The World of Pros (1)
“Whoa······”
The beautiful crest that symbolized Challenger.
You have been promoted to Challenger rank.
The message confirming he had reached the highest tier of all.
It was Challenger, plain and simple. Among countless SOL players, he had just broken into the top three hundred in the region.
“Uh······”
How was he even supposed to react?
Park Jimin hesitated.
“······”
But the reactions were very real. The speed of the chat alone made clear what Challenger meant.
“Thank you for the ₩30,000 donation! Ah, I should've turned the stream on a little sooner.”
“Thank you for the ₩50,000 donation! Ah—thank you so much!”
Donation windows kept pouring in. Jimin was so overwhelmed he barely knew what to say.
“Ah, Nuna—thank you for the ₩100,000! ······Let's queue together again sometime.”
He even threw in a promise with no date attached.
“Huh?”
Jimin picked up his phone.
“······”
He wanted to express his gratitude more grandly, but the words wouldn't come. Of everyone who congratulated him, Dahye's message made him the happiest.
“Whoa, that badge looks so cool.”
“Well, yeah. It's Challenger.”
“Hehe.”
Jimin felt shy. He might have been a streamer with over a thousand viewers now, but sitting around with his friends still made him bashful.
“Congrats.”
“Yeah.”
Jimin smiled as he answered Lee Jonghyun. Thinking about it, the moment Jonghyun had first told him about a rank called Challenger wasn't even that long ago.
“But a ton of other streamers watch your broadcasts, huh?”
“Hm?”
Yoon Sangcheol, the one most at home with internet streaming, chimed in.
“I haven't been able to watch much since school started back up, but last time I checked, there were a crazy number of people with manager tags in chat.”
“Ah······”
Other streamers did pop up in his chat all the time. Hearing someone as fluent in the scene as Sangcheol put it that way made it clear his stream was something of an unusual case. Not a bad unusual, of course. He still hadn't run into a single streamer who struck him as weird.
“Jimin, you're our hero.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It used to be P1, but we're letting that go now.”
“······”
That was from the P1-fan duo, Go Yuseok and Jeon Jaeyeong. Jimin looked like he was struggling to hide his embarrassment.
If anything······
Jimin was the one more grateful to his friends. They were the ones who'd taken his hand on that truly miserable day. And when you got right down to it, they were the reason he'd started playing SOL in the first place. It was break, so getting everyone together wasn't easy—and they'd still come all this way to congratulate him. It frustrated him that he couldn't quite get those feelings out of his mouth.
“Jimin.”
“Yeah?”
“At your level, have any pro offers come in or anything?”
“Pro offers?”
“Yeah.”
Jonghyun said it like he couldn't understand why Jimin was surprised.
“From what I know, once you're Challenger, teams start messaging you left and right asking if you want to go pro.”
“Ah······”
Come to think of it, Hwata had said something similar last time—that if anyone contacted him about a pro offer, he should let Hwata know.
“It's not even just Challenger. Your age is public because of the stream. Even if you were only Master, the offers would still come.”
“That much?”
“Yeah.”
“He's right. If you're young, people usually start thinking about going pro from Master on up.”
Sangcheol, who knew not just streaming but SOL itself inside and out, agreed. Which meant Jimin had no choice but to take it fully on board.
Pro······
Suddenly too much was flooding into his head. Becoming a professional player was starting to carry a strangely weighty meaning for him.
“But these days, aren't there a lot of people who could go pro and still choose to stream instead?”
“Not just these days. It's been like that forever.”
“Yeah. Streamers who've built a name for themselves make solid money.”
“I heard SOL still doesn't pay that much unless you're an S-tier player.”
“······”
Jimin found himself thinking his friends knew a lot more than he'd realized.
“I see.”
So choosing streaming over going pro wasn't strange at all. Jimin felt relieved. He could put off the kind of critical decision so many people feared.
DOUBLE KILL!
“Ah, thank god.”
Challenger Rank Solo Queue Stream
Viewers: 1,495
He'd thought he was dead, but a beautiful countergank from his allied jungler had secured the double kill. Honestly, the opposing top laner's movements had been sharp enough that he'd been having a rough time of it.
“I didn't know Darius was that strong of a champion.”
Darius was terrifying once he latched on, but Jimin had always thought the champion just didn't suit him. The player across the lane was handling Darius completely differently, though. Something about it felt more agile than what most people did with him.
