The Deny Dilemma and the Great Schism
Global standard Gandalf, the Gray Wizard. When ranking the popularity of characters from The Lord of the Rings, he consistently placed near the very top. What was interesting was how different the wizard class felt from what most people expected. In World of Warcraft, for instance, mages were flashy damage dealers who hurled fireballs, called down lightning, and unleashed ice storms. Yet in The Lord of the Rings, such overt spellcasting was extremely rare. Gandalf swung his staff and sword far more often than he cast grand spells. It was no wonder people had nicknamed him the "melee mage." If one looked closely at the source material, however, Gandalf was far more powerful than an ordinary wizard. He rallied demoralized soldiers into an elite force and brought about miracles in moments of utter despair. The title of wizard suited him perfectly.
Fantasy Universe: Legend League had tried to stay as faithful as possible to the original portrayal. Gandalf was implemented as a melee-support hero with buff skills. Even his ultimate ability reflected the source: a cone of light that boosted the attack power and health of allied heroes while slowing enemies with a crowd-control effect.
In the previous title, Fantasy Universe: Storm of Time and Space, large abilities had been accompanied by dramatic camera zooms, screen shake, and shattering glass effects. "Hmm. I can't even tell if I used the skill or not," Yoo Jae-won muttered. In Legend League, however, the only visual was a small patch of ground the size of a palm lighting up before fading. It was nearly impossible to distinguish which allies had received the buff and which enemies had been debuffed. Basic attacks and mana-consuming abilities suffered from the same problem. The issue wasn't limited to the Gandalf that Yoo Jae-won had chosen; every hero in the game felt equally lifeless.
"The impact is seriously lacking." Even for an alpha build, this was unacceptable. User-created AOS maps for Warcraft or StarCraft had felt more satisfying than this.
Other problems stood out at a glance. The existence of "Deny," for one. In Legend League, gold and experience were everything. Gold bought items that increased a hero's power and survivability, while experience was required for leveling up. These resources came from killing enemy heroes, last-hitting enemy minions, or destroying towers and the enemy base. You didn't have to secure every single kill yourself—just the finishing blow. So how did you stop the enemy from gaining gold and experience? By killing your own minions before the enemy hero could last-hit them.
Easy to say. In the constantly shifting chaos of battle, however, watching for enemy heroes while securing your own last hits and also denying your own minions was an enormous burden. It created a massive barrier to entry. The original popular AOS game from Yoo Jae-won's previous life had removed deny entirely from the defensive structures, allowing far more players to enjoy the game. That had been the right call. Plenty of users already struggled just to last-hit minions, let alone manage denies. More importantly, it felt wrong for a noble hero like Gandalf to deliberately kill his own dying minions just to squeeze out maximum advantage.
"Maybe only villains like Majin Buu who kill everything indiscriminately should be allowed to deny."
That didn't mean the alpha version of Legend League was all flaws.
"Well, at least the ideas I suggested were implemented quite well."
The most obvious example was mounts. In AOS games, players pushed their lanes until they were strong enough to group for major fights or contest powerful jungle monsters in the center of the map. Slow heroes took forever to rotate, so mounts solved that problem. Summoning a unique mount granted movement speed, enabling fast-paced gameplay.
There were also donkey merchants. Item shops were located deep inside each team's base. During intense lane pressure or while fighting enemies, returning to base to shop was impossible. That was where the donkey merchant came in. You could order items delivered without returning to base. The price was only twenty gold more than buying in person—regardless of item tier. Twenty gold was the amount earned from last-hitting a single enemy minion, so the financial burden was negligible. The catch was that the donkey actually had to travel from base, taking about twenty seconds. More importantly, enemy heroes could attack the donkey merchant. Since it was treated as a neutral unit, it could be buffed or debuffed. If the enemy killed it, the player who ordered the items suffered a major loss—either losing the gold outright or handing the purchased item to the enemy.
The risk was high, but that very risk could become part of strategy. When a donkey merchant was active, it naturally drew heavy aggro. Players could exploit this by ordering cheap items to deliberately disrupt the enemy's lane.
"Good. Now I just need to patch the weaknesses and amplify the strengths."
After a single game, Yoo Jae-won had already identified the alpha version's pros and cons. He couldn't simply exit the match, however. One of the biggest drawbacks of AOS games was that you couldn't freely start or end them. The inability to start whenever you wanted came down to matchmaking. Because it was 5v5, you had to wait until nine other players were found. There was currently no skill-based matchmaking, so it wasn't a major issue yet, but once an MMR system was introduced, waiting three or four minutes would become common.
The inability to leave at will was similar. In AOS games, if even one player quit, a match that had been going well could collapse instantly. Tense lane battles were the core of the genre's fun; losing a single player meant an entire lane could be lost. This also tied directly into trolling problems, which in turn led to toxic chat. Unless you were queuing with friends, you were matched with five complete strangers. Communication issues were inevitable.
Yoo Jae-won already had several solutions in mind to address these fatal flaws—ranging from profanity filters to AI-controlled substitutes. For now, his first priority was fixing the severely lacking impact feedback. Leaving it as it was in the alpha build would let the problem persist all the way to release.
