The Tournament Is Over, But... (1)
“The other guy’s pretty good.”
After claiming the tournament championship—but before the after-party collab stream—Park Jimin was locked in on a Master-rank solo queue game.
Jayce into Gwen. The matchup demanded careful play.
“Thanks for the 1,000-won donation! That explains it.”
Viewers who seemed to know just about everything. Outside of playing well in SOL, Jimin never felt he had much entertainment value to offer, so he appreciated the little ways his chat helped the stream along.
“Ah, nice.”
His ally RealOh had come up from bot, and Jimin finished the Gwen he’d already drained with a clean trade.
He could feel the top-lane equilibrium crumbling.
Once the balance broke in top, the gap only ever widened. Jimin kept stomping the enemy Gwen and banking every advantage.
“·····”
Streamers with careers far longer than his, with far bigger names. Jimin wasn’t sure how carefully he needed to answer chat. He worried some community post would crop up calling him dismissive. And the biggest problem of all was that he simply wasn’t close with any of them·····
The game had already tipped. Even so, Jimin kept serving up highlights. In front of the enemy bot inhibitor turret, a one-versus-three, and his Jayce took two of them down and walked away.
“I got lucky.”
Everyone else called it incredible. All Jimin could think about was that one of the enemy champions had whiffed a basic ability.
“Everyone played well.”
His own lane going smoothly, teammates playing clean—games like this made him want to queue more solo ranks even when he wasn’t streaming.
“Looks like we’re not done waiting yet.”
Still some time before everyone gathered. Which meant more solo queue.
“Oh, is that a top Jayce?”
Enemy mid was Talon. That practically guaranteed a top-lane Jayce.
“Hmm·····”
A second-pick counter situation had fallen into his lap. Of course Jimin wanted the win—but he also thought about what the viewers would enjoy.
Demanding viewers. Demanding streamers. Jimin’s choice was Irelia.
“Irelia feels right.”
Not a champion he showed off on stream often, but he’d practiced her a few times—and chat clearly wanted Irelia.
“Ah—yes! Crow, thank you for the 50,000-won donation! You worked hard today.”
Crow—the top laner who’d put on an especially strong showing in the tournament and was known on Jijijik as a genuine skill player—had just donated.
In a game like SOL, winners and losers were cleanly sorted. But once the results were in, everyone was already moving on in their own way.
“This puts me at a big advantage.”
Irelia versus Jayce. With the wave pulled in, Jayce couldn’t walk up freely—and the losses just kept stacking.
“Oh?”
A gap opened in front of Jimin’s eyes.
He stunned Jayce with Dual Blades and cleaned him up.
“·····Haha, thank you.”
Given everything she’d said and done so far, Jimin recognized the teasing and laughed.
He knew exactly who that was aimed at. After all, between scrims and the tournament itself, there was only one person who’d been on Irelia constantly·····
“Ah—yes, Diyul, you’re good too.”
Plenty of other streamers were watching. Jimin had to push his not-especially-great social instincts as high as they would go.
“·····Yeah, my teammates are playing really well this game too.”
Jimin brushed past the chat as if nothing had happened.
Irelia with Blade of the Ruined King. The Jayce who’d fallen behind in farm from the early game simply couldn’t handle her.
“Oh?”
The lane phase still wasn’t over. Allied jungle Maokai came tromping in, step by heavy step.
“Whoa, nice.”
With his team’s help, the kill score ticked up another one.
Irelia’s snowball kept rolling. The enemy team simply could not stop her. Same as last game—taking out multiple enemies and walking out alive. Jimin’s superplays didn’t care whether it was a tournament or solo queue.
“Ah, that feels good.”
Jimin broke into a rare, wide smile. His rank kept climbing. He was still queuing mostly to kill time while he waited for the others—but the thought of tomorrow, of ramping his LP hard and making the viewers happy, already had him grinning.
“Diyul, thank you for the 20,000-won donation! Today was a lot of fun.”
More donations from other streamers followed. At least one member from each of the three teams he’d faced was in there. And then the biggest donation of the night.
