A Time of Choice (2)

"Looks like they were in a pretty big hurry."

"Yeah."

"These days it's hard not to watch the public mood."

Jang Yaohwan, who had been promised the head coach seat at P1, spoke to Song Hochang, the man he intended to bring along as coach.

"I heard that even if P1 puts up roughly the same results as last year, the viewership still climbed a lot."

"Yeah. But that's exactly what they're terrified of losing."

Maker's sudden retirement after six Worlds titles. The dismantling of the strongest roster in history. On top of that, the popularity of Summoners of Legends had already been sliding — and P1 sank into a long downturn.

When their rivals, Maehwa Life Esports and Gen.G Gaming, brought home Worlds trophies, P1 fans could accept it. Those two teams had always had that kind of strength. And just as it had always been, they believed a successor to Maker would appear and restore glory to the greatest franchise of them all.

Then came the SPL's back-to-back Worlds titles. A Japanese SCJ team, once treated like a backwater side, knocking out SCK's first seed Maehwa Life. A lot had happened in between. Ryan Games' excellent operations, the Sol fever sweeping Japan. In Korea, too, Sol had clearly revived. Fans returned to the SCK, and new ones flooded in. Naturally, plenty of them turned their attention back toward the greatest name of all — P1.

But through the short boom-and-bust cycle of the Sol scene, P1 kept getting pushed out of the mainstream. And so P1 fans could only grow more restless. Summoners of Legends was entering its greatest golden age since Maker — and in that era, the name P1 might end up as nothing more than a spectator.

"Still, P1 said they were going to spend some serious money this time."

"They did."

Which is why I'm coming here.

Yaohwan's hunger for glory had only grown sharper once he entered his thirties than it had been in his twenties. Only after catching the scent of a revival had he returned to the SCK.

"But every other team is the same. They said league-wide revenue is going to rise this year. P1's P1, sure — but I heard Gen.G's academy revenue jumped hard too."

After Sol's resurgence, former teenage and college fans who had since entered the workforce started grinding Solo Queue again, and adult hobbyist Sol coaching had become a surprisingly booming business in 2030.

"These days people even ask about your Sol tier on blind dates, I hear."

"Not that far — hmm…"

Yaohwan's brow furrowed.

"Maehwa is not a team that would ever be satisfied with this level."

"…"

Maehwa Life, backed by a major conglomerate. For the past several years they had shown the strongest financial muscle in the SCK, but over the last two years they had almost seemed to be holding their power in reserve.

"You know once Maehwa starts throwing money around, there's no containing it, right?"

"Realistically, there aren't that many S-tier free agents floating around, though."

"True enough."

Yaohwan had already run the projections. Right now the SPL, riding its absolute peak, was vacuuming up the best players in the world. Maehwa Life already had excellent players in top, mid, and support. By the standards of teams hunting a Worlds title, jungle and ADC were suffering a genuine drought of S-to-A-tier talent.

"On top of that, Gen.G is about due to reinforce their roster too."

"Right."

"C-Plus, ST — man, the SCK is only going to get more brutal from here."

"Which is why we have to work even harder."

"That's right, hyung. Hahaha."

Gen.G Esports — a thorn in P1's side even during their three-peat years, and now a rival standing on a clearly higher plane. Counting from the very beginning, most people still named Gen.G Esports as P1's greatest rival. Their symbol, the strongest mid laner of his generation, Ancho, had lifted the Worlds trophy he had so desperately wanted and then retired earlier than expected. The team had also lost Dexter, the prized ADC they had poured everything into raising, to the SPL. And still, everyone expected that this franchise of brilliant history would one day roar again.

Even so.

If no wild variables intervened — if his scenario held — the Korean team with the sharpest upward trajectory, in Yaohwan's eyes, was P1. He was confident he could build a team that would shine even brighter next ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠year, and the year after that. By his own standards, the best mid laner in the world was scheduled to arrive, and in the academy there was an ADC already putting up performances beyond what Dexter had shown in Challengers as a teenager.

And that kid too.

The top laner he believed had been chosen by the gods would come as well. Of course, he was sure it would take time to cut that raw brilliance into a finished jewel.

Hmm.

