Not My Fault Again
Quite a few people play League of Champions, but whenever you actually run a match, you often end up running into someone you’ve met before.
Ranked matchmaking narrows the pool, so the number of faces you see shrinks. Of course the win-loss swings and wildly different variance from player to player mean you can’t guarantee a repeat, but the odds are never zero.
And the higher you climb the ladder, the more likely you are to meet the same names again. After all, the denominator is smaller at the top.
That’s why I, 도형, kept a little notebook of the nicks I’d run into.
Ever since I hit Master, I’d started noticing old faces more often than I expected.
After ban phase and the loading screen appeared, I’d scan every single user ID in the lobby, hunting for patterns.
When the game started, I wanted to know exactly what each of them was capable of.
Who had the strongest carry potential on my side, so I could set them up for easy returns.
Who on the enemy team was a mental time-bomb that needed extra watching.
Who was mechanically behind and needed to be outscaled.
I’d review every teammate’s history on the stat-tracking site too, then build my own game plan before the first wave ever hit.
That’s the part I loved most—watching a long-term strategy click into place like a perfect chess checkmate or a well-placed long shot in a high-stakes game.
Some players you just can’t forget, though. Even without notes.
There was the cracked mid laner who somehow forced a five-kill feed with me. The real pro jungler who somehow kept the hell out of every gank I threw his way and still turned the whole match around.
Just running into him felt like winning already. He’d pop up and suddenly I’d have a kill on my screen.
And then there was Noel.
She’d been on my list for a long time.
Sometimes she’d play top without a jungler at all, dodging every gank like a ghost until the enemy jungler finally figured out the trade-off.
Other times she’d fight like she had no idea the jungler was coming, then blink away at the last second.
If it was pure luck, I could’ve written it off as “that dinosaur got lucky.” But she’d been doing it in every single game.
One legendary streamer even walked me through the exact play on stream and explained why it worked so well.
From then on, the old irritation flipped into something closer to respect.
Apparently she can’t read the mini-map well because of one damaged eye.
Yet she happily fills the support role for top lane, scouting for me and feeding me information when I need it.
She even turns her own lane matchups into stepping stones for her own growth.
One reliable player like that makes the whole game feel a lot easier.
But that’s only when she’s on my team.
When Noel became the enemy, she turned into a real pain in the neck.
Leave her alone and our top lane collapses.
If the jungler jumped in anyway, he’d probably just die too.
So I decided to bring the fight to her.
Everyone on the enemy side was a hyper-aggressive carry. I had no choice but to play horn.
Even if I didn’t know every matchup perfectly, I knew Malphite was a nightmare for horn in lane.
But holding the lane was still possible. Malphite’s ultimate is a beast.
Even if my damage scaled slower, as long as the other lanes could keep the enemy busy, I didn’t need the tank to shine.
If horn didn’t scale cleanly and became a monster, I’d just have to crush him and make him irrelevant.
Right now we were barely past the one-minute mark, but I’d already finished planning the whole game.
I’d just sit back, let the enemy top laner freeze in place, and focus every resource on mid and bot while I traded with the enemy jungler.
The only thing left was to prove my own strategy.
The first five minutes were surprisingly smooth.
Mid lane was a slugfest, but both junglers jumped in and turned it into a silent war of attrition.
We stared each other down at the jungle camp, eyes locked, neither willing to blink first.
Bot lane was just as tense, but after an epic skill exchange we both retreated, leaving only supports dead on the ground.
Then I headed back to base, bought my new items, and rushed top lane.
My math was perfect.
Both sides were still trading neutral damage and refusing to back up, so neither of us was low on health but neither was full either.
So when Malphite poked in and popped his airborne, I’d be ready with the items I’d bought earlier and unload everything I had.
Of course horn could blink away, but Malphite had the tool to slow an opponent down.
Even if horn was a tank, he was still low enough on health for me to catch him.
Would he dodge my ultimate, or take it?
Whichever way he went, I was confident I’d find him.
이 신 was built to chase fleeing enemies.
During the brief image-training phase I did before the game, I knew the only way horn survived was if he somehow outran me.
But that scenario didn’t exist.
And the moment Malphite finished the wave and hit six, I flashed over the wall.
Right as I reached six, I triggered the ultimate and charged straight at horn like a missile.
The unstoppable rock went flying toward the mountain goat.
“Huh?”
But my calculation was wrong.
The instant Malphite’s hook connected, I heard horn’s horn blast.
He’d been waiting for the ultimate to finish, then readying his own for the counter-strike.
Except the flash hit first.
He blinked straight into Malphite’s charge path, then immediately hooked the mountain goat.
Malphite and the god I’d been fighting both spun through the air and crashed into the goat.
His ultimate has a long cooldown.
He blows the horn, the mountain goat charges from far away, then he hooks.
He couldn’t have hit the hook the second the horn sounded.
“This crazy bastard blinked in front of Malphite’s hook?”
I’m smart enough to figure it out instantly.
Horn had summoned the goat and blinked right into Malphite’s path.
Of course Malphite had predicted that and aimed behind him.
But if he really thought horn would blink back at him, he would’ve waited until the blink was over before swinging.
Yet he went in early and immediately hooked the goat too.
That was the moment the goosebumps crawled up my arms.
Did Noel calculate that far?
Did she account for me coming?
But the fight wasn’t over yet.
Malphite and the god were still in the air from the goat’s charge and hook.
Still only two versus one, and both of us were low on health.
So the moment the airborne ended, I flashed onto Malphite, dropped a shield on him, and slammed my ultimate down on horn at the same time.
“If I back off now, Malphite dies alone.”
I might as well go all in and try to kill horn too.
Wham, wham.
The mountain goat hit Malphite and the god with its charge, then horn’s hammer and anvil combo sent them both flying and tumbling.
But horn wasn’t finished.
He slammed the goat into the pillar I’d already planted earlier, sending us both soaring back into the air.
At that point there was no way out.
So horn breathed fire, burning Malphite and the god in the air.
The second they hit the ground and got up, horn hammered and anvil’d Malphite again.
That was fine.
Once I took horn down, I’d get the kills and start snowballing from bot lane.
I could outscale top lane horn way faster than she could.
But horn didn’t back up.
He was buying items anyway, so I couldn’t just ignore him.
His wave clear and harass were still strong.
I couldn’t blindly Q because my own minions would get hit.
And if I pulled back, he could just turn around and threaten me.
So I made a split-second decision.
I was almost at six anyway.
Flash behind horn, use E on the wave to kill a few minions, then R and launch horn straight into our turret.
It was the cleanest way to end him.
And it was guaranteed to work.
So I executed.
I flashed behind horn, used E to delete a couple of his minions, and watched my experience tick right to six.
Then I slammed R and launched horn straight into the air.
“Hooaa—kuuu!”
The colossal backflip landed clean.
Damage went in, cooldown started.
Targets don’t get misassigned on ultimates.
He should’ve been sent flying into the turret Malphite was hiding behind.
Instead, horn just breathed fire at me where I stood.
“Wait, why is the breath cooldown already up?!”
I yelled in frustration.
Horn’s ultimate was in the air.
So he dropped the mark on my head and hammered my skull with the anvil.
Wham.
Wait… I’m not low on health anymore.
I can keep going.
I just need to survive the next ten seconds.
Then I’ll grab the kills and snowball hard enough to carry bot lane.
But I’m still at level five.
Horn can keep buying items forever.
He’s got the wave clear, the harass, and his own minions to tank for him.
If I Q blindly I’ll just lose my own wave.
And if I back off, he can spin around and start threatening me again.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I flashed behind him again, used E on the last few minions, and watched my experience tick to six.
Then I slammed R and tried to launch horn into the turret one more time.
“Hooaa—kuuu!”
This time the backflip was even cleaner.
Damage, cooldown, everything.
But horn just laughed and breathed fire straight at me.
His ultimate was still on cooldown.
He dropped the mark on my head and hammered my skull again.
Wham.
My head exploded.
Then everything went black.