Appearance, and Return (5)
“Ahem.”
Park Jimin cleared his throat and waited for something to happen.
“·····”
Back when he first hit the Go Live button, his hands had shaken with nerves even as impatience gnawed at him—he had to make this work. Now, for Jimin, streaming was basically just play.
Of course.
Because he believed he had the knack for keeping these people entertained.
“Thank you for the 1,000-won donation. Yeah, I’m sad about it too.”
Coming back on stream made Jimin happy—but the shortened hours still stung.
It wasn’t as if he spent the leftover time goofing off, either. Every spare minute went into sharpening his own skill and syncing with the team, so there was nothing he could do about it.
The world, it seemed, never handed anyone everything at once.
“Did you guys watch the MSC games this time?”
Jimin asked as he queued into solo queue.
“Ah.”
That was exactly why Jimin had brought it up—and the chat’s reaction had arrived later than he’d expected.
“I thought ING was a really impressive team.”
He offered his take carefully, almost gingerly, to the viewers.
“Come on, why are you like this.”
Jimin laughed like he couldn’t believe them.
Still.
This kind of lighthearted nonsense was exactly what made streaming what it was.
“And·····”
He started to say more, then stopped.
The chat didn’t look particularly interested. Jimin had never been the type of streamer who shrugged and thought, I’m going to do my thing anyway—you just watch.
Dolf. Camille. And China.
ING and Gen.G Esports.
In particular, ING’s top laner Dolf had left him stunned with a god-tier understanding of Camille, and Jimin had dug deep. He’d hunted through videos more thoroughly than he ever had when he used to study on video platforms—Korean server, Chinese server, it didn’t matter. There were so many players who had carved a single champion down to the level of a true artisan. Some of them even had careers of ripping top-tier pros apart in lane.
“Today, uh····· I’m going to try a wider variety of champs.”
Jimin said it a little cautiously, reading the room.
Truthfully, he wanted to play the champions that had left a strong impression on him lately.
Camille, Renekton, Jax, Fiona, and more.
Even as a pro, watching those artisans still made his eyes light up. He never thought he’d feel that kind of thrill from this angle.
“Alright. First game, I’m going to try hard.”
First solo queue game of the stream.
Jimin smiled, easy and loose.
Even with teammates around him now, he could pour himself completely into his broadcast.
“Illaoi?”
Jimin tilted his head.
It was a champion that barely showed up in the current patch version—and there was no way that pick was going anywhere but top.
“·····”
He hesitated for a beat, then locked in his own champion.
Even in solo queue, Jimin usually fretted over team comps when he picked. Today was different.
“I’ll try Fiona.”
His pick was Fiona—the champion that had everything except teamfight reliability.
“Oh, is that so?”
He hadn’t gone hunting for Illaoi artisans specifically—but the moment he heard the word artisan, the opponent started to feel a little different.
“·····”
Reading chat as he went, Jimin started the walk up to top lane.
He’s good.
The kind of movement that said this Illaoi had fought a lot of Fionas before.
But the impression lasted only a moment.
Fiona danced in and out, popping Illaoi’s vitals one after another.
“Once we get past laning phase, I’m way better, yeah.”
And his team’s composition wouldn’t fall off in the late game either.
Jimin stayed calm, locked in—to beat his opponent, and to make his team win.
“Hmm.”
His jungler, Ekko, was spamming retreat pings.
Of course Jimin had already spotted the enemy jungler Rek’Sai’s pathing with a ward.
“Yeah, if I back off like this, we’re fine.”
Not just escaping so that nothing happened—his play wasted Rek’Sai’s entire turn as well.
It was the kind of laning phase execution that commentators had praised themselves hoarse over back in his Challengers days.
“·····”
Knowing the viewers were watching made him want to look even cooler.
But against an Illaoi—one of the top one or two champions in the entire roster for devouring a panicked opponent—he pressed slowly.
Time was on his side either way. There was zero downside to holding a slight advantage and never letting it go.
“Oh—what if we do this?”
His mid laner Qiyana was climbing up with jungle Ekko.
“Hmm.”
The enemy mid Syndra was hitting the mid tower, but from Jimin’s perspective, collapsing on the Illaoi whose teleport was down with his teammates was an outstanding situation.
Fiona’s demolition power went to work, taking the top tower apart.
