Starting Lineup Competition (6)
“If you’d called ahead, I would’ve gotten ready.”
“It’s fine. Besides, I got the day off out of nowhere too.”
“Oh my goodness, what is all this?”
“Haha…”
Jimin scratched the back of his head. It had been a while since he’d come home — and somehow, he had a shocking amount of stuff with him. When he’d first moved into the team dorms, he’d barely brought anything. He’d only come back for a short visit, and yet here he was.
“Good heavens, what are all these letters?”
“I figured I should keep them at home.”
He’d packed the letters fans had given him into a shopping bag and brought them along.
“The stationery is so pretty, too.”
“…”
This is embarrassing.
They were waiting on delivery, and his mom was reading the letters fans had written him. The meaning might have been a little different, but what son wouldn’t feel awkward watching his mother read letters from girls?
“Jimin, take care of your health. I don’t usually watch the players’ streams, but I watch because of you.”
“…”
“Kids these days really go all-out with the honorifics.”
“Yeah.”
During his mother’s impromptu reading hour, Jimin was putting his embarrassment-endurance skills to the test.
“Jimin, I want to call you oppa, but I can’t exactly do that when I’m ten years older than you, can I?”
“…”
“Hoho.”
His mom folded the letter.
“Keep them safe. If you ever meet them again, tell them thank you.”
“Got it.”
To Jimin’s eye, his mom looked pretty pleased.
“This looks delicious.”
“Ahem.”
His mom’s favorite Chinese food had arrived. Jimin had ordered ahead on the delivery app, and by his own standards he tore into the plastic wrap around the sweet-and-sour pork with real toughness.
As expected.
Money really did make life easier.
“…”
And if he was going to do this, he’d rather say it over delivery food than something fancier.
“My salary went up a lot this time.”
“It’s still your first year?”
“If you make the first team, you get the minimum pro salary — and that’s pretty high now. Seventy million won.”
“Oh my, that’s wonderful.”
His mom smiled as she set out the food.
“So, Mom.”
“Hm?”
“…”
Something he wanted to say — but something hard to just spit out. Truthfully, he’d wanted to say it for a long time.
“You can quit your job now.”
“What?”
“…”
Jimin held his trembling heart in check and kept his expression as firm as he could. His mom looking completely floored was within the expected range. Nothing surprising about that.
“Kid, what on earth are you talking about.”
“Mom.”
“I’m not even the boss, and I never thought I’d hear ‘quit your job’ from my own son.”
“…”
She gave a little snort of a laugh.
She’s not taking this seriously.
His seriousness wasn’t landing, and Jimin fretted.
“I’m fine, honey. It’s not like anyone’s stiffing me on pay.”
“But you’re not even in good health.”
“That’s how everyone lives. Even if your body takes a hit and your health goes downhill, you still have to work.”
“Still—”
“Oh, come on. Just eat. It’s all going to get cold.”
“…”
Jimin was being overwhelmed by his mother’s firmness.
“This sweet-and-sour pork is really good.”
“Haha.”
People said the place was a little hit-or-miss, but the ratings were high for a reason — his mom seemed to like it. Rebuffed, Jimin followed her lead and started shoveling food in. The dorm meals were good, but even delivery food somehow tasted like home cooking when you ate it at home.
“I’ve only got one son, and he’s always out of the house. If I just lie around at home all day, what am I supposed to do with myself?”
“Haha…”
Jimin realized his mom was a stronger person than he’d thought.
“Though I do try to watch when you’re on TV.”
“Huh?”
“I still can’t make heads or tails of the game no matter how hard I look. I can’t tell if you’re playing well or playing badly.”
“Ah, haha.”
Jimin laughed awkwardly. He spent his days around people for whom Sol was second nature, but his only family member didn’t know a thing about it — which left him a little at a loss. It made him appreciate, all over again, how incredible it was that Maker had made his name known even to people who had never touched Sol. Jimin felt a strange spark of motivation from the giants who had written history in this scene.
“Come watch a match on your day off. If I tell the team, they’ll get you a ticket.”
