Project Shining Star (1)

The transmitted PPT contained a detailed overview of Project Shining Star, including audition methods, dates, and more. The venue was none other than in-game Eternal Combat. The application period was ten days, with auditions starting five days later and lasting a full week.

It looked like they'd put in quite a bit of effort into market research over the past two weeks—this plan was actually decent.

"Mr. Kang Yuseong, have you given any thought to the position we proposed last time?"

Of course I'd agonized over it endlessly.

I'd researched coaching roles in detail and even dredged up memories of what the directors and coaches used to do back then.

I'd weighed whether joining this team was better or merging into an established powerhouse's staff.

But even if I joined an existing coaching team, their direction would already be set in stone. It'd be hard to build the team my way or guide players to my taste.

To nurture truly ideal players with my knowledge, background, and skills, starting from zero might actually be better.

Absolutely not because the status window kept dinging incessantly in agreement.

"Yes, I'll take the coaching position you offered. I'm worried it might be too much for someone like me with no experience, but I'll give it my all."

"Oh, come on. If anything, we're the ones worried—with no experience in the gaming world, we wonder if we can build a satisfying team.

"Looking forward to working with you, Coach Kang Yuseong. If you have time, let's meet at the office again. We need to get the contract signed."

The next day, I returned to the Shining Star office to sign the contract.

Drawing from memories of my previous life, I scrutinized every single word to ensure no sneaky tricks, but fortunately, there were no twisted clauses or nonsense.

After signing, I chatted with Manager Kim Ki-hyeon about various things, especially player selection for the auditions.

"I'll participate in the auditions and judging, of course, but you can think of the final player selection authority as entirely yours, Coach Kang Yuseong."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I couldn't possibly match the eye of a renowned expert like you, Coach Yuseong. That said, the parent company rep has instructed that visuals must absolutely not fall short... so I ask for your understanding on that front. I'll try to persuade the rep as much as possible, but if appearances are too lacking, well... it defeats the purpose of an audition under The Shine's name."

So, they're dead set on face marketing no matter what.

How many girls are there who are both pretty and good at the game?

"I'll keep it in mind as much as possible. And the woman we saw last time, Kim Eunjae—is she taking the test too?"

"She was originally slated as a lock-in player, but... we decided to have her test like everyone else since she seemed too casual about it. Took some effort to calm her whining and tantrums."

At least he had the sense to adjust course before I even said anything. Good.

After accepting the coaching role for the pro-less pro team Shining Star, I spent the next few days insanely busy. Not with coaching or player scouting, but finding a suitable practice environment.

This was normally the manager's job, but with no players to manage yet, I pitched in alongside him.

For management convenience, the practice room was ultimately set in the building housing The Shine's offices.

To avoid disruptions from existing trainee singers and dancers, we decided to invest heavily in soundproofing materials on the designated floor and renovate extensively.

We also picked a 60-pyeong officetel right next to The Shine office as the players' living space.

Next up: purchasing gaming capsules for the players.

For a team like BlackWings from my active days, sponsors lined up, so there was no need to agonize over capsules, PCs, laptops, headsets, mice, or keyboards.

But even with a famous parent company like The Shine entertainment agency, Shining Star was just a no-name rookie team. Such teams had no choice but to buy gaming capsules with their operating budget.

I scoured electronics markets and custom capsule sites for days, selecting cost-effective ones perfect for Eternal Combat, and sent them to the manager.

Once the dorm, practice room, and capsules were ready, we cleaned everything spotless for a photogenic vibe and hired a photographer from The Shine.

Finally, we had proper promo materials. With support from The Shine staff, we launched Project Shining Star.

Artfully airbrushed dorm and practice room interiors, plus the flashy exterior of the universally known parent company The Shine building.

The promo materials' impact online was massive in every sense.

For male gamers, the big draw was me—Eternal Combat's top amateur and solo rank #1 for six months straight—joining as coach.

For female gamers, it was the hope of pro debut or, failing that, breaking into entertainment via their looks.

In the end, Project Shining Star pulled aggro from nearly every Eternal Combat gamer. Applications over ten days far exceeded expectations.

Total applicants: over 2,000. Even limiting to Platinum tier or higher.

Even scheduling 5:5 matches at 30 minutes per game, no breaks, 12 hours a day—that's 240 max per day. Meaning auditions would take 8-9 days.

Manager Kim Ki-hyeon paled at the killer schedule, but I was utterly calm.

Combining scrims and solo queue for 15-hour gaming days was routine back then. Watching and judging for 12 hours without even playing? Piece of cake. Boring, maybe.

With the hotter-than-expected response, The Shine decided to stream the auditions beyond in-game.

On audition day one, the Eternal Combat tournament lobby buzzed with hundreds of assigned participants and even more spectators.

Manager Kim Ki-hyeon and I settled into the separate in-game observer seats to watch.

