Offseason (12)
In November, the fervor of TIC had completely died down, and the weather had turned chilly enough that everyone on the streets was bundling up in long jackets.
With less than a month until the Winter season opener, every team was shaking off the long offseason and diving headfirst into intensive practice.
It was the basic duty of any pro team to peak their skills, condition, and play sense right before the season kicked off.
In that regard, the tail end of our offseason could be summed up in one phrase: 'extremely unsatisfactory.'
It wasn't the players who were the problem.
The real issue was...
"Mr. Han Sang-cheol, we've got less than a month until the season starts—this isn't right. We're already short on practice time even pulling all-nighters, and now more filming?!"
"Coach Kang, please calm down for a second. We're just following company orders..."
"If even one player goes out for filming, we can't do team practice, and whoever goes comes back wrecked and can't even run solo queue! If we start the season like this, we won't get any results! Who the hell is scheduling shoots every three or four days?! Did Manager Kim set this up?"
"No, it's from our parent company..."
The Shine?
"Did President Lee Man-su order this?"
"Yes... I heard it through the director—er, the manager. He said not to waste the momentum while the players are generating buzz..."
Crazy old boomer bastard.
He'd left the academy team alone to do whatever, but now he was meddling? We were already swamped prepping for the season, and he had no clue how the pro scene worked.
I scratched my head in frustration and headed into the capsule room where the players were practicing.
Every time practice got interrupted like this, the stress was unbearable.
I let out a deep sigh, clapped my hands, and raised my voice.
"Hey, everyone, heads up! Come out for a sec—I need to talk."
Hearing me, the players shut down their games one by one and climbed out of their capsules.
"What's up? We were in the middle of prac—ugh."
Eunjae froze at the sight of Han Sang-cheol beyond the door as she emerged from her capsule.
"Ahaha... even I'd get hurt if you make that face..."
I ignored Han Sang-cheol and sighed heavily.
Sensing something from my expression, Yuna looked at me anxiously. "No way, right?"
"Sadly, yes."
"Again?! It's only been a few days since the last shoot!"
"Complaining to me won't help. Ask Mr. Han over there."
"Mr. Han! What now? This is too much! We have to practice too!"
"Now, now, player Cha Yuna. Calm down... It's not like I want to—"
"This isn't the first time! How can you keep scheduling like this when we can't even prac—"
"Unnie Yuna, hang in there a bit. It might be quick, okay?"
"Aaaargh, seriously!"
Thanks to Hayoung's intervention, Yuna grumbled no more and stormed out to the living room.
But I felt exactly the same. I was just holding it in.
Apparently, this time they needed Seona for pamphlets and promo materials to advertise The Shine's trainee auditions.
I swallowed my irritation and approached her.
"Seona, they need you for filming. At least this one doesn't seem too long..."
Seona wasn't listening.
Her eyes were glazed over, lost in thought, completely ignoring me.
"Kim Seona!"
"Eek! Y-yes? D-did you call me?"
"What're you always spacing out for lately? Listen when someone's talking to you."
"Uh... sorry. S-so, I'm the one filming? Okay..."
The second reason the offseason sucked lately.
Everyone else was fine, but Seona just couldn't focus on practice anymore.
This girl who used to play without a care was suddenly full of distractions—zoning out and dying to ganks she could've dodged easily, or missing my orders and asking me to repeat them constantly.
It had been like this nonstop since the workshop.
If it were like Eunjae's old playful, slippery self, that'd be one thing, but it wasn't. Even Eunjae had straightened up lately. Was one workshop enough to leave her heart all aflutter even now?
I'd called her to the meeting room a few times for heart-to-hearts, asking if something was wrong, but she always insisted nothing was up.
Still, her form didn't improve. She'd become the biggest hole on the team lately, and our scrim win rate hovered around 40%. With our scrim results tanking out of nowhere, the team vibe was sour, and I could feel the laughter and chatter dropping off compared to before.
Seona causing issues inside, the front office pressuring us with shoots outside—practice time shrinking while the season loomed. It was enough to drive anyone mad.
That day, with Seona out for filming, team practice was impossible. The rest of us just ran solo queue or did individual drills with me.
Time passed again, and today was scrims against Peacemaker, the team that had crushed us in the winners' bracket of the promotion match.
Seona's downward spiral since the workshop had hit rock bottom, and we lost 0:3. Considering our form right after the offseason, this shouldn't have happened.
Seona spent the whole day lost in space, like her soul had wandered off somewhere.
In the scrim, she racked up over 30 deaths across three games total—the overwhelming top contributor to our losses, even if no one said it out loud.
"Kim Seona, come here."
I couldn't take it anymore and called her back to the meeting room. She followed with her head hung low, like a condemned prisoner marching to the gallows.
Once seated, I sighed. My sighs were piling up lately.
<Kim Seona (18)>
Physical: A
Mental: F
Judgment: F
Competitive Spirit: F
Teamwork: F
* Player's form has extremely declined due to personal issues.
It had been a while since I'd checked Seona's status window, and it was a disaster. Barely pro level.
At this rate, she wasn't any different from the randos who'd shown up for auditions. What good was top-tier physical if she couldn't focus enough to use it?
I'd seen plenty of gamers lose their edge from dating, family drama, breakups—but this kind of drop-off was rare.
"Seona, what's going on with you lately? Can't focus on the game, ignoring orders. Even if you get ganked hard, you don't die like this normally. What's the problem? And you're still saying nothing's wrong? Tell me so I can help or figure something out."
"It's... not that. Really, nothing's wrong..."
"Your mechanics, skillshots, judgment—it's all trash, and your mental's crumbling right in front of me. Nothing wrong? I told you, come to me right away if you need help. Last chance: something up or not?"
Seona stayed silent for a long stretch.