Several days passed. Heavy snow on Christmas Eve had given the entire country a white Christmas, and the mood had now shifted toward New Year's greetings. Television was filled with year-end award shows, and some companies had already held early year-end parties to begin their holiday breaks. While only a minority of companies did so, those close to Yoo Jae-won—ID Group, Busan Group, Yoo Kyung Group, and others—had largely followed suit.
Yet there was one world that remained completely untouched by the festive atmosphere: politics. Most parties had finished their presidential primaries and were now reorganizing ahead of the official campaign. Although formal electioneering lasted only a month, pre-election party events could generate significant momentum. Preparing for that required massive amounts of work on organization and budgets alike.
Amid all this activity, one major party found itself unable to participate in the usual preparations. It was no minor fringe party, but a large organization that had once produced a president: the Tongil National Party.
While Yoo Jae-won had been absorbed in fixing the alpha version of Legend League, an internal conflict had erupted within the Tongil National Party—former Representative Lee In-je's refusal to accept the primary results.
The trouble had begun at the presidential candidate announcement held at Jangchung Gymnasium. Lee had barely clapped, delivered a perfunctory concession speech, and left early. The very next day he resigned as party representative and went into seclusion. That was when the Tongil National Party's internal strife truly began. Lawmakers who had followed Lee started questioning the fairness of the primary. They claimed that the sudden inclusion of internet and smartphone voting in the rules had been a ploy by Yoo Jae-won to push Jeon Jae-jun.
They were a minority. Out of roughly one hundred Tongil National Party lawmakers, only about twenty could be considered part of Lee's faction. Yet just as a single mudfish could turn an entire pond murky, even a small number of lawmakers could create the appearance of massive chaos if they acted in concert.
Rumors began circulating that the pro-Lee lawmakers would leave the Tongil National Party to form their own party and nominate Lee In-je as their presidential candidate.
"What? Really?" Yoo Jae-won asked in disbelief.
Kim Kwang-il's voice sounded drained, as though he had failed in his duty. His primary responsibility was cultivating friendly figures for ID Group, and the most important part of that task was managing the Tongil National Party lawmakers. While it sounded strange to speak of "managing" National Assembly members, that was the reality. The Tongil National Party had been created by Jeon Myeong-heon specifically to become president, and in its early days the majority of its lawmakers had been celebrities chosen purely for name recognition. Although capable professionals had since joined, it had once been fair to call it the Jeon Myeong-heon faction. Even now, Kim Kwang-il continued to exert influence over the party through the notebook and safe that Jeon Myeong-heon had entrusted to Yoo Jae-won.
Yet even Kim Kwang-il had been unable to prevent the pro-Lee faction's independent action. Yoo Jae-won couldn't understand why anyone would still follow former Representative Lee In-je, but the faction members were clearly sincere enough to attempt a party split.
"There's nothing we can do about it."
Even if they lost around twenty seats, combining with their coalition partner, the Democratic Party, would still leave them with a majority. In a minority-government situation, every single lawmaker would have mattered, but losing twenty now was hardly a concern.
"Just make sure the remaining lawmakers stay in line."
What worried him more was Jeon Jae-jun's mental state.
If Jeon Jae-jun's mental state collapsed because of Lee In-je's defiance and he made some impulsive move, that would be disastrous. Unfortunately, it seemed his mental state had already shattered. Three missed calls from Jeon Jae-jun had already appeared on Yoo Jae-won's Android Phone during his brief conversation with Kim Kwang-il.
"Yes. Please take care of it."
After ending the call with Kim Kwang-il, Yoo Jae-won answered the fourth incoming call from Jeon Jae-jun.
"Yes, Candidate. This is Yoo Jae-won."
The moment Yoo Jae-won answered, Jeon Jae-jun began shouting about black-haired beasts and rebel scum. His words came out like machine-gun fire—fast enough for a rap verse—and his pronunciation was slurred from excitement.
"Don't worry. Everything will work out."
All Yoo Jae-won could offer was reassurance. He had no intention of visiting Lee In-je to dissuade him from leaving or of stopping the pro-Lee faction's mass defection. Knowing exactly what Jeon Jae-jun had done during the 2002 presidential election in his previous life, this moment felt like poetic justice. Jeon had enjoyed trolling others; experiencing it himself once wasn't the worst thing that could happen to a person.
"Instead of worrying about Lee In-je, why don't you try doing some grassroots visits? The 'chaebol scion' label is still very strong. Showing that you're close to ordinary citizens might help."
"If you can't properly answer questions about bus fares or meal costs during debates, you could end up in serious trouble."
Instead, Yoo Jae-won gave Jeon Jae-jun a way to erase one future black mark. It hadn't happened in 2002, but around 2008 an opponent had asked Jeon how much the bus fare was these days. Jeon had answered "seventy won," creating an infamous moment. Naturally, the suggestion of grassroots visits didn't sit well with the already furious Jeon Jae-jun. His mind was consumed with the desire to crush Lee In-je and the pro-Lee faction. But they had already made their decision, so there was nothing left to do.
On December 31st, the final day of 2002, former Representative Lee In-je and twenty-two pro-Lee lawmakers officially left the Tongil National Party. They immediately founded a new party called the National Unification Party—a name that was clearly designed to spite Jeon Jae-jun by simply swapping two words from the original party name. The National Unification Party completed its founding at lightning speed and nominated Lee In-je as its presidential candidate. It was the perfect, high-impact event to close out the dynamic year of 2002.