“Gold gap? What gold gap.”
In a single instant, the hairline crack in top’s balance shattered completely.
“Yeah, the gap’s pretty big now.”
Fiona used her ultimate and took Illaoi down. The tower sat completely exposed.
The game snowballed at breakneck speed.
Whatever lead the enemy bot lane Caitlyn–Morgana had farmed bottom was already starting to feel meaningless.
“·····”
Can I actually pull it off?
Illaoi was holding the line in front of the tier-two top tower.
Something Jimin had watched in a video flickered through his mind.
Ultimate up. Skills and summoner spells woven together. Vital pops in rapid succession.
The enemy champion vanished so fast it barely seemed real.
“Thank you for the 30,000-won donation! Yeah—push top fast.”
Fiona put on a clinic in tower demolition.
That’s not quite it, though.
Chat had exploded for a second, but Jimin knew he hadn’t perfectly recreated what he’d seen in the video.
The Chinese Fiona artisan the video had showcased had definitely popped those vitals even faster.
“·····”
Heh.
Jimin let out a quiet little laugh.
The endless world of SOL team play he was tasting every day in scrims.
And champion mastery that never ran out no matter how deep you dug, no matter how finely you carved it.
I can still get better.
The feeling that tomorrow could be brighter than today.
It was the kind of feeling that filled a person with infinite drive.
“Did you always enjoy Renekton this much?”
“It feels like it’s working well for me lately.”
“Your understanding is really high.”
“Haha.”
An awkward laugh.
Jimin reacted flatly to Coach Song Hochang’s praise.
“·····”
Jimin watched “Blur” Shim Changmin take a seat.
When the first-team news first dropped, people had said plenty about P1’s top lane being a weak point—and honestly, even Jimin himself had thought they looked clearly outclassed top against teams like Maehwa or Gen.G. Lately, though, Changmin seemed to be playing pretty well.
“Hoo…”
“Hm?”
Leaving Hochang’s curious look aside, Jimin thought it through.
All he had to do was play well himself.
It didn’t matter whether the person he was competing with was good or bad.
And more than anything—awkward as it still was—after talking to him a little, Shim Changmin seemed like a pretty decent guy as a person.
“Hey.”
“Yeah.”
“·····”
Of course, over on the other side of the room, the chill in the air went past awkward and into freezer territory.
Kang Jun clearly had no interest in getting along with his actual rival—“Spoon” Baek Seunghyeon.
Jimin himself hadn’t spoken much with Seunghyeon either, who came off as the quiet type.
“Let’s go together.”
“Huh?”
When Kang Jun headed off for snacks, Jimin trailed after him.
“Who do you think is going to win the finals?”
“Maehwa, obviously.”
Kang Jun answered instantly.
“The idea of Maehwa losing right now—I can’t even imagine it.”
“Huh?”
“Ah, just saying.”
“·····”
He understood the meaning, but the wording was somehow off. While Jimin puzzled over it, Kang Jun mumbled past the subject.
“So Maehwa’s just that good, huh.”
“Their ADC is unfairly good.”
“Really?”
Jimin loved SOL, but his history with the scene was still short, and he listened with real interest.
Still.
It was rare to see Kang Jun rate someone this highly.
“Honestly the nickname is a little cringe, but Dexter’s called the ADC’s dream, right?”
“Whoa.”
The ADC’s dream.
Last year, P1’s current head coach Jang Yaohwan had said Dexter was one of the two men closest to being the best SOL player in the world.
That line had come out before the Worlds finals—and Dexter’s team had beaten Hades’s team, the other man Yaohwan had named.
What would that feel like?
The best SOL player in the world. The dream of every player in his position. Hearing words like that.
A pro gamer was already a job that soaked up the admiration of SOL players everywhere—and then the pros themselves looked up to him.
“·····”
“Huh?”
Jimin suddenly stopped walking and clamped his mouth shut hard.
Could I get there too?
Just imagining it felt like his chest might burst.
“Hoo·····”
“Ahem.”
Jimin stepped out of the car with a tense look on his face.
The head coach, the coach, the team staff—and all seven players in P1 uniforms—had arrived in Jongno.
He swallowed hard.
We’re here.
In the end, it had come faster than he thought.
To the holy ground of Korean esports—Jongno SOL Park.