The E-Sports Initiative
“An e-sports team?” President Lee Yong-kwon asked, sounding genuinely surprised. He had expected something far more substantial when Yoo Jae-won spoke in such a serious tone about a major business opportunity. An e-sports team felt almost trivial by comparison.
From his perspective, that reaction made sense. E-sports had already taken root in Korea. Dedicated game broadcast networks existed, and matches aired every day of the week. The most developed league was, without question, StarCraft. Modeled after the English Premier League, it featured a top-tier Star League, a second-division Challenge League, and even a third-division PC-bang league. The scene had grown deep and wide, earning international recognition. Fans in the United States and Europe stayed up through the night to watch Korean matches live. On match days, spotting foreign supporters in the crowd was commonplace.
Yet when viewed as a whole, the industry remained small. StarCraft dominated, but other games lagged far behind in developing professional scenes. Warcraft 2 was the only title showing real promise as a successor. Even the much-hyped FIFA World Cup league was little more than a one-year pilot, made possible only because the World Cup was being hosted in Korea.
“If a major conglomerate were going to launch a gaming team, I figured you would be the first to do it, Director Yoo.”
President Lee was surprisingly well-informed about e-sports. His comment also highlighted the fact that no large corporations had yet entered the space. That, too, was a direct result of Yoo Jae-won’s interventions. In the original timeline, a cable channel called OnGameNet had driven the scene, running the individual Star League with no formal pro licenses. Players were scouted directly by the network, and operations were haphazard. Treatment of players had been poor.
Now, with Yoo Jae-won’s involvement, the landscape had changed. Once a player reached the second-division Challenge League, they no longer survived on instant noodles alone. Appearance fees were paid per match, victory bonuses existed, and reaching the round of 16 brought prize money. Even a player eliminated in the round of 32 with zero wins could still earn around twelve million won. For those without housing, ID Entertainment provided dormitories with proper practice facilities. All of this was possible because ID Entertainment produced the matches. The network managed pro licenses as well, then sold broadcast rights to OnGameNet, Incheon Broadcasting, and other cable channels for domestic and international distribution. A portion of the resulting revenue flowed back to the players after taxes.
Winning the league meant an eight-figure prize and a flood of advertising offers. Internet companies naturally used champion players as models. Beyond external deals, ID Group itself featured that year’s champion in campaigns for Nextcom, TokTok, and ID Talk. Reaching the Star League alone allowed players to earn sums their peers could only dream of.
The very success of this system, however, had slowed the formation of professional teams. If ID Group had launched a team first, countless domestic companies eager to copy its every move would have followed. But Yoo Jae-won had deliberately held back.
“Ah, us? We would love to, but it’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Our company makes the games. Running our own pro team would obviously invite accusations of unfair advantage.”
Game companies fielding their own teams for promotional purposes was common, yet Yoo Jae-won had no interest in such short-sighted gains. He dreamed of a truly global e-sports league. Star League still had room to grow, and he planned to launch an international circuit soon. What excited him far more, however, was Legend League.
StarCraft’s popularity was concentrated in Korea, followed by the United States and Europe, with a noticeable gap between the top market and the runners-up. Legend League, by contrast, would become a worldwide phenomenon whose momentum would last decades, persisting even after virtual reality became reality. In his previous life, the developer had focused solely on development and never fielded its own team. The game’s balance shifted dramatically every season, and the studio maintained only a single competitive map while adding champions or issuing balance patches. Any suspicion that the developer had practiced on unreleased patches would destroy player trust and collapse the scene’s popularity. Yoo Jae-won shared that concern. That was why, despite his deep interest in e-sports, he had never considered founding a team himself.
Still, he could not simply leave the current situation as it was. That was why he had chosen TG Group.
TG Group was now a massive conglomerate, largely thanks to its controlling stake in TG Mobile, the second mobile carrier launched in the 1990s. In this timeline, TG Mobile occupied the position SKT had held before the regression—and had grown even larger. While other carriers obsessed over protecting their existing revenue streams with incompatible charging standards and exorbitant per-packet data fees, TG Mobile had been the first to adopt Android smartphones. Its plans included hundreds of megabytes of data by default, and Wi-Fi networks were open for free use. TG Mobile had surged ahead.
The company had also been the biggest beneficiary of the 2002 World Cup marketing push. During the tournament it had given away data and Red Devils shirts with abandon, installed massive Infinity screens at street cheering events, and deployed mobile broadcast trucks. While other carriers’ networks failed, TG Mobile’s calls and internet worked flawlessly. The result was over a million new subscribers during the World Cup alone.
Yet for all its success, TG Mobile had shown zero interest in e-sports.
“No interest? That’s surprising. E-sports is one of the most popular pastimes among people in their teens and twenties. We run more ads than anyone except you. Hearing you say that hurts a little.”
President Lee’s rebuttal was immediate, but Yoo Jae-won pressed on.
“Even so, you’ve never seriously considered launching an e-sports team until now, have you?”
