."

Jin Gyeo-wool's pale, slender hand stretched into the middle of the little circle they'd formed. As if they'd rehearsed it, everyone stacked their hands on top of hers.

Choi Do-yun first, then Gong Je-hyeon, Ha Jeong-uk, and Chae Hojin, one after another.

"So let's go all out. All the way to the Korean Cup."

"Yeah!"

"Fighting!"

"Jin Gyeo-wool forever!"

"Seoul Team fighting!"

Night fell, and still no one came to the Seoul Team practice room.

Yun Dong-seop had no choice but to turn the car around and head for a jjimjilbang sauna.

He roasted himself in the steam room, took a long cool shower, cracked open a few hot-stone eggs, and slept until four in the morning.

Freshly showered, cleanly shaved, trailing a cloud of soap and middle-aged aftershave, he climbed back into the car.

Yesterday must have been a team-wide day off. There was no other explanation for a complete no-show.

Your average reporter would've been seething after burning an entire day for nothing. But Yun had long since achieved enlightenment when it came to blown appointments. He settled against the seat with the same calm expression as before and resumed staring down the practice room entrance.

About three hours later.

Seven in the morning. A white foreign car — the kind famous for its three-pointed star emblem — glided to a stop in front of the commercial building that housed the practice room.

Yun's reporter instincts kicked in instantly. He burst out of his car.

A woman passing beside the opening car door yelped in surprise. He ducked his head in a quick apology and sprinted straight for Jin Gyeo-wool.

"Jin Gyeo-wool!"

"…You scared me."

She said she'd been startled, but her voice was perfectly calm, not a trace of actual shock. Yun Dong-seop murmured with the giddy relief of a man who'd finally landed his chance.

"An interview… just a quick one… would that be possible?"

It hadn't been a long run, but years of neglecting exercise left him breathing hard.

The excessively wheezing middle-aged man struck Jin Gyeo-wool as deeply suspicious.

"And you are?"

A sharp glare and a blunt tone came flying his way.

Damn. Female players really are prickly. Yun fumbled a business card from his pocket and held it out.

"Ah — I'm Yun Dong-seop, reporter with Minjung Ilbo. I came hoping to interview Jin Gyeo-wool, top laner for the Seoul Team. That is you, correct?"

"Yes."

The business card smoothed the slight crease from her expression. Relieved, Yun launched into his first question.

"You're being called the closest any female player has ever come to the pro level. How do you feel about that? It seems like you're preparing for a pro debut — may I ask which team you'd like to join?"

If Jin Gyeo-wool went pro, she could become the first — and only — woman in the history of the league.

Korea had always been a gaming powerhouse, and the level of its league reflected that. But that story belonged exclusively to the men.

Most boys grew up treating games as a cultural staple, sharpening themselves through competition from a young age. Girls, by contrast, rarely showed much interest in games at all — least of all in competitive PvP titles built around head-to-head combat.

Which made the League of Council scene a barren, unclaimed frontier for women. Whoever stepped into it first would earn the right to rewrite history as a pioneer.

And right now, the person closest to that title was Jin Gyeo-wool.

Yun Dong-seop was dying to hear what she'd say. Part of him worried she might give a timid answer — something about how intimidating it was to jump into a league full of men alone.

Instead, Jin Gyeo-wool tilted her head slightly, let out a short scoff, and said,

"I get that evaluation because I'm good. Man or woman — if you're not good enough, you get cut. That's the pro world."

Utterly confident. Brimming with fight.

"I'll consider joining any team that wants me. I just haven't been fully proven yet. Honestly, I don't think I fall short of any pro player in pure skill."

It was a fierce, aggressive answer — one that showed exactly how she intended to stand her ground in a league packed with men.