3rd Division Promotion/Relegation Match (11)
The final score confirmed the irreversible truth once again.
We had lost.
In the end, it was the difference in experience and champion pools, plus the mental collapse from the first set, that led to our defeat.
This was our first match loss since debuting—not counting that one time against Team Brilliant. Thankfully, it was the winners' bracket, so we still had one last coin for the grand finals. But that didn't make the loss any less bitter for anyone.
My heart felt heavy, my mouth tasted sour. I'd lost plenty as a pro, but defeat never got any easier to stomach.
Would things have been different if I'd broadened the girls' pick pools more? Should I have crushed Yuna's spirit earlier? No, what if that had backfired and she'd played even worse?
A whirlwind of what-ifs swirled in my head.
But I didn't have long to brood.
The lounge door swung open, and the players returned—looking several times more dejected than I felt.
We'd only ever seen them come back triumphant, laughing and chattering. This was uncharted territory for everyone.
Even Seon-ah, who always crushed Ha-young in hugs to celebrate wins;
Ha-young, who smiled through those embraces;
Sera, who shot me a quiet glance and a faint smile;
Eunjae, thrilled at the chance to sneak a smoke after a good game—they were all silent now.
Yuna had it worst. The once-confident, bold offlaner stared blankly at the lounge ceiling, her eyes unfocused, like she'd left part of her soul behind.
"Good work out there."
No one replied to my consolation. I hadn't expected them to; I just let the silence hang.
"Let's head home."
We left the players' lounge, took the elevator to the underground parking, and drove for about an hour.
No one spoke the whole way back to the dorm. A deathly silence filled the car.
This was why losing sucked. The disheartened players, words of comfort that rang hollow, the awkward hush—it was all miserable.
A vibe I hadn't felt in ages, and it wasn't welcome.
By the time we stepped into the practice room—always buzzing with drills—it was already 11:50 PM.
The players filed silently into the capsule room, unpacked their gear, and gathered on the floor for post-match feedback.
But as Yuna walked out, she suddenly dropped to her knees and collapsed face-down.
"Hic... ugh... waaahhh!"
Her trembling fist slammed into the floor. Once, twice, three times... each hit harder than the last.
"Urgh... sob... it's my fault... because of me... all because of me...!"
She'd probably felt the worst about today's games. In set one, she'd lost control and rattled the team's morale, contributing to the loss. Then in set three, Gran Magnus had baited out her ultimate, turning the tide against her. I could see how rotten she felt inside. I'd been there myself—impossible to stay sane after a loss like that.
Tears streaming, Yuna wailed loud enough to shake the practice room.
"Waaahhh! If it weren't for me... if I wasn't here... urgh... sob... we lost because of me... I'm the reason... I'm the culprit! Me!!! Aaaahhh!!!!"
Her sobs—half cry, half scream—echoed through the room.
Sadness is contagious.
With team big sis Yuna breaking down in hysterics, the other four couldn't hold back their tears anymore.
They all sank to the floor, unleashing pent-up grief and frustration. The practice room filled with the cries of five girls.
"Sorry... sorry... I shouldn't have been here... because of me... if not for me... ah-sob... Division 1? TIC? Pfft... world-class offlaner? What a joke... Division 1? TIC? Ha, hahaha-sob!"
Yuna cycled wildly between sobs and manic laughter, but everyone knew it was just madness.
"I...!!!!!!!!!!"
She clawed at her hair, flattening herself further against the floor, unleashing a scream that could tear eardrums.
"CAN'T DO IT!!!!!!!!!!"
One step from promotion, and she'd slipped—convinced it was all her fault.
Her pride, which refused to accept losses on her watch, clashed with harsh reality. Yuna's mentality shattered.
I patted the back of the prone, sobbing Yuna and rested a hand lightly on her head.
"Urgh... waaahhh!"
"Don't cry."
At my touch, she finally sat up, still bawling but upright.
The other four, sniffling through tears and snot, fixed their eyes on me.
"Yeah, the process wasn't perfect. Bickering like 'good job,' snapping orders in frustration, rubbernecking from across the river... But you know what? Every team goes through that crap at least once."
The five still sniffled, no replies.
"You gave it your all. You didn't lose because you're weaker than them overall. Think of it as growing pains. Every team stumbles through trial and error a few times minimum. You've won everything so far, so this hits harder. Lesson learned on a big stage. No more tears. Pros face worse losses all the time. Relegation isn't over, shake it off and prep for the next one. But..."
I glanced at the clock. 11:55 PM.
"If you're furious beyond words, cry it out tonight."
Yeah, feedback could wait.
Better to sob it clean than let the first loss fester.
At those words, the five really let loose—heart-wrenching wails that stung my nose. They collapsed, hugged, apologized. Yuna kept mumbling through sobs, probably sorry for snapping earlier.
Their first defeat hurt that much.
After midnight, once they'd cried it out and calmed a bit, I gathered them for detailed game feedback. The marathon session wrapped up around 2 AM.
Exhausted from match stress and crying, the players yawned nonstop and headed to bed.
I stayed in the conference room, analyzing the games again to prep tomorrow's materials—when the door burst open.
Caught off guard, I jolted from my seat.
Turning, I saw Yuna, a wreck from crying.
"You scared me! Knock first—nearly gave me a heart attack! Yuna, what's up?"
She bit her lip at the sight of me, then burst into tears again.
"Sob... Coach..."
"Still hung up on the loss? I told you it's not just on you."
My words barely landed before she dropped to her knees.
"Coach... I want to get good at the game..."
"......"
"Can't sleep. I wanna git gud. You say it's not my fault, but it is! I can't live like this. I'm so pissed I wanna die right now. Make me good at the game, please? I'll do dishes. Scrub floors. Just don't let me feel like this again? You're good at the game, right?"
Her voice trembled unmistakably—holding back rage or tears, who could tell.
Not just the loss, but her own performance today—unbearable for the fiercely competitive, prideful Yuna.
This match was a lifelong black mark. I eyed her a moment, then asked.
"What do you mean by 'getting good'?"
"Huh?"
"Mental game? Mechanics? Skill mastery? Champ pool? Item builds? Lots of ways to improve. What do you want?"
She pondered silently, then answered.
"All of it."
Classic Yuna. I chuckled despite myself.
"Got it. We'll do extras tomorrow—rest tonig—"
"No!"
She cut me off as I tried to send her to bed.
"No time! Finals are the day after tomorrow! I can't play like today. TIC or Division 1... might be impossible, but at least Division 3... we gotta make that!"
Always yapping about TIC and Division 1, but today's game had crushed her confidence enough to doubt it herself.
"Conditioning's a pro's duty."
"What good's conditioning if I suck?"
That stubborn look—she wasn't hearing reason. Sighing inwardly at the late night ahead, I spoke.
"Fine, your call. But conditions."
"What?"
"No doubting your skill. Pros thrive on confidence. I judge your level, not you. Always play like you're the best in the world.
Look at Seon-ah. She dives half the map, gets smashed, but stays cocky like she'll win anyway. Not saying be reckless, but act confident like her.
You've always played that way. Hesitate with 'will this work?' and even sure wins fail. You cried earlier, 'what TIC, what Division 1?' Ban that talk forever. You're gonna be the offlaner hitting TIC, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Good. It's 2 AM, so crash course till 5. Gotta manage conditioning. Deep dive tomorrow—follow close. Short window to apply this in finals, so absorb it good."
"Will do."
About 42 hours till the do-or-die against Team Riddle or Team Brilliant.
My crash course with the pride-wounded Yuna began deep in the night like that.