“Oh, really? No wonder he was so good.”
SOL really did seem full of players people called one-tricks.
“Am I? Heheh.”
Jimin laughed awkwardly.
“······”
The truth was, with the payout he'd just received, he'd bought his mom some beef today—and clothes, too. She'd grumbled that a single meal was way too expensive, but she still seemed happy that her son was treating her.
I want to make more money.
People said you shouldn't obsess over money, but right now he felt differently. He wanted to do more for his mom. He'd put her through enough already—he owed it to her to make her happy, even if only starting now.
VICTORY!
“Ah, we still won, though.”
Today's stream had been fun. Sure, even when he crushed the opposing top laner early, fewer games were converting that lead cleanly—but as long as the wins outnumbered the losses, he was fine with that.
“······”
This is fun.
He was grateful he had a talent for SOL, and grateful he enjoyed streaming. And he was so thankful for his viewers.
As he ended the stream, Jimin let out a small smile.
“Huh?”
The broadcast screen had gone dark. Then, while checking his email, he nearly jumped.
“······”
He'd need to read the rest carefully, but even a glance was enough to know.
A pro offer!
So this was one of those pro offers people only talked about?
“Whoa.”
And it was Bonsim Magic Force, of all places. Bonsim was a company so famous that any Korean who didn't know the name was practically a spy—with or without SOL. Bonsim Jin Ramen, Bonsim Four-Minute Meals, Bonsim Fire Sea Stir-Fried Noodles—most of the well-known instant noodles and ready meals came from them.
He swallowed hard. Seeing a name that big made the idea of a pro team feel suddenly real.
What do I do?
A scouting team lead had to be a busy person, right? But firing off a reply right away wasn't easy either.
“Oh, right.”
Last time, Hwata had clearly told him that if anything about a pro offer came through, he should say something. Granted, at the time it had been more about making sure he didn't get scammed by some shady outfit······
But a proper pro team sponsored by Bonsim could hardly be shady.
Still, Jimin decided to reach out.
“······”
He wasn't entirely sure what that meant.
His replies are really fast, though.
He'd figured texting late at night wasn't great, so he'd waited until morning—and the answer came right away.
“Huh?”
He was even calling?
“Yes, Hyung.”
“You busy right now?”
“No, not really.”
What would he even be busy with?
“Just leave the Bonsim contact for now. I've been through this—you don't have to answer right away.”
“Been through what?”
“I've gotten plenty of pro offers myself. And turned a ton of them down.”
“······”
“But the way you're talking, it sounds like you're actually thinking about it?”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, well—”
Jimin wanted to say it was a misunderstanding, but for some reason he felt guilty.
“Jimin.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be a pro gamer?”
“What?”
Jimin hurriedly covered his mouth. His mom was off today and sleeping—he'd spoken way too loudly.
“If you're going to go pro anyway, I'll make sure you start at the best place possible.”
“The best place?”
“If you're seriously thinking about going pro, I'll tell you properly. No point filling your head with hot air if you're not interested.”
“······”
The voice on the other end of the line was fairly serious and firm. Jimin felt like he needed to think carefully before answering, too.
He clenched his hand.
It was time to turn vague thoughts into something clear and sharp. Now that the moment was here, he felt even more stuck.
“Hyung, it's just—”
“Yeah?”
Still, this was a hyung he was comfortable with, so he tried putting it into words.
“Honestly, I still don't really know. I can't even picture becoming a pro player. And from what I've heard, even if you want to, actually becoming one is hard.”
“You could do it. I think giving other people absolute answers about their lives is a really bad habit—but this one's real.”
“······”
For a former pro to go that far for him······
“Ah, right. Of course you'd be stuck if you don't know much about the pro scene.”
“Yes.”
Change. Uncertainty. Things humans instinctively disliked. And the thing that neutralized them was information.
“Right. When you think about it, I'm the one courting you here—why am I attaching conditions? Sorry. Ugh, why am I like this.”
“······”
This hyung had a habit of suddenly talking to himself. But Jimin had never once thought he seemed frivolous—even if he still wasn't sure what “courting” was supposed to mean.
“I told you last time I was becoming a coach for a pro team, right?”
“Yes, you did.”
“The place I'm headed to is P1. You know them well, right?”
“······What?”
P1.
He truly never imagined he'd hear that name in a conversation like this.