What I'm Good At (1)
“Waaaaaaaaaah!”
November 6, 2025. Chengdu, China.
The World Championship of SOL—Summoners Of Legends—the biggest esports event on the planet.
Tens of thousands of spectators packed the venue for the so-called Worlds finals.
The finals matchup: P1 of Korea's SCK against ING of China's SPL.
With the series score at 2–0 in favor of Korea's P1, the third game had already seen P1 smash through all three of the enemy inhibitors around the thirty-one-minute mark, victory hanging within reach.
“P1! P1! P1!”
While most of the Chinese crowd sat stunned by the shocking turn of the series, the fans cheering for Korea's P1 roared their team's name.
P1's champions held a standoff in front of ING's inhibitor turrets.
Then P1's mid laner, Maker, suddenly stepped forward.
In an instant, Maker's exquisite skill shot locked ING's mid and ADC in crowd control.
And then P1's ADC Kumayus, on Abelius, began sweeping up the enemy champions. In the blink of an eye, ING's Nexus health bar appeared on the screen.
A 3–0 shutout.
P1's Worlds run had been dominant, but no one had imagined that ING—the team that had crushed both the SPL Spring and Summer splits with overwhelming records—would fall this hollowly.
P1, for their part, had been mocked as a team that only top and jungle carried. But once they arrived at Worlds, the bot lane came alive, and the team's symbol—mid laner Maker—awakened. From the quarterfinals onward, they dropped only a single game.
In the end, they achieved the unprecedented: a three-peat at Worlds.
And with the same roster, all three years.
Everyone had been certain the SPL would finally break P1's monopoly this time. The result was P1's three-peat.
ING's players fought back tears, and the Chinese crowd gathered in Chengdu looked as if they had seen a ghost.
Across the stage, P1's players embraced one another, sobbing through the hard-won close of a grueling year.
It seemed the night would end with everyone crying over P1's three-peat—until that very moment······
Faced with giving his victory speech, Maker—now a six-time Worlds champion—lifted the microphone with a solemn expression.
The Korean casters, who had been smiling through the interview in celebration of their proud SCK team's victory, plunged into panic.
Even the interpreter couldn't figure out how to translate it and lost his composure entirely.
Beside Maker, the rest of the P1 roster simply nodded, as if they had known all along.
Maker's bombshell statement.
For the week that followed, news of Maker's retirement burned hotter across the global SOL community than even P1's Worlds three-peat.
August 2030.
Seoul, Republic of Korea.
“Please don't worry too much, ma'am. These days it isn't really anything to be ashamed of.”
“Thank you.”
“······”
The familiar chair in the school faculty office.
Most students would have no reason to grow used to it—but for Park Jimin, a second-year boy at Daesang High School in Seoul, it had become all too familiar.
Of course, his homeroom teacher was forcing a smile as best he could.
His mother, unable to hide her heavy heart, was no different.
Scenes he never wanted to know by heart—and yet had been forced to memorize.
“Jimin.”
“······Yes, sir.”
“Could you and I talk alone for a bit?”
Jimin's homeroom teacher, Yoo Jinho, said it with a kindly smile.
“Ma'am, I'd like to have a short conversation with Jimin.”
“I understand.”
Jimin's mother, Kim Eunhye, nodded.
Yoo Jinho led Jimin into the small lounge set aside inside the faculty office.
Jimin simply followed, reading the room.
“Here.”
“Thank you.”
Yoo Jinho handed Jimin a cup of mix coffee he had prepared.
He himself tried not to drink it too often because of the sugar, but he hoped the thin boy might at least put on a little weight from something like this.
“······”
Silence stretched for several minutes.
Yoo Jinho needed to organize what he meant to say, and Jimin had nothing particular to offer.
“Jimin.”
Having finished sorting his thoughts, the teacher opened his mouth.
Strictly speaking, he was no longer Jimin's homeroom teacher.
His former student Park Jimin was no longer a student of Daesang High School.
“Yes, sir.”
“Things will work out for you.”
“······”
The usual empty words.
Jimin was used to meaningless encouragement like this, so he simply nodded.
Even on the day his withdrawal was decided, nothing changed.