Stepping out briefly to kick off the auditions, Manager Kim Ki-hyeon appeared before the crowd.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Kim Ki-hyeon, manager of Shining Star, the Eternal Combat pro gaming team under The Shine—known to you all. We're overwhelmed by the interest in Project Shining Star. Participants, give it your all to join our team. Spectators, we hope you enjoy the show!"

Amid applause, the first ten participants stepped forward—one prettier than the last.

"Hello! I'm Choi Noel! Nice to meet you!"

The participants waved and smiled charmingly at everyone.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠male spectators went wild, cheering the participants raucously.

I had serious doubts this was the status of someone aiming for pro gamer. Of course, only I could see it, so others had no clue about her level.

As the game started, a lush forest and river sprouted where the ten waited, while the spectator area rose into a massive colosseum.

Hologram screens appeared before each spectator for the overall view. They switched to observer mode or personal POVs, picking their preferred screens to watch.

In ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the judges' seats with Manager Kim Ki-hyeon and me, eleven screens floated: one overall observer view and ten individual participant POVs.

Five minutes in, I grabbed a black pen and slashed lines through several names on the participant list—including Choi Noel's.

"Participants not up to snuff?"

Manager Kim had seen me cross out all ten.

"Yeah. No salvageable talent in this match."

And that was putting it mildly.

The skill level was nowhere near pro aspirants'. Straight-up solo queue warriors. How they even hit Platinum was a mystery.

Team comps could be inexperience, fine. But zero grasp of team play, concepts, or win determination.

All ten, including Choi Noel, barely focused on the game—obsessed instead with how they looked on stream.

Prioritizing pretty camera angles and schmoozing judges over actual play.

They showed up just to show off.

Obviously, I had zero intention of coaching such half-assed trash.

I'm Kang Yuseong, rookie coach or not.

11-time domestic pro league champ, 3-time season major winner, 3-time TIC victor.

I wasn't expecting BlackWings-level mechanics from amateurs, but this was ridiculous.

At 15 minutes, I called the match.

No point continuing.

"Shining Star Coach here. First match ends here. Good work, participants."

My voice echoed through the venue.

As official observer, it reached players and spectators alike.

Male spectators buzzed at my voice.

Some had seen me at pro tests, but to most users, I was still shrouded in mystery—Challenger top only.

"Shining Star Coach!"

"That voice—is that solo #1 Kang Yuseong?"

"Next, participants for match 2, please prepare."

The first ten reappeared in the lobby post-abort, still beaming sales smiles, clueless why I stopped it, and logged out.

The next ten were no different. Nor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the ones after.

A few tried hard occasionally, but all were irredeemable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'no-talents.'

Or rather, maybe some talent, but attitudes in the gutter.

The status indicators made it easy, but even without, my verdict would've been the same. No minimal talent or drive, even accounting for amateur status.

Constant mid-match stops sped things up. Soon, the 14th match.

One finally caught my eye.

A neat bob-cut black-haired girl with a plain vibe.

No prior participant had even multiple Ds, let alone Cs. Lee Ha-young boasted C-level Mental and Teamwork.

Her weakest stat being the pro-essential Physical stung, but she was the first worth watching.

"Participants, please introduce yourselves."

At Manager Kim Ki-hyeon's cue, they pitched one by one. Amid flowery promo fluff, Lee Ha-young's was short and to the point.

"Hello, participant #75, Lee Ha-young. I want to go pro, so I applied. Nice to meet you."

Textbook intro.

I checked her profile.

'2nd Support class.'

The poorest position, played even poorer than 1st support—pure team tool.

She picked Holy Knight, specialized in heals and shields.

Simple kit, no fancy mechanics needed, but single-target skills demand smart target picks for heals/shields.

Solid match for her—good other stats, weaker physical. Whether she knew that picking it was questionable.

But her skill exceeded expectations. Holy Knight's core: heals. Not just ally recovery—equal damage to surrounding foes. Double value if timed right, but noobs ignore damage for pure heals. Lee Ha-young nailed max heal moments on allies and AoE damage on enemies.

Spell Shield use was stellar too. Pre-shielding ally initiators against CC threats, letting them rampage.

Ult's full-team physical immunity flipped teamfights at perfect timings.

She even body-blocked for dying carries, sacrificing herself.

First time I let a match run full. Her team won handily thanks to her brilliance.

Physical lags delayed some heals/shields in surprises, but comparing to others felt unfair.

"You didn't stop it this time—must've been a good one."

"Yes, someone clearly better than the priors."

"Oh? Who?"

"#75, Lee Ha-young. 2nd support."

"Ah, the bob-cut girl. I thought her movements were pretty solid too."

No, movements were meh.

I nodded along to Manager Kim's take, then penned a score beside her name—the first ever.

7/10.

Lee Ha-young, the first to pass my bar.