Without forecasts and plans, people struggle to make important choices. But the world has always been the kind of place where things refuse to follow the script.

"Hoo…"

The final teamfight that could decide the entire game. After a display of excellent positioning and skillshots, Park Jimin let out a breath as the tension drained from his body.

He was a streamer whose job was to beat opposing top laners in the highest ranks and rack up wins. At some point Jimin had started playing far more tier-one champions than the ones he usually preferred.

Still not enough.

In Sol, no matter how hard you worked, it was never enough. After every game he could always see the plays he regretted. Even without Whata Song Hochang around, Jimin kept pushing himself somehow to become a better player.

"…"

It's a shame.

The viewers who laughed and cried over every one of his plays. Once he reached the end of this choice that had already tipped so far, he would have to leave them for a long time. He didn't even know if they would come back.

"Thank you for the 1,000 won donation! Heh, I just enjoy it."

Lately Jimin's streams had been running longer. When he turned them on at night, he often went until dawn, and he barely distinguished between weekdays and weekends. Because this time — someday — might feel even more precious than it did now.

"Thank you for the 10,000 won donation! Yes, I'll keep going for a while."

And the increasingly frequent donations were a bonus.

"Ah, but everyone."

Jimin paused for a beat, then spoke.

"I think we talked about viewer participation last time."

Jimin was saying something he never used to say.

Jimin's streaming had always been extreme Solo Queue, nothing else. "Why don't you ever do this?" "Why don't you ever do that?" — those kinds of comments had never meant anything in this room.

Until just now.

"Oh, that actually sounds like a really good idea."

Unlike Sol's normal rules, URF mode made champions grow faster, removed mana and energy costs, and slashed cooldowns to almost nothing. Jimin had tried it a few times but had never particularly enjoyed it. Right now, though, it seemed like a pretty solid choice.

"Alright then."

It all came together in a flash.

"This is really hard."

Yohone — one of the lowest win-rate champions in URF. Stuck on a pick that barely benefited from the mode's advantages, Jimin was getting chewed out by a viewer on his own team and suffering for it.

"Ugh."

Jimin was getting wrecked by Jayce, a URF powerhouse. Acceleration Gate-boosted Qs were raining down like a storm.

"I'm sorry."

The worst player on the team, Jimin apologized to his viewers.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Even to that absurd advice, Jimin just chuckled and answered.

"Ah, that was so much fun."

In the next game Jimin locked in Jax, a URF monster, and carried the whole thing.

"…"

This is fun.

Once again, Jimin found himself thinking that streaming really did suit him.

"Ah…"

Casting the match, Jimin let out a sigh of pure disappointment.

The 2030 Summoners of Legends World Championship semifinals. Game five between China's SPL side AIG and Korea's SCK Gen.G Gaming. AIG had just won a decisive teamfight.

It's a shame.

It wasn't as if top lane had been completely obliterated beyond the point of playing the game, but the fact that they kept losing ground there regardless of champion was fatal for Gen.G. Gen.G Gaming had shown real resilience against the defending Worlds champions. But fundamentally, there seemed to be a slight gap in teamfight capability. Gen.G navigated the early and mid game well enough — yet they kept suffering under AIG's aggressive fight setups and initiation.

Gen.G's jungler and support threw everything they had into keeping the Nexus from exploding. But even the casters seemed to know there was no way to hold it.

"Uh, yeah. Great series, everyone."

Every Korean team had been eliminated by SPL sides in the semis — and two of those series had gone the full five games. Jimin could only offer an awkward smile. Fans who had wanted an SCK team in the finals must have been truly crushed.

Hebei Gaming had swept SCK's first seed Maehwa Life 3–0. AIG had taken down SCK's second seed Gen.G 3–2. And just like that, the 2030 Worlds finals matchup was set.

"Uh, still, you never know until you watch. Thanks for the 1,000 won."

"Of course."

It was the single series that decided that year's champion. Jimin had every intention of watching.

If it's like this…

The two people Yaohwan had called the best Sol players in the world were about to face each other. Dexter of Hebei. Hades of AIG. It was a little sad that both Koreans were on Chinese teams — but Jimin still thought it was genuinely fascinating.