“Sir.”
“Hmm?”
But today—today, when his heart ached beyond comparison with anything before—simply listening was hard.
“I don't think things are going to work out.”
Jimin hung his head and muttered the lament.
Dropping out of the high school everyone else attended, not because of any real need but because he had no choice—what exactly was supposed to go well from here?
It was a timid little rebellion.
“Just because today is bad doesn't mean tomorrow has to be the same.”
Of course, Yoo Jinho was not the sort of man to be shaken by an eighteen-year-old boy's quiet sulking.
“But I'm not good at anything. I know how hard Mom works, and I can't even go to school properly, and I can't study either.”
“Weren't you a pretty good student, Jimin?”
“Not good enough for a good school.”
Granted, Daesang High was not fundamentally a school of high achievers—but Jimin's grades had never been low.
Even so, the pressure had left him with no confidence in himself at all.
“Did you enjoy studying at school?”
“······”
Jimin couldn't understand why his teacher would suddenly ask something like that.
Enjoy studying? Wasn't that something you only said in elementary school?
“No. It wasn't fun.”
“Then what do you find fun, Jimin? What do you like?”
“······”
A question he had heard so many times before.
What do you like? It was the kind of question teenagers got as casually as breathing.
And this time, too, Jimin's answer was no different.
“I don't know.”
“Is that so?”
In the first place, he could barely remember a moment in his life when he had truly liked something or found it fun. Being asked out of nowhere only made it harder to answer.
“Jimin.”
“Yes.”
“From now on, you won't have to force yourself out of bed in the morning. No one will scold you for being late. You won't have to sit still at set times.”
“······”
“If you just sit still, time slips by far too quickly.”
Yoo Jinho's expression turned distinctly serious.
Encouragement alone wasn't enough—he needed real advice as well.
He was thirty-six this year.
He had watched more than enough people look back on their early twenties with nothing but regret.
“If you don't know what you like, just pick anything that sparks even a little interest and keep focusing on it. And people like what they're good at—so if something feels like you're even a little bit good at it, keep working at it.”
“······”
Words he had never heard before.
But they still didn't quite land.
“Jimin.”
“Yes.”
“If you ever need to talk something through, come find me.”
“······”
Jimin lifted his gaze.
His teacher wore a far more serious face than usual. Even so, this man—who was easily twice his age—didn't frighten him.
“······”
“······”
The school gate receded behind them.
Today, during summer break, second-year Park Jimin's high school life had come to an end.
But rather than drowning in sentiment, Jimin could only worry about the mother walking alone beside him.
Kim Eunhye—still only forty-two, with an eighteen-year-old son.
She walked with a blank expression and nothing more.
When Jimin was little, he hadn't known how young she had been when she had him.
His father had passed away before he ever could.
“Jimin.”
“Huh?”
Jimin startled when his mother suddenly spoke.
“Want to get some jjajangmyeon?”
She looked at him as she said it.
It was an expression she almost never showed—utterly vacant, as if her soul had stepped out.
“Y-yeah······”
Jimin simply followed her toward the franchise Chinese restaurant she pointed out.
Caught between the lunch rush and break time, they were the only customers in the place.
“One large jjajangmyeon and one regular.”
“Yes!”
His mother ordered the moment they sat down.
Then she poured water into a cup and set it in front of her son.
“······”
Through middle school, things had still been manageable. High school had been hard.
The strange symptoms that had suddenly appeared in him.
At some point, everything in front of his eyes would start to ripple like water, his chest would tighten, and he couldn't sit still properly—so early dismissals and absences became as routine as meals.
Only after he decided he truly couldn't go on any longer did he resolve to drop out.
For a mother whose dearest wish had been to send her son to university, it was an agonizing decision.
Jimin could barely stand how sorry he felt toward her.
“Mom, um—”
“Jimin.”
“Huh?”
“Let's talk tomorrow.”
“O-okay.”
His mother had never avoided a conversation like this before······
She scooped some of the pickled radish into a dish and set it beside him.
Her hands—worn far beyond her age from long hours of hard work at the restaurant—caught in Jimin's eyes and stayed there.
“······”
His teacher's words from earlier floated back.