“From those letters, it sounds like tickets are hard to get. Wouldn’t a mom who doesn’t know the first thing about the game just be a nuisance?”
“But—”
“All right. But it’s really hard to follow.”
“Yeah.”
Ryan Gaming had spent the last several years trying to lower Sol’s barrier to entry, but it was still a difficult game.
Isn’t there some way?
He really wanted his mom to come to the arena and see her son playing well. But going alone wouldn’t be any fun for her.
“You’ve really grown up, Jimin — worrying about your mom and everything.”
“Huh?”
“Aigoo.”
His mom wore a subtle little smile as she kept eating.
“…”
Grown up, my foot.
Jimin still felt he had so much further to go. How often did he feel frustrated with himself on a regular day?
“This is it.”
“Whoa.”
“That’s sick.”
“Hehe.”
The next day, Jimin showed his friends his uniform at their hangout.
“Sniff sniff.”
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you.”
“When else am I gonna get to smell a P1 jersey.”
“Just get lost.”
Go Yuseok started sniffing, and Jeon Jaeyeong chewed him out. Of course, both of them were hardcore P1 fans.
“Thanks for all coming out. I know senior year’s busy.”
“Senior year, my ass.”
“Half the class has already given up, man.”
“Ah…”
Jimin scratched his head, a little sheepish. From his friends’ reactions, the senior-year classroom he pictured in his head was not the one they were living in. But the sizzle of meat on the grill, the noise of his friends, the warm familiarity of it all — Jimin was already in a good mood.
“Isn’t living in the dorms hard?”
“It’s fine. Everyone’s nice, the food’s good, and they even let me stream.”
“Still, it sounds like a place for actual humans, if they’re giving you time off like this.”
“You think so?”
Jimin snorted at Lee Jonghyun’s comment. He was fine with it himself, but from the outside, a pro gamer’s schedule apparently looked brutal.
“People talk about you a lot at school.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
Yoon Sangcheol’s eyes lit up as he spoke.
“For real, Jimin’s basically an idol.”
“Some of the girls are into pro gamers, too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He was grateful. But even setting the dropout aside, Jimin was content with the friends he had right now.
“Does she still message you?”
“Who?”
“Lee Eunhae.”
“Ah…”
Jonghyun asked.
“Not anymore.”
“Yeah? Good.”
There hadn’t been a single message from Lee Eunhae since that day.
“I heard she’s going to a vocational school?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t come to Daesang High anymore — she goes over there now.”
“Bet a lot of guys are heartbroken over that. Kekeke.”
His friends kept chatting.
So that’s how it is.
Jonghyun knew Eunhae was sketchy, but it seemed he hadn’t told the others.
“Oh, and Teacher Jinho’s been asking about you a lot.”
“Teacher Yoo Jinho?”
“Yeah.”
Jimin’s eyes went wide at Jonghyun’s words.
“Honestly, he’s always asked me about you. But when he heard you’d gone pro, he was completely stunned.”
“Really?”
Teacher…
(If you feel even a little interest in something, keep focusing on it.)
(You’re going to do well from here on.)
The words his teacher had given him back then came back to him. He’d been following the advice well, and those words — which he hadn’t fully understood at first — had become something like a magic spell. Good things just kept happening.
“Aigoo. Even pretty Eunhae’s off to vocational school thinking about life after graduation, and what am I supposed to do for a living.”
“You’re a senior, though — you’ve still gotta take the CSAT.”
“I’m jealous of Jimin. Nineteen and he’s already got a job.”
“Right, right.”
“Haha…”
It was embarrassing, but they weren’t wrong. He didn’t know what the future held, but in this moment — making money right now — Jimin was happier than anyone.
“Hmm…”
Jimin lay in bed staring at his phone. Just like she’d told him she would, Dahui had posted a stream notice. Something about an agency-related meeting making her unavailable today, and that she’d stream for a long time tomorrow. A mix of truth and a promise that probably wouldn’t hold.
“Maybe I’ll watch someone else.”