“Hmm. That’s because I assumed you had no interest in fielding a team yourself. Anyway, I remember SKT founding the legendary T1 team around this time.”
T1’s history had been legendary. Even during brief periods of decline, new star players had appeared and resurrected the organization like a phoenix. So dominant was its reputation that even after virtual reality became reality, T1 remained the most prestigious e-sports organization in existence.
The problem was that SKT did not exist in this timeline. Originally, Shinsung Telecom would have been preparing to rebrand as SKT. Instead, it had already been acquired by Ilseong Group and renamed Ilseong Telecom. Ilseong Telecom was focused on becoming an Android third-party manufacturer and had shown no interest in e-sports. Therefore, the logical choice was for TG Mobile—the company now occupying SKT’s former position—to take the lead.
T1 had originally been founded in 2004. Launching earlier was feasible given the accelerated pace of technological and cultural change. Still, Yoo Jae-won felt a slight twinge of concern that they might already be running late.
“An e-sports team, then. What scale are we talking about?”
“A StarCraft team and a Warcraft 2 team should be sufficient for now. You should also prepare to add one more title. We have an incredible new game in development.”
“Really? If you’re calling it incredible, I can’t even imagine how big it must be.”
“You’ll see for yourself next year. The growth potential of e-sports is far greater than you think. It will obviously help with marketing and brand recognition as well.”
“Is that so? All right. I’ll trust you and move forward.”
When President Lee agreed so readily, Yoo Jae-won nearly blurted out “Double it!” before catching himself. The movie Tazza would not be released for another three years.
“Thank you for deciding so quickly. Would you like me to introduce you to an e-sports specialist?”
“A specialist? I’d love that.”
“Do you know JM Power?”
“JM Power? Like the market-research firm JD Power? They do sports-team consulting too?”
Yoo Jae-won suppressed a laugh. He should have chosen a more thoughtful username back in elementary school instead of simply using the first thing that came to mind.
“Not a company. JM Power is the ID of professional StarCraft player Won Ju-min. There’s no one more qualified to help launch an e-sports team. He’s also a friend I trust completely.”
Jumin had achieved his dream of becoming a pro gamer. The Emperor of Terran, Lim Yo-hwan. The Storm Zerg, Hong Jin-ho. And the Dark Archon, Won Ju-min. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the eternal icons of the Star League was proof of Jumin’s current stature.
Lim Yo-hwan was the face of e-sports. Hong Jin-ho, more often called the Silver Emperor or simply “Kong” than by his Storm Zerg nickname, was equally iconic. Now Yoo Jae-won’s elementary-school friend Won Ju-min had joined their ranks.
Because of the race’s characteristics, Protoss had never produced a long-term dominant player even in the original timeline. Some Protoss competitors had shown flashes of brilliance, but none had maintained supremacy for more than a year. That changed when Jumin’s potential finally exploded. He became known as the Legend of Autumn. Strangely, Jumin had always struggled during summer seasons, yet from 1999 through the previous year he had dominated every winter season. His best summer result had been quarterfinals, but in winter 1999 he reached the semifinals, in 2000 he made the finals and lost narrowly, and in 2001 he finally lifted the trophy.
This year the pattern was repeating. After a disappointing summer, Jumin had begun a winning streak the moment the winter Star League started in September. Fortunately, his poor summer form had not damaged his reputation too badly—the World Cup had brought the entire Korean pro scene to a near standstill anyway.
Whenever Jumin delivered an unforgettable performance, he did so with the Protoss Dark Templar. In particular, no one could match his control of the Dark Archon, the fusion unit created by merging two Dark Templars. Matches that seemed lost would suddenly turn around through brilliant Dark Templar and Dark Archon play. The final game of the 2001 winter season finals had been exactly that, sending shockwaves through the global StarCraft community. The title “Dark Archon” had been permanently attached to his name ever since.
Jumin currently led his own professional team. The awkward “Power” appended to his initials formed both his ID—JM Power—and the team’s name. Because Star League ran team leagues in addition to individual competition, JM Power received sponsorship from computer companies such as Sejin Computer and Super Micro and was widely regarded as an elite organization among fans.
“If we move too slowly, another company will snatch him up. I plan to make this offer to the other presidents as well. Of course, you were the first person I contacted. We’re not exactly ordinary business partners, after all.”
“That’s true!”
President Lee’s resolve hardened further after hearing Yoo Jae-won’s explanation. Once the call ended, Yoo Jae-won contacted President Park Sang-kwon of Busan Group, Chairman Jeon Jae-gu of Mirae Group, and Jeon Jae-geun of Mirae Motor Group as well.
“This guy, though…”
Even though he hesitated for a moment, Yoo Jae-won ultimately dialed Vice Chairman Choi Jae-hyung of Ilseong Group. With the single-minded goal of properly laying the first stone for the professionalization of e-sports, he pushed aside any personal feelings and pressed the call button.