Kal-chaem and Bangpae-chaem

Every game has a goal.

Sure, people can find fun in simply throwing rocks — but even that eventually turns into aiming at a target, skipping a stone more times than before, or casting it farther than the last throw. Sooner or later, you set a goal for yourself, even if you're alone.

Games work the same way.

Even sandbox titles that let a gamer do whatever they want still come with little objectives and guidelines. Drop someone into a world with no direction at all, and unless they're unusually creative, they'll get bored fast. That's just how people are.

League of Champions is no different.

Built on emotions that poke at humanity's most primal instincts, it sets a shared goal: cooperate with your teammates, destroy the enemy Nexus, and you win. Along the way you farm minions and take the objectives that spawn on a timer so you can outmuscle the other team's champions. Winning fights and knocking down turrets are secondary goals. Naturally, countless tactics and strategies get drawn up around all of that, and matchups and compositions get studied to death.

Not that everyone's top priority is actually winning the game.

Normal gamers do like winning, of course. It's just that a lot of them put their own fun first. I'm no exception.

But I have something of an excuse.

Doesn't everyone have their own personal win condition? Players who prefer scaling champions will quietly farm minions and jungle camps early, even if they don't do much, and look toward the late game. Others, like me, play the laning phase hard so they can control the late-game tempo. Some people care more about managing minion waves and smoothing out their team's growth than about fighting at all.

Whatever other people play for, my own playstyle had settled firmly in one direction.

The game? Winning is nice. But winning lane comes first. Team composition matters, sure — but I'll still pick a champion that can take an edge in lane. That was why I locked Teemo when Celesty went Vine, and why I picked Fiora even in a tankless draft, willingly giving up teamfights to do it.

Most of the time my calls were right.

But not every game goes the way you want. Like any competitive game, both sides are giving everything to win. Sometimes your team folds. And when it does, even the person who was playing well — me — ends up as the political scapegoat.

A common enough scene.

At the time I thought they were wrong and didn't even bother snorting at it. Looking back, though, doing what they said might have been the better path to a win. You have to factor in your teammates' mindsets too.

Of course, investing that hard into being the tank doesn't always pay off. Everyone wants to be the protagonist, so if the jungler and support are also on damage dealers, me locking a tank still doesn't make a teamfight happen. But over the long run, adjusting to my teammates might edge the win rate a little higher.

So after reading that unpleasant post, in the very first game I got matched into, I locked a tank right away.

Not because the post put me in a bad mood and I stubbornly picked a tank out of spite — purely because I wanted to win. Given the composition and matchups, a tank would do more in teamfights than a fighter.

"I know how to play him. Q makes the pillar, W gives unstoppable and spits the breath, E is the dash and if you hit a wall it airbornes, ult is vroooom, bang. That one."

I'd just thought a tank would be good for the team, and if I was going tank anyway, Horn had solid laning sustain and teamfight presence. Somehow the chat's reaction was not great. Probably because I'd never played Horn in ranked before.

How did they even know that?

"Well, it is my first game on him, but I don't have to play like a one-trick. Tanks are all pretty much the same, right? Land your CC well, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and if you deal some damage on the side, even better."

I understood what the viewers were worried about. It wasn't about champion mastery. It was about champion temperament.

Whether a champion picks up a blade or a shield — that's a pretty apt metaphor, really.

The aggressive champions people call blade champs have to punch through the enemy and erase their presence to make the game move. The people who play them tend to be the type who, if they take one hit, need to hit back twice before they feel right. Sometimes the blade snaps and their presence vanishes entirely — but what can you do? In a world of competition, where there's a winner there's a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠loser. Top lane just decides that a little earlier than the other lanes. There's a reason people talk about the three-minute top-lane surrender.

On the other hand, the ones viewers call shield champs — usually tanks — can approach the game with the mindset that even if they get knocked around a bit, once teamfight phase hits they'll contribute more than the other guy. That lets them play a little more relaxed. Not that you need to hide behind the shield and play scared.

And if you hate taking hits in the first place — before the question of enduring them or trading back even comes up? Then you play marksman. Buy crit items on an auto-attack champion, or armor pen, whatever.

Anyway.

From what the viewers had seen of me, I was clearly a blade-champ top laner. Fair enough — I don't particularly enjoy getting hit either. Hitting things is better stress relief, so I'd always drafted fighters who could cause chaos as my main generals. You can't exactly do that kind of thing in real life, after all.

But assuming that means I can't play tanks? That feels like prejudice.

"I'm not that bad on tanks. I've matched into them a lot, so I know. I know what situations make the other guy uncomfortable and how to press them."

But the viewers still didn't seem to trust me. They'd clearly looked up my match history. Even so — this was starting to hurt my feelings a little.

"Why don't you trust me? I mean, nobody likes getting hit, but haven't I taken more hits than any of you?"

"Ah — if I'd taken those hits better, maybe I wouldn't have gone blind and lost a foot. If that's your basis for saying I can't do it, I'll accept that."

I'd meant it as a joke, more or less. But because they'd refused to trust my judgment for so long, I'd gotten a little hurt and said it sharper than I should have. The chat — the same people who always tossed me silly jokes and funny stories — went completely flat.

They hadn't come to my stream for this. They'd come to have fun together…

I needed to watch my tone.

"LeafyKim, thank you for the donation. Ah… I wasn't trying to make anyone feel guilty. It was just a joke. Anyway, I was going to pick Camille this game, but Horn looked better. That's why I locked him. And honestly, Jaxson into Malphite is rough from the start."

"That only works if you specifically draft against Malphite with the right runes and item build. Then your teamfight and side-lane threat both get weaker. And no matter how hard I play, the other guy just presses R once and contributes more to the teamfight than I do. You know that clip? I'm grinding my heart out thinking I have to win, and the other guy is holding the mouse with his feet and goofing off. That's what it is."

Still, thanks to that brief friction, the viewers finally started rooting for my choice. Then it was my turn to repay them by playing hard.

I took control of my blacksmith and steered him toward the top lane.