The Dawn of Legend League

Yoo Jae-won sent a brief reply to the ID Talk message from President Mike that read, “You didn’t miss it this time.” His response was simple: “Let’s talk properly once I’m in America.” A faint smile touched his lips as he set the device aside.

He had known about the StarCraft use map Aeon of Strife for a long time. He was also well aware that a converted version had appeared the moment Fantasy Universe launched. Still, he had waited for others to reach out first. A project of this scale could not be carried by one man alone. It would only become feasible once the game had built genuine recognition among players and a solid group of developers had glimpsed its true future.

After all, completely monopolizing a genre was impossible. Anyone could create and sell a chessboard or a game of Go. No one paid FIFA every time they played soccer on the field. Soccer equipment could be manufactured by anyone with the will to do so, and the market offered everything from officially licensed FIFA gear to cheap Chinese alternatives. The range of choices was staggering.

Aeon of Strife was no different. The genre had taken its name from the first letters of the original title, becoming known as AOS, yet its creator—Aeon64—held no exclusive rights to the genre itself. The instant it showed signs of popularity, countless imitators flooded the market. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠To stand tall as the undisputed original among all those derivatives required people of exceptional vision and resolve.

That was why Yoo Jae-won had waited until more of his own people recognized the real depth and potential hidden inside Aeon of Strife.

“With President Mike making it more than four people, the time has clearly come to begin.”

Among the four names caught on Yoo Jae-won’s radar, the one with the deepest understanding had been the last to join—President Mike. In absolute terms, it was not yet a fully satisfying level. But when one considered they were people of this era, it was worthy of high praise. Since Yoo Jae-won himself had witnessed the final evolution of the AOS genre and played it extensively, no one could surpass his insight. Even so, the others had grasped the core concept clearly.

Looking back at the pre-regression popularity of AOS, the phenomenon was almost endless. Every conceivable variation appeared across every possible platform. Among them all, the game that ultimately reigned supreme was Legend League, usually shortened to LL.

After the first standardized version of AOS appeared, a flood of derivatives erupted like the chaotic Warring States period. The final victor that emerged from that brutal competition was Legend League—LL. A small studio called Riot Games had created it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the title detonated like a nuclear bomb. Tencent, in which Yoo Jae-won now held the position of second-largest shareholder, acquired the company and nurtured it into a global titan. Before the regression, if anyone spoke of Tencent’s greatest cash cow, LL was the immediate answer.

LL never stopped innovating. No matter how entertaining a game might be, repetition eventually bred boredom. By introducing a seasonal system that delivered massive overhauls with each new season, the developers kept the experience fresh. Some seasons failed, but far more succeeded brilliantly. Thanks to that approach, even after the arrival of the virtual reality era, LL’s popularity never waned. The top two spots in VR game rankings were both occupied by different versions of LL.

What made it truly interesting was that both number one and number two were LL. One version let players act like gods, commanding characters from a quarter-view perspective. The other allowed players to become an LL champion and step directly onto the battlefield. These two editions constantly traded places in the rankings.

Yoo Jae-won had preferred the immersion version where he became a champion himself. It was significantly more difficult than the quarter-view mode, yet the visceral joy of fighting on the battlefield in person exceeded anything imagination could offer. Among serious LL players, those confident in their skill almost always chose the champion-possession mode. Logically, the quarter-view version should have faded, yet the two remained locked in fierce competition. The reason was simple: far more players were already comfortable with the classic quarter-view perspective.

Enjoying LL was not limited to playing it. Watching the professional leagues was another major avenue. The skill level of pro gamers existed on an entirely different plane. Spectators usually watched from the default quarter-view, but when a spectacular team fight erupted or an unforgettable play occurred, the broadcast would switch to edited first-person footage. That had become the standard in the VR age.

Yoo Jae-won had been a respected ranker in his own right—a permanent resident of Master League, awarded only to the top one percent. Unfortunately, he had never broken into Challenger, the exclusive domain of the top 0.01 percent. That rank was a dream for someone like him who only played when he could find the time; it was populated almost entirely by active pro-league competitors.

In any case, the conditions for creating a proper AOS title were now fully ripe. It was time to begin.

“Contact me anytime if any problems arise.”

