Guess I Met a Legend
While the first day of the group stage unfolded, the Korean national team played a total of three matches.
Across all three games, every lane exploded. Not a single player on the roster lost their lane.
Once a relatively strong side like Macau had been dismantled that thoroughly, the remaining matchups barely registered as a concern for the officials. The other teams scheduled to face them, however, felt rather differently.
Jin Gyeo-wool must have been a little off her game that day. Surely we can at least make a fight of it?
…Or so the overseas squads had told themselves—right up until a five-man squad tore the Rift apart with overwhelming force and toyed with them at will.
The Korean national team was, beyond any doubt, strong.
By Jin Gyeo-wool's own assessment, there was maybe a five-percent gap between this and the absolute dominance she had shown on stream. But that was a difference only experts—and seasoned ones at that—would ever notice.
Bae Jeong-woong, who had been dispatched to build a network with the players, recorded all three matches himself and sent them straight to Coach Kim Donggyun. Reviewing the footage back at the hotel was a bonus—or rather, the inevitable instinct of a gamer.
After going over the VODs a couple of times, the seasoned edges of Jin Gyeo-wool's play that others might have missed began to stand out. She analyzed her opponents, read their habitual movements, and then pulled off plays no one saw coming. Ward placements. Scouting patterns. The timing of her jungle calls. Everything had been turned into data that fed directly into her game.
And even setting all that aside, she simply looked too strong on the surface. Jin Gyeo-wool, Choi Do-yun, Gong Je-hyeon—the upper half of that trio was crushing.
At the 2018 CWC, CCK teams that had never escaped the old meta had leaned heavily on late-game, bot-side-dependent styles. What those teams had desperately needed was one critical ingredient.
Upper-side power.
This young squad was living proof of the answer. And just as they had at the KeG Presidential Cup, the team was, remarkably, clean. One of the classic amateur pitfalls was failing to close a game after laning phase ended around the fifteen-minute mark, then throwing it away on a clumsy teamfight blunder. This team had none of that. Their macro was so polished it felt like sitting down to a hotel fine-dining course.
Stamp the lanes with raw force and open a lead. Convert that lead through clean macro, perfect skirmishes, and teamfights. That was their winning formula—and because it worked every single time, they were inevitably the strongest team at the amateur level.
Of course, the glaring limitation was that their skill had only been proven at the amateur level. For all that this was a stage, it was still an empty arena. How much of their true ability would they show once the seats were packed? Once they turned pro, how steadily could they walk with the weight of countless eyes and fans' expectations on their shoulders? They would have to climb over wall after wall of trials before anyone truly recognized them. Could they hold out that long? Could they overcome the countless hardships ahead and stand tall against professionals?
All of it remained nothing more than a hazy, smoke-like expectation. But one thing was already clear: for the kind of roster rebuild Coach Kim Donggyun wanted, there was no better hand than these five players Bae Jeong-woong had seen with his own eyes. Just as he had said—swallow a finished team whole for a modest sum of money. He almost felt bad for the players.
Where else were you supposed to find athletes who trusted one another, leaned on one another, and played as a single organic body—especially at a moment this ripe for a rebuild?
The second the GM signs off, I need to sit down with Jin Gyeo-wool. With that thought, Bae Jeong-woong settled in, heart racing, to wait for the good news Kim Donggyun would send from Korea.
Stove League season rumors were kindling for a bored LoC Gallery with no tournaments to watch. Truth and lies mixed into a perfect free-for-all. Teams that lost star players seethed, and that rage landed squarely on the front office and the GM. The fanbases of the teams that poached them only poured more fuel on the fire. Watching someone else's house burn felt good, after all. Of course, those same fans sometimes woke up to FA news about a player their own team absolutely could not afford to lose—and just like that, the offensive flipped.
While every kind of rumor collided in the internet coliseum and the arguments raged on, each organization was scrambling to assemble its best possible roster. Official announcements were still about a week out, but Hyeonsung fans already had a vague sense that every player except Plum—Lee Do-jin—was a free agent. As long as there were staff members who browsed the communities, information leaks were inevitable.