He’d eaten well with his friends, goofed around, and now he was lying in bed eating the apple his mom had peeled for him. He needed a little stimulation right away. Feeling a bit shy about the attention he’d draw, he logged out first and started browsing streams.
“Whoa.”
Sorting by viewer count, the undisputed number one was Park Donghyun. He seemed to be playing some new game.
“No! Aletto! Leonhart! Don’t die!”
“…”
He’s really immersed.
He was playing a story-driven game, fully locked into the protagonist, his face looking like he was about to cry. Was that why he was so popular? Jimin didn’t think he could copy it, though.
“Oh, right.”
He was curious about the teammates from the tournament he’d been in before.
“Ah, yeah. The game’s going pretty smoothly.”
“…”
Render was still streaming in that quiet, calm way of his, and his viewers were matching the vibe — just quietly watching.
Same as always.
Even when they’d teamed up in the tournament, he’d given off that reliable big-brother energy.
“Huh?”
Park Solmi was streaming too — and the stream preview was extremely… stimulating. Blue hair in twin tails. Clearly a wig, but still.
“Thank you for the 10,000 won! Snip snip.”
A scissors-snipping performance. Park Solmi was cosplaying as Gwen from Sol.
“Eh.”
By Jimin’s standards, Park Solmi was on the pretty side.
“…”
But the longer he watched, the secondhand cringe was inevitable, so he closed out pretty quickly.
“Ugh, seriously — can’t play for crap and just sits in chat.”
“Hmm.”
A familiar Sol scene. Chongmyeong was playing Sol and fighting with a teammate.
“Bro, you ever play a tournament with a P1 pro gamer?”
“Huh?”
Anyone could tell that was about him. Jimin, who’d been lounging comfortably, sat up.
“It’s fine, though.”
Jimin briefly considered logging in. If anything, wasn’t it nice that someone still remembered him and brought him up?
“…”
Just like Park Solmi had told him last time, Yapang — who’d been their support — was on hiatus.
“What do I do…”
Earlier, when he’d been with his friends, Sangcheol had filled him in. The biggest Vtuber at Yapang’s agency had recently gotten doxxed, with old posts dug up and plastered everywhere, and it had spilled over into harassment against every Vtuber under that agency. The person who’d obsessively tracked them down and leaked everything had apparently been known as a mannered viewer — typing the prettiest chat messages and donating to every Vtuber on the roster. The doxxed Vtuber hadn’t even been unattractive by any objective standard, but the appearance-related hate comments had kicked up such a storm for a while that it must have been brutal on her nerves.
“That’s actually terrifying.”
Was this what Dahui had meant when she said this streaming scene wasn’t easy — that there were a lot of scary people in it?
“…”
Still, holding onto the wish that he’d at least be able to cheer her on once she came back, Jimin kept watching other streams. Lying there eating fruit and watching streamers, he found himself thinking of the old days, and it felt strange. Back then he’d wondered if it was okay to just do this, but now he could think of it as rest after hard work, and that put his mind at ease.
Nice.
At first he hadn’t known what to do with himself, but he was glad he’d been given the break.
“Huh?”
Jimin opened his eyes. It was obviously morning.
“Wow, did I fall asleep watching streams the whole time?”
Rest or not, he was living like a total freeloader.
“…Huh?”
His messages were piled up. Wondering what was going on, he saw they were from his friends.
“Huh?”
Suddenly anxious, Jimin opened the group chat.
“…”
Worried messages from his friends. He kept scrolling up, hunting for the cause.
“What the hell is this.”
“…”
And underneath it was a link to a Sol internet community post.
“Ah!”
Why was his teammate’s name coming up in something like this? Jimin carefully started reading the post. Most of it was screenshots of SNS conversations.
“…”
One cringeworthy line after another.
They hadn’t been close, and he’d always been the quiet type — but the conversation was hard to believe if this was the “Spoon” Baek Seunghyeon he knew.
“…”
Jimin squeezed his eyes shut.
“Haaah.”
Somehow his mood had been good for days — so why did something like this have to happen.