After leaving those instructions with the Manchester United board, Yoo Jae-won departed England. For British government officials and businessmen, it was a bitterly disappointing turn. They had hoped to discuss potential investments and ask numerous questions about the future of IT. None of them had expected him to leave the country the same day he arrived, without staying even a single night.

In truth, had President Mike’s message not arrived, Yoo Jae-won had planned to stay for a day. Although Britain’s global standing had declined considerably since the twentieth century, London’s position in the financial world remained unshaken. Moreover, many of his future plans involved British interests. He would not have minded spending a day in London, but since the matter was not urgent, he chose to return to America at once.

“I’ve reviewed it.”

“It’s weak,” Yoo Jae-won said firmly.

The topic of their conversation was the Glass Wallet Law, which had recently become the hottest issue in Korea. The Special Committee for National Defense Reform had already shaken out the incompetent generals. Yet voices insisted that the reforms could not end with punishment alone; structural problems had to be fixed as well. Both the Blue House and the Ministry of National Defense responded enthusiastically, beginning work on improvement plans that would be clearly reflected in next year’s budget.

What had begun as Yoo Jae-won’s impromptu donation had blossomed into a positive current that would modernize the military’s outdated culture and launch a massive overhaul of its inadequate facilities.

Even so, the matter was far from over. Citizens now recognized that similar disasters could occur across the entire spectrum of public service, not just the military. People of action, drawing on their experience with coordinated World Cup cheering, gathered at the plaza in front of City Hall and demanded fundamental solutions.

At exactly the right moment, the United People’s Party announced the Public Official Asset Disclosure Act—commonly known as the Glass Wallet Law. Its core proposal was to make all public officials’ assets fully transparent and use that information for personnel decisions and promotions.

Both the crowd at City Hall and the vast majority of citizens watching from afar greeted the proposal with fervent support. The National Assembly immediately began drafting the bill’s provisions, aiming to complete legislation by early October at the latest. The clauses were emerging one by one, and the document Choi Kang-wook had just sent was the first complete draft of the Glass Wallet Law.

“If the punishment clauses are this mild, who would bother making an honest declaration?”

Although the document was lengthy, its heart lay in the punishment provisions. After skimming only that section, Yoo Jae-won had immediately declared it insufficient. The old saying that a monk cannot shave his own head proved true once again. The category of “public officials” naturally included the members of the National Assembly sitting inside the Capitol building.

Compared to the 1980s and 90s, when elections were won with rubber shoes and cash envelopes, politics had become considerably cleaner. Yet it remained far behind the standards of truly advanced nations. The lawmakers themselves were in an awkward position; they were being asked to tie the bell around their own necks. It was only natural that they would approach the legislation with reluctance.

Even so, they could not afford to stall. With the public—the voters—in an explosive state, there was no chance the reform effort would simply fizzle out. Moreover, the greatest political event of all, the presidential election, was scheduled for early next year. To win even a single additional vote, every party had to demonstrate active commitment to completing the Glass Wallet Law the citizens demanded.

It was telling that even the Democratic Korea Party—which had no realistic chance in the upcoming election no matter how optimistically one viewed the situation—was working diligently on the bill. The legislation clearly showed serious effort in its creation. Yet when it reached the clauses that would actually punish those who violated the law, the lawmakers had visibly taken several steps backward.

Stern warning? Reprimand? Salary reduction? Would people blinded by personal greed even flinch at penalties so light?

“For elected officials, the penalty should be invalidation of their election. For appointed officials, outright dismissal. For those who entered through examinations, removal from office. Only then will people truly fear the law.”

Yoo Jae-won had stated his position without ambiguity. It might have sounded like a complaint directed at Choi Kang-wook, but once the vice chairman ended the call, he would organize the feedback and deliver it to both the United People’s Party and the Democratic Party. Compared to the way Ilseong Group and other chaebols had once drafted entire bills themselves and simply handed them to the legislature, this process was remarkably inefficient. Yet there was a world of difference between acknowledging the National Assembly’s legislative authority while providing a clear baseline, and simply ignoring that authority by handing down orders from above.

“Chairman, the aircraft is ready.”

The moment the call with Choi Kang-wook ended, the timing proved perfect. It was time to board the private jet. The moment had arrived to begin something truly enjoyable.