Hyeonsung's 2019 new entry was already the center of attention, and inside the GM's office the groans of finalizing that roster dragged on.
"I still don't know if this is actually okay."
"Come on, GM. I'm telling you these kids are going to be fine. You watched the VODs with me."
"I know, Donggyun. I get it. They're way better than our current trainees—I can see that much."
A low groan escaped Ju Yeongsik as the lines on his face deepened. When he had first heard they were talking about a female player, he had flatly refused. Watching her play, though, had clearly sparked his curiosity.
"Anyway—so if we bring in this Jin Gyeo-wool kid, we get all five of them in one go. That's the idea?"
"That's right."
Kim Donggyun's position was that they only needed to import a finished team and develop it—nothing difficult about it. But whether they should bring in Jin Gyeo-wool, the heart of that team, was the point Ju Yeongsik kept turning over.
Hyeonsung's icon was Plum, Lee Do-jin, and the fans knew he and Jin Gyeo-wool were fairly close. If she joined Hyeonsung, would Lee Do-jin be able to focus on the game? The Hwasong High tournament footage made them look awfully close—not just a casual older-brother, younger-sister dynamic, but something tighter, the kind of bond where they trusted and leaned on each other…
Separate from those worries, though, he had to acknowledge Jin Gyeo-wool's skill. Coach Kim Donggyun, who had driven championships for years, was vouching for her. Coach Bae Jeong-woong had confirmed it on-site. Even Lee Do-jin himself had gone directly to Ju Yeongsik and asked him to bring Jin Gyeo-wool in.
"Hah. Fine. If we're going to take heat anyway, we might as well go all in. My prediction? This winter won't stay cold for long. The fans will keep tossing on the firewood."
"Ah… yeah, I can see that coming."
You're supposed to get Lee Do-jin another title—have you lost your mind? Where did you throw the money? This is the window to bring in veterans and rebuild a dynasty, and you're slotting a bunch of kids who don't know anything onto the main roster?
Imagining the indiscriminate bombardment that would rain down on the front office made Ju Yeongsik's head spin.
"But she needs to understand this. There are things Jin Gyeo-wool is going to have to endure."
Kim Donggyun nodded, his expression uncomfortable.
"Agreed. First of all—special treatment because she's a girl is absolutely off the table."
"Right. Things are noisy enough these days. Reverse-discrimination talk could start flying. So we assume she's living the pro life in the exact same environment as everyone else, and…"
It was a difficult conversation she would have to have in her own words.
"If we bring her in, make sure she says it herself. No preferential treatment, no special consideration whatsoever. She's going to compete under the same conditions, putting in the same effort as everyone else."
Kim Donggyun agreed. Jin Gyeo-wool had never climbed this far on special treatment for being a female player in the first place. From everything he had heard about the Seoul team's history, she had recruited her teammates herself and practically awakened a somewhat lacking roster into an excellent one. Her attachment to the team ran deep, and her pride in each of her players was enormous. According to Coach Chae Hojin, if you tried to cut her slack, she got angry instead. Whether it was because she was conscious of other people's eyes, he couldn't say—but what was certain was that she found being fussed over for being a girl uncomfortable.
"A kid like her might even throw in her own ambitions."
"…True enough. That Hwasong High footage showed she has backbone. Anyway, I don't know. I've approved it, so handle the rest."
"Thank you, GM!"
Kim Donggyun bowed deeply and was about to leave the office when Ju Yeongsik called him back.
"Hypothetically—is she better, or is Kim Jongha, the one we just signed, better?"
Kim Donggyun looked pained. The question was not so different from asking which cow worked harder. Kim Jongha was a multi-year veteran who handled carry champions exceptionally well; Jin Gyeo-wool was a rookie debuting this year with staggering potential. Honestly, you would have to put them against each other directly to settle that one.
The evening of the tournament's first day.