Sir… is there really something good waiting out there?
For now, it still felt like empty talk.
“I'm going to stop by the market, so you head home first.”
“Okay.”
“Anything you want for dinner?”
“Want for dinner?”
Nothing came to mind.
He didn't expect much of an appetite that evening, and he wasn't a picky eater anyway.
“Just whatever.”
“······”
His mother nodded and headed toward the subway.
The bus was faster for going home, but the biggest supermarket in the neighborhood—a few stops away—was quicker by train.
“Haa······”
The moment his mother disappeared from sight, a sigh escaped him on its own, born of the sheer blankness of what lay ahead.
That stifling feeling when a person is handed a situation with nothing to do.
It hit even harder for Jimin, who, for an eighteen-year-old, had never been particularly interested in just hanging out.
Bzzz—!
“Huh?”
Jimin's phone—which rarely rang—lit up.
"Yo, what are you doing?"
“······”
It was Lee Jonghyun—one of Jimin's few friends.
“Just heading home.”
"Then come to Zero-One PC Bang."
“What?”
Jimin was caught off guard.
Jonghyun was one of the few people who knew about his mid-break withdrawal.
And now he was suddenly telling him to come to a PC bang?
“I-I mean, I······”
"Just come. The guys are all here."
“······”
Meeting his friends felt burdensome. But he didn't want to be alone either—if anything, he would rather be with them.
Torn between the two feelings, Jimin headed not for home but toward the PC bang not far from school.
Clack-clack.
Clack-clack-clack.
“Aargh, why aren't you rotating?!”
Keyboard clatter and shouts from every direction.
It was the classic PC bang scene that proved summer break had arrived near the school.
“Oh, you came?”
“Yeah······”
“Hey.”
When Jimin walked in, Yoon Sangcheol—sitting to Jonghyun's left—cleared the bag off the chair on his own left side. The place looked pretty full; had they been holding a seat for him?
“Got time left on the machine?”
“Should be.”
Jimin logged in quickly.
It had been a while, but finding his account was easy. Aside from this PC bang, he never went anywhere else.
“Punch in five hours.”
“Huh?”
The moment Jimin clicked the five-hour charge option, Jonghyun stood up, came over, and paid with a QR code on the spot.
“······”
“Drink?”
“I'm fine.”
“Then have an iced tea.”
Jonghyun ordered the one drink Jimin ever got at a PC bang—iced tea.
“······”
He had no idea why they were doing all this, but watching Jonghyun handle everything so smoothly left Jimin with no choice but to sit still.
“Man, the meat restaurant ace really throws money around.”
“Right? Jimin, freeload all you want.”
His friends told him not to feel bad about it—while the person in question just sat there quietly.
From Jimin's point of view, Lee Jonghyun was remarkably mature for their group.
It wasn't just that he was tall—alongside Jimin, one of the tallest for their age—but that he was the only one among them who earned his own money through a part-time job, and he even had a girlfriend who went to another school.
“Jimin, you know how to play SOL, right?”
“SOL? I mean, I know how······”
“Then let's run some flex together.”
“······”
A five-on-five free ranked game.
Jimin liked playing games with his friends, but he was cautious about joining in—worried he would only hold them back. SOL was the kind of game where the weak link felt that burden more than almost any other.
“Whoa, looking at your level, you play a decent amount?”
“I used to just mess around against the computer.”
“Bot games aren't boring?”
“I think they're fun.”
Jimin managed to answer Sangcheol. Admitting he played against the computer because he was scared to play with people was pretty embarrassing.
“Jimin, you go support.”
“Huh? Support's my role, though?”
“Just give it up this time.”
“Fine by me, but don't yell at me if I int top.”
Jeon Jaeyeong, the support main sitting farthest from Jimin, reluctantly started fretting over which champion to pick.
“I'm fine. I'll go top.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
“······”
Jonghyun, who had been about to send Jimin to support, made a face of pure disbelief.
He looks just like my mom.
It was the same expression she often wore when telling him not to lie and just be honest.
“Hey, hey—flex is just for fun anyway. Just play. Jimin, I'll cover top for you a lot.”
“Uh······ thanks.”