“Ah! Thank you for the 100,000-won donation! See you next time.”
He wanted a more clever reply, but nothing came to mind. That was fine, though. He was still at the age where a little awkwardness could pass for charm.
“Whoa—whoa!”
Render: Aigoo.
Park Solmi: You suck so bad!
“Sorry.”
Park Solmi: Ahahahahaha.
Jimin had demolished every opponent he’d faced in SOL. In this game, though, he was somehow worse than expected.
Hwatta: We lost.
Chongmyeong: Ah, it’s fine, next game let’s go.
“I’m just not getting it.”
Yapang: There there.
“I’ve never really played shooter games much.”
He hadn’t been a hardcore gamer as a kid, but he hadn’t grown up without games either—he was still a boy. This particular genre, though, had simply never been part of his life.
Underwatch 4, always near the top of PC bang usage charts. It wasn’t SOL, but it had made a comeback. For years now people had been saying the player base was returning. Plenty of streamers enjoyed it—but in this game, Jimin was basically a rookie.
Chongmyeong: Yapang, you’re actually really good.
Yapang: Hehe.
Park Solmi: Her heals land at the perfect timing, every single one.
Meanwhile Yapang—who’d been the weakest link on the tournament team—was showing serious mechanical comfort on Yana, the support who could heal with a sniper rifle. Of course, her own viewers already knew she’d been playing this game since forever.
Park Solmi: Jimin, hand over the DPS role.
“Okay.”
Render: Jimin, you tank.
Chongmyeong: Tank is crazy important in Underwatch.
“Got it.”
Jimin locked in the hammer-wielding tank, Zigghardt.
“Hmm·····”
It was hard. SOL had stretches of one-on-one, but this game never let up for a second. Sure, six people were supposedly just messing around in casual—but when you packed in people who made a living off games, things got serious fast.
Yapang: Oh no—!
Render: Huh?
“Ah!”
Tank Jimin overextended hard and melted in an instant. His teammates left exposed. The result was predictable.
Park Solmi: We lost.
Chongmyeong: Ahem.
Yapang: It’s okay!
Render: Man, why is this so funny though.
Chongmyeong: He’s playing Zigg like a SOL bruiser.
“Sorry…”
Suddenly Jimin had a lot to apologize for.
Hwatta: It’s fine. As long as you’re good at SOL, right?
“·····”
Should he practice this game more? But if he didn’t have a particular reason to after today, Jimin wasn’t all that interested.
Oh, right.
Jimin thought of Yu Dahye. He’d never seen her play anything but SOL—would she even like other games?
Park Solmi: Move!
“Whoa—!”
Yapang: Eek!
“Sorry.”
This time it was a racing game. Jimin had just wrecked Yapang.
Render: Ah, this is fun.
Park Solmi: Yes! First place!
Chongmyeong: Wait for me, noona.
Park Solmi: Nope.
His teammates, who could play just about anything, looked like they were having a great time. Park Solmi especially—after spending the whole tournament stressed out of her mind in losing positions—seemed genuinely thrilled.
“·····”
A quiet grin. Jimin was scrambling just to keep up, but these hours spent laughing and talking with good people still felt precious.
“Hoo.”
The collab ended. Render’s “let’s hang out again soon” had sounded genuinely sincere. Hwatta had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
They’d been texting for a while already. But making plans to meet Dahye again—and in her neighborhood, no less? The flutter in his chest felt like it could bury every other emotion of the day.
“Yeah, solo queue, I guess?”
Jimin didn’t shut the stream off easily. There was still a lingering afterglow—and, more practically, a pumped-up viewer count. Appealing to even one more person couldn’t hurt, right?
Viewer reactions, though, weren’t what he’d expected.
“Huh?”
“·····”
He’d heard of it somewhere. And then a regular viewer dropped a link in chat.
“Huh?”
— Jijijik Female Streamer World Cup · Round of 64 —
Jimin flinched.
“Okay—uh, okay, I’ll try it.”
Anything involving other streamers always required caution. But what was the right way to approach something like this? It felt… a little off, somehow. Still, Jimin started it anyway.