I'm the One Meant to Be a Pro (2)
I was definitely supposed to become a player, right?
Shining Star. Yeah, I'd heard of that team name before.
When was it? Probably two or three years after the Eternal Combat pro league launched in Korea.
'Come to think of it, that's right around now.'
There was this one team that tried to enter the league by forming a women's division squad, and it became a minor buzz for a bit.
Not because of any real skill—it was because they were backed by The Shine, one of Korea's top entertainment agencies, and all five members were stunningly beautiful.
They bought a seed spot from an academy league team to participate, which was fine at first. But the problem was they benched silver-gold scrubs who didn't even grasp the basics of the game. They got swept in the women's academy league without even pushing past 25 minutes in any match.
I didn't care enough to remember who the members were, but I do recall what I said when I saw the news.
"If you're gonna crash the league, bring some actual talent. You can't play the game with your faces. What a bunch of idiots thinking pro is a joke."
Yeah. A team that thought pro gaming was a joke.
Shining Star spectacularly went zero-for-everything in the women's academy league, faced a storm of backlash and finger-pointing, and disbanded in less than six months.
Remembering all that, I started firing off questions one by one.
"Mind if I ask just one thing? Even if the women's academy teams don't have much prestige, I'm young and have zero coaching experience. So why reach out to me specifically?"
"Hahaha, you're too modest. Right now, whether it's among players or teams, there's no one who hasn't heard of Kang Yuseong."
It was true.
I'd held the solo queue top spot for six straight months, making me a hot topic among users.
I'd also drawn attention from every pro team during open tryouts thanks to my insane skills. Though, since I kept doing tryouts but skipping internal tests, some bad rumors were starting to circulate.
And for good reason—my resume boasted 11 domestic league wins, 3 season majors, and 3 TIC championships.
If you counted top-four finishes, it was way more.
Years of pro play had honed my control, main carry prowess, map awareness, macro strategy, situational judgment, and a toolbox of ways to clinch victories.
In the still-nascent Eternal Combat scene, no one could match the game sense and operations of a veteran pro gamer with over seven years under my belt.
Solo queue win rate: 73%.
That unrivaled rate, defying any comparison, meant every Eternal Combat player knew my name. Even if it wasn't quite the fame of my peak days.
"So, you saw my skills and decided to offer me the coaching gig?"
"No need to ask twice. I don't play much myself, but I know enough—and your skill was obvious at a glance."
I paused to think.
Shining Star.
In my book, they were a pathetic squad of clueless hacks who tried cashing in on looks, cherry-picking pretty faces, strutting around, and vanishing.
Should I take their coaching offer?
I was starting to get interested in coaching, sure—but I was once the world's top player.
I didn't want to waste my talents on just any team.
First things first: time to check the actual state of this Shining Star team.
"Mind if I drop by the team sometime?"
I visited the Shining Star office on the date Manager Kim Ki-hyeon had given me.
The place was small, with just a handful of staff. It looked exactly like a startup office.
Bit modest for a team under The Shine, no?
"Huh? Who're you? Ain't seen you before."
A young—young as in almost kid-like—girl with long pink hair and a mischievous smile tilted her head at me. She was so stunningly pretty it took your breath away, but her half-lidded eyes gave off a lazy, carefree vibe that was oddly charming.
Her looks were killer, but what really stood out was her hips. Wide enough to make you question if she was really East Asian, they were magnetic enough to captivate any guy's gaze. And that hourglass figure on top...
I snapped out of staring at the girl in front of me and opened my mouth.
"Ah, I'm Kang Yuseong. Here for an interview with Manager Kim Ki-hyeon today. Is the manager...?"
"Aha, the interview guy! Hang on a sec! Manager! The interviewee's here!"
The girl waved her arms dramatically, and a man emerged from an office room. He looked around forty, with a neat, professional air.
"Welcome. I'm Kim Ki-hyeon, manager of Shining Star."
"Hello. Kang Yuseong."
"Seeing you in person, you really look the gamer—young and sharp. Makes me jealous."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Haha, it is one. Let's head to the meeting room first."
As we started to move, the pink-haired girl poked Manager Kim Ki-hyeon.
"Manager, can I head out then?"
"Sure. I'll let you know once the team's set."
"Yessir~"
She gave an exaggerated bow, hummed a little tune, and sauntered out of the office.
"Who's she?"
"Ah, you haven't been introduced? That's Kim Eunjae. She's a trainee hoping to join Shining Star."
She and I were worlds apart in age—practically kids to her—but Manager Kim Ki-hyeon still used formal speech with me.
'At least they've started scouting trainees.'
The meeting room we entered following Manager Kim Ki-hyeon had nothing but a table, chairs, a whiteboard, and a beam projector.
And so, Manager Kim Ki-hyeon introduced the team and its vision.