Jimin thanked Sangcheol, the jungler, for the considerate offer.
“Yeah, I'll just carry anyway.”
Jonghyun grinned, full of the pride of a blue-blood mid laner.
“Yo, what the hell is that Nidalee first pick?”
“I'm a carry jungler, okay?”
“You insane bastard, we need a real comp—”
Jonghyun was already grumbling about the composition falling apart. He had planned to pick a carry champion himself, since they had a beginner in Jimin.
“Whatever, pick what you want.”
Sangcheol, the strong-willed jungler, suddenly reset his screen and started searching for something.
“······”
Jimin waited for his own pick without thinking and found his eyes on Sangcheol's screen.
“Huh?”
And for a moment, words left him.
“Ah, what the hell—who's watching girl cams in a PC bang?”
“No, but this unnie just turning on her cam is cute, right?”
Ignoring Jonghyun's grumbling, Sangcheol kept staring at the screen.
On the left, a long list of followed channels scrolled by.
“Huh?”
And Jimin watched Sangcheol's screen as if his soul had left his body.
A soft, gentle voice that clashed with the blunt words.
The girl on the screen.
She was the kind of presence you simply never saw at Daesang High School—even with its co-ed campus and young female teachers.
A face so pale and doll-pretty it was hard to believe she was moving in real time.
“······”
And from the neck down, something that stood in rather striking contrast to that cute, pure face······
“Hey! Jimin, you have to pick right now!”
“······”
“Jimin?”
“Huh?”
Seeing the 0:00 timer above, Jimin broke into a cold sweat.
Scout Timon, reporting for duty!
“Uh—?”
The cute little character smiling on Jimin's monitor.
In that moment, though, it looked like it was laughing at his mistake.
“······”
“······”
Park Jimin was the one in the group who needed looking after, if anyone did.
The first thought that came to mind was swapping the champion.
But this strange pick called Timon was an awkward champion no matter which lane he went to.
“Is ADC Timon any good?”
“Better just go support.”
“I'm AP jungle, so mid needs to be AD—”
“You're worrying about that right now?!”
Jonghyun, who had been thinking of an AD assassin, flared up at Sangcheol's comment.
“N-no, I'm good on Timon.”
Jimin wanted to stop his friends from suddenly talking so much, and the words that came out weren't even what he meant.
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
I know the skills, so it should be fine, right?
The one mercy was that Timon wasn't a difficult champion.
“Alright, alright—just have fun, Jimin. We'll shred bot anyway.”
Go Yuseok, the ADC main whose confidence alone rivaled the ADCs of the old P1 dynasty, said it without a shred of doubt.
“Alright, let's go.”
“Ah······”
Jimin had been sneaking glances sideways, but Sangcheol cut the crackling stream feed. He had wanted to watch a little longer.
“Jimin, you're against Renekton, so be careful—you can get solokilled at low levels.”
“Yeah, got it.”
Sangcheol, who still had room to spare for early-game focus, gave him a briefing.
Timon might be a ranged champion, but top against Renekton—one wrong move and a solokill in the level 2–3 window was all too easy.
The welcome voice of the Rift rang out.
Gulp.
Jimin found it hard to hide his nerves at the thought of playing a game with people—with his friends, no less.
But once things started, a person always ended up doing something.
“I'm going for the bot scuttle later, so put on some pressure.”
“Okay.”
With Nidalee in the game, the jungler was the protagonist.
Having fun was fine, but for now everyone was calmly sorting out the early game with victory in mind.
The enemy's Platinum, huh.
Mid laner Lee Jonghyun casually looked up the opposing top laner's match history.
These days the internet lumped Platinum in with Bronze-Silver-Gold, but to a beginner like Jimin, it might as well be the reaper.
Whatever suffering Jimin went through, Jonghyun would just rip the enemy mid to shreds himself.
“Huh?”
“Wha—?”
The high schoolers who had been focusing all snapped their heads up in surprise.
“Oh. He died.”
Jimin said it.
“Ah, right. Th-they don't have Flash.”
For a highlight, his tone was awfully timid.
When his friends checked the top lane, a crocodile-like champion was lying flat on the ground.