After dinner, Jin Gyeo-wool was strolling leisurely through the hotel lobby, taking in the facilities, when she had no choice but to doubt her own eyes. How could she not be startled, with zengi—Bae Jeong-woong, living witness to the Hyeonsung Universe—standing right there in front of her?
It wasn't even a chance encounter. He had come specifically because he wanted to connect with her. She even heard him ask that, when the time came to choose a team, she put Hyeonsung at the top of her list.
Weird…
Thinking about it now, though, something felt a little odd. Factoring in name value and legendary career, Lee Do-jin was more famous than Bae Jeong-woong. And she had seen that same Lee Do-jin—not somewhere special, but at home. The Lee Do-jin other people would leap out of their seats over had been grinding ranked games while she stood in the open doorway staring blankly. And that wasn't all. Jin Gyeo-wool had treated that Lee Do-jin as if it were nothing—just like a friend.
Is it because of this body after all?
Because the body was so used to Lee Do-jin. That was why it had felt ordinary. It had to be.
Back when he had wanted so badly to go pro, Bae Do-hyun had carried a certain romance about professional players. Someday, if he ever met them face to face, he would shake their hands with genuine joy and ask for an autograph. That was what he had always told himself.
And now The Jungle himself—GenderJungleGodgi—wanted to be on friendly terms with Jin Gyeo-wool. Please come to the Hyeonsung Universe! And bring every player Gyeo-wool had gathered with her.
"So… what do you think, Jin Gyeo-wool?"
She was holding onto her usual composed demeanor, but inside, Jin Gyeo-wool was popcorn in an iron pot heated over open flame—popping, popping, popping. The feeling of being recognized by a real pro. It was as if she had just been handed a certificate saying she was ready to start as a regular right now, and her heart was racing.
And so Jin Gyeo-wool answered without much deliberation.
"Yes, of course! Swapping contacts with the player who is the jungle itself? If my friends find out, they'll die of envy."
"Ahaha… W-well, when you put it like that, it's a little embarrassing."
"No, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I really watched all of it. That Worlds performance! I remember every bit of it, you know? You're the god of the jungle who even commands the jungle camps!"
"Ahahahaha!"
Bae Jeong-woong laughed very loudly, looking thoroughly mortified. Honestly, he had not asked for her contact information just to hear praise like this. Right now he was carrying a serious mission. With front-office approval secured, Jin Gyeo-wool's decision carried enormous weight.
"Then I'll take that as a positive answer—would it be all right if we stayed in touch? The truth is I'm heading into the military soon… Once you're back in Korea, Coach Kim Donggyun will be the one contacting you directly."
"Aha. Wow. Coach Kim Donggyun? Contacting me?"
If Jin Gyeo-wool ever dropped this on the communities or spun it out on her own stream, the LoC Gallery might flip upside down that very day. Bae Jeong-woong knew that and approached her anyway. Even if it meant taking a little risk, this year's rebuild had to move forward for certain.
"If at all possible, could you keep this quiet until we send a formal invitation? Once the tournament ends and you're back in Korea, we'll reach out right away from our side. I'd like to leave communicating with each of the players to you, Jin Gyeo-wool."
"Ah… me. Yes. I'll do that."
Bae Jeong-woong emphasized once more that the front office wanted all five players to join Hyeonsung. He couldn't quite bring himself to say that the completely vacant jungle and ADC slots absolutely had to be filled—but the important points had all been delivered. Relieved that Jin Gyeo-wool neither grew wary nor seemed burdened, Bae Jeong-woong let out a quiet sigh.
"Then good luck with the rest of the schedule. I'll be watching from the stands the whole time."
Burden? Please.
Jin Gyeo-wool's shoulders tensed with energy at the words that Bae Jeong-woong was rooting for her. She had not made a single mistake since the tournament began—and now that things had come to this, she would not allow so much as a handful of error in the bracket stage starting tomorrow.
She clenched her fist and, alone, whispered a fighting cheer to herself.