The team was created by The Shine's CEO—a major entertainment agency head—to expand into more entertainment ventures.
Funding was solid, but since the CEO knew zilch about gaming, he'd delegated full authority to the manager.
The team believed they could turn Eternal Combat players into idols...
But as I listened, I realized there was no real substance. Knowing Shining Star's fate, I finally spoke up with the question I had to ask.
"Manager, I've got a question."
"Go ahead."
"What's the purpose of forming Shining Star? Is it just another entertainment business arm, or do you really plan to plant roots in esports?"
"We're aiming for both, of course."
"If you're serious about esports, aside from Kim Eunjae, you must have a list of prospective players you're considering. Could I see it?"
Manager Kim Ki-hyeon froze for a moment.
Because there was no such list.
The young man in front of him had zeroed in on something they hadn't even considered.
"We haven't prepared a list yet because..."
"Then how'd you contact Eunjae? You said she's a trainee, right?"
"Yes, yes. She's a dancer trainee under our parent company The Shine. She heard about the team launch somehow and wanted to give it a shot..."
...So she was a dancer trainee from their agency, not a pro gamer trainee?
Not even an amateur high-rank?
My head spun.
Even amid the dizziness, the status window kept chiming green, as if confirming this was the place. Sending positive signals.
Hold still, you little shit. With the team prep looking like this, you think it's a go?
"Once the roster's set, do you have dorms and a practice room ready for them?"
"Yes, of course. It's the building where The Shine trainees live—we can expand rooms into capsules..."
"That's neither a dorm nor a practice room."
"Pardon?"
This was suffocating. I could see exactly why this team crashed and burned so pathetically.
They talked about rooting in esports but knew jack about the basics.
If even the manager lacked understanding, what kind of eye did they have for picking coaches and players?
In a way, them contacting me this time might be a stroke of luck.
I grabbed a marker and stood at the whiteboard.
"Mind if I write something up?"
"By all means."
I immediately sketched diagrams on the whiteboard, spitting facts as I explained.
How sensitive pros are to their environment and setups.
Why separating living quarters from practice spaces is crucial for optimal training.
Why they needed dedicated dorms and practice rooms away from the parent company's trainee building.
"We're not prepared at all. This is embarrassing... Any other shortcomings?"
Manager Kim Ki-hyeon, who'd been diligently noting my pointers, now asked questions first.
I dropped the most critical point.
"Finally, the players. What kind of players does Shining Star plan to recruit? And how?"
"W-well, our policy is to prioritize players with looks that generate buzz. Then, the coach we contact—like you, Mr. Kang Yuseong—trains them to build skills—"
By the end, my head was spinning again.
These people really saw the pro scene as a total joke. How could folks running the cutthroat entertainment world be this clueless?
"Sorry to interrupt, Manager. But I have to say this: Shining Star's got a misconception. The pro gamer world is ruthless.
It's not kid stuff. I know The Shine runs grueling auditions for trainees—pro gaming's the same. Pick pretty faces and hunt for talent among them? Good luck with that.
Skill is everything in pro. Find skilled players—or at least ones with potential—first, then looks. Reverse it, and it ends badly.
I respect The Shine viewing pro gaming as entertainment extension. But ignore this priority, and you'll fail at producing 'marketable stars' from the start.
No one—fans or the league—tolerates skill-less pros. Just like The Shine doesn't scout tone-deaf, rhythm-deaf hacks.
Skill or potential first. Looks second.
I'm grateful for the opportunity, but without respecting this iron rule of pro gaming, I honestly don't think I can lead as coach."
After that, as I unleashed a monologue on pro scene dynamics, structures, fan standards, and more—Manager Kim Ki-hyeon nodded, typing furiously on his laptop.
"Thank you for the great advice, Mr. Kang Yuseong. I'll discuss these with the CEO and review our direction. We'll be in touch."
Manager Kim Ki-hyeon called back about two weeks after the interview.
"Mr. Kang Yuseong, hello. This is Shining Star's Manager Kim Ki-hyeon."
"Hi. Just two weeks—quick."
"Haha, sorry it took so long. Reviewing and incorporating your feedback took time."
"No worries. So, things are sorted?"
"Yes. First, we're formally requesting you as our coach again. And after talking to the CEO, we've agreed to most of your suggestions.
Separate dorms and practice room, player selection criteria—most of it. Especially for recruiting players, we desperately need your help, which is why I'm calling."
"Should I come by the office again?"
"No need. Send me your email—I'll PPT it over. And, uh, can I take your acceptance of the coaching role?"
"I don't know the player criteria yet. Let me check the PPT first."
"Of course."
A few minutes later, a PPT file landed in my inbox.
The first slide blazed with flashy decoration. Background: that Kim Eunjae girl from the office, sitting in a capsule.
Project Shining Star!