A person who could earn substantial money while doing exactly what he loved could only be called fortunate. True harmony between passion and profession was exceedingly rare; to live such a life was itself a form of luck. In that sense, Yoo Jae-won was a lucky man. Though his present fortune rested upon the terrible misfortunes of his previous life, the very fact that he could receive such compensation was a blessing granted solely to him.

Therefore, whenever conditions allowed, he wanted to share that good fortune with as many people as possible.

Late September. The individuals gathered at Yoo Jae-won’s residence in San Francisco embodied exactly that desire.

President Mike, the amateur developer Jeremy Paul—who operated under the nickname Aeon64 on both Battle.net and Steam—the development team leader from Fire Fist Games, and the map designer Kyle Sommer, who had worked under the nickname Eul in Warcraft 2. Finally, there was President Gabe of Steam, who somehow managed to fit in anywhere.

“Have you all introduced yourselves?”

At Yoo Jae-won’s question, the group exchanged glances and nodded. A trace of awkwardness still lingered, but the atmosphere was far from icy. The gap in fame between Yoo Jae-won, President Mike, and the others was enormous, yet once they sat together in one room, they recognized it at a glance: they were all the same kind of people.

They loved games too deeply, and among those games, they were utterly captivated by line-pushing titles that had begun with Aeon of Strife—the genre now known as AOS.

The most overwhelmed person present was Kyle Sommer. Ever since being picked up at the airport and brought to the mansion, his mouth had remained hanging open in disbelief. To Kyle Sommer, even Aeon64 had been an idol. Discussing Yoo Jae-won would take far too long, and President Mike represented a dream made reality. Aeon64 had felt similarly distant. If the most famous use-map developer was Jeremy Paul under the nickname Aeon64, Kyle Sommer had only created a single map so far. Consequently, he possessed the lowest name recognition among everyone in the room.

“Mr. Kyle Sommer, thank you for coming. I know the schedule was set rather abruptly. I hope it didn’t cause you too much trouble?”

Yoo Jae-won addressed the visibly nervous man first.

“Not at all! If Chairman Yoo calls, anyone would have dropped everything just like I did! Especially when the reason is that project! It is an honor to even be invited!”

“No, I’m the one who should be grateful. Some of you may already know, but Mr. Kyle Sommer here is the creator of the Defense of the Ancients use map for Warcraft 2.”

The breeze of AOS that had first stirred in the StarCraft use map Aeon of Strife had truly taken root in Kyle Sommer’s Defense of the Ancients. The concept of lane pushing became far more concrete. Using the map editor’s free camera controls in Warcraft 2, he had established the quarter-view perspective. By arranging factions diagonally, he had increased the sense of dynamism even further. Players could level their characters using experience gained from killing minions, upgrade stats or skills, and earn gold to purchase recovery items or stat-boosting equipment.

Above all, Kyle Sommer’s greatest achievement was solidifying the fundamental 5-versus-5 structure with a maximum of ten players—the complete vision of what AOS could become.

“I merely expanded upon the ideas Mr. Jeremy first demonstrated with Aeon.”

At Yoo Jae-won’s praise, Kyle Sommer grew visibly flustered and quickly credited ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jeremy Paul instead. Such humility was rare among Americans, who usually had no qualms about accepting compliments.

Yet separate from the praise, because the maps had been created by individuals, many rough edges still remained. To Yoo Jae-won, who had already witnessed the completed form of AOS, the current use maps were nothing more than tiny seeds. His goal was to cultivate those seeds properly and transform them into a world tree capable of swallowing the entire global game market.

President Mike’s outstanding management ability, proven while overseeing a massive project like World of Warcraft. The Fire Fist Games development team leader’s innate talent for systems and resource design. Jeremy Paul and Kyle Sommer’s original AOS DNA. Gabe, a multi-role talent with an exceptional eye for game trends, would handle balance. Finally, Yoo Jae-won’s own capital and accumulated expertise completed every preparation needed to develop a fully realized AOS title from the ground up.

“I already have a title in mind for the project.”

Yoo Jae-won manipulated his iWorks Blade notebook, projecting the image onto a large screen visible to everyone. There, the words Fantasy Universe - Legend League appeared in bold, commanding letters.