After the Victory (2)
"You gotta treat me to that special training, right? Hurry up. I wanna wrap it up quick and crash."
Seona gazed at me with an innocent face, her eyes sparkling.
Did this girl even know what special training really meant?
"Of course I'll keep my promise. But there's some stuff I need to tell you first."
"Like what?"
"First off, special training doesn't end 'quick.' Minimum two hours. If you can't keep up, no deal. Second, it's not some casual outing. I guarantee it'll be the most physically grueling thing you've ever done in your life."
"Third, once we start, no matter how much you cry or beg or throw a fit, it doesn't stop. It's like a fire truck barreling down the road. Even if it feels like you're gonna die, you gotta grit your teeth and push through with pure spite. Think you can handle it?"
"Hehe! Who do you think I am, Kim Seona? You think I can't handle a little training? There's nothing I can't do!"
Seona puffed out her chest and lifted her chin high. It wouldn't take more than thirty minutes tops before that pride came crashing down.
"Did I not tell you to calculate the enemy's skill cooldowns!? Again!"
"When you attack, time it after their auto-attack backswing! You wanna eat a hit first!? Again!"
"What the hell are you doing!? Starting a fight right as the enemy minions roll in? You wanna get ganked by their champ and minions!? Again!"
"Watch the skillshots, watch the damn skillshots! What makes you think you can dive when you can't even land them? A Parkinson's patient would hit better! Setting skill cooldowns to 10x acceleration! If you don't land 500 in ten minutes, that's 500 extra!"
"I told you to read their movements! I've got all my skills loaded— what, you gonna rush in now? New suicide method!? Again!"
"Kehuk... haaak... guweeeek!"
Forty minutes into special training. Seona finally couldn't hold it in anymore and hurled violently onto the ground.
Tears, snot, and spit streamed down her face as minions impassively marched past, the endless lane fight dragging on. Across from her lane, I watched it all unfold without a word.
Still, she lasted ten minutes longer than I expected.
I figured she'd tap out at thirty, but Seona clenched her teeth and powered through another ten. Her grit deserved praise. But even grit has limits, and now her body went limp as she puked up everything from dinner.
Of course, it was just game graphics—but the stamina drain on Seona was all too real.
I'd decided to maximize her strengths first.
Seona's biggest asset was her insane physicals. Her mechanics and reaction speed were the best of the five by far. Polish that through training, and she'd become a true one-woman carry.
Next up: drilling game sense, her biggest weakness.
Outside the game, she was sharp, but inside? She turned into a clueless zombie with zero awareness. No wonder she fed endlessly on the slightest poke.
I hammered that home relentlessly—me ganking, her dodging—repeating it dozens, hundreds of times.
For Seona, it must've been pure hell.
I cranked minion wave spawn intervals to 10x speed, forcing a brutal lane tempo. Any slip in her movement? Instant reset to square one.
Even as her legs shook and her pupils dilated, a reset refilled her health and mana—no breaks, just infinite lane loops.
And that was before my skillshots joined the party. She exploded and shattered nonstop, rolling on the ground—then three seconds later, reset, forced back up.
But wait, there was more. To boost her shaky skillshot accuracy, I set cooldowns to 10x acceleration—basically spamming a skill every second.
She flung daggers like her limbs were breaking, but fewer than half hit me. Too straight, too predictable. Naturally, she missed the 500-mark and got slapped with 500 more—leading straight to her collapse.
"Three-minute break."
With a snap of my fingers, the battlefield and minions vanished, replaced by the default Eternal Combat channel: a quiet small-town backdrop.
After forty minutes of sprinting like a 100-meter dash, Seona sprawled eagle-spread on the roadside, utterly spent. Her soft, wavy hair fanned out across the ground.
She just panted raggedly at first, unable to speak—then finally croaked out words.
"Haa... haaak... D-did you put Hayoung through this too?"
"Different focus, but yeah, something like it."
"Th-that's... too much... Go easy sometimes..."
"Told you—no stopping for tears or tantrums. Forty minutes is solid, though. Ten more than I predicted."
"My head's spinning..."
"That's normal. Time's up. On your feet."
"Wha?! J-just three more minutes! I really feel like I'm dying...!"
"If you're actually dying, the capsule force-logs you. Means you're fine—quit whining and get up."
Speaking from experience. During my own training, things got so bad—brain flatlining, reduced to orangutan grunts like 'oo' or 'ah'—that the capsule auto-disconnected for user safety. Vital signs critical.
Not there yet? Means she can handle it. Though I had no plans to push her that far.
"N-no way! Abusing a delicate girl like this..."
"Delicate? You're a pro. Pros get no mercy. Suck it up—this is the path you chose."
"Damn it...!"
After that, she puked five more times. By 3 a.m., when special training wrapped, her eyes were glazed as she crawled on all fours out of the practice room.
Tomorrow's Hayoung's turn...
My free time was shrinking fast. Looked like no long sleep tonight—not with that bot-lane practice game from dinner needing a breakdown.
Wednesday. Two days after our debut win.
After afternoon scrims and team dinner, we were chilling when my phone buzzed.
He rarely called this late—what's up?
"Hello?"
"Ah, Coach Kang. Hope I'm not interrupting practice?"
"Nah, just ate dinner and taking a break."
"Perfect. Could you swing by the office real quick?"
"On my way."
Player practice and front office were in the same building. Elevator to the admin floor.
Stepping into the office—felt weirdly unfamiliar despite being the same spot—Kim beckoned me to the conference room.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yeah, got something to show you. Nothing huge, but check this out."
He fired up the beam projector. It displayed our team's social media pages and screenshots from post-match communities buzzing with player pics.
"What's all this?"
"After that game two days ago, our social followers jumped over 100! See the metrics and graphs? All from that day—two-day spike. Staff say our team's popping up in Eternal Combat communities too."
He zoomed on a community capture.
The post was packed with multi-angle shots from the match—our players looking like they stepped out of a photoshoot, faces and figures no one could deny were stunning.
Comments were much the same—pure awe, nothing deep, just gasps like that.
For an academy league team, this was massive visibility. How many even knew the so-called academy overlords, Brilliant?
No academy team had ever blown up like this before.
"We're not even Division 3 yet—just academy—and already trending? Pretty proud, right? Rep's thrilled too. Says we nailed the looks department, at least."
"Glad he's pleased."
"You don't seem too thrilled, Coach?"
Of course not. Kim and The Shine rep came from entertainment—they'd love any buzz. But me? Ex-pro, current coach.
Fame from faces and figures? Worthless to me. Only skill and results mattered.
Though yeah, easier on the eyes than scrapping with dudes. Big plus.
"Not hating the attention, of course. But I'd rather we trend for wins and plays."
"Haha, such pro mindset—at your age? Hard to believe you're early twenties."
True—I was just a 21-year-old newbie in society's eyes. I gave a wry smile.
"Just doing my job as coach. I believe these girls can pull even bigger reactions with skill alone—no looks required."
"Good, great. Useless manager or not, I'll back you and the players—full support, material and moral."
"Thanks, Manager."
I had no idea then.
That this exact thing would spark a clash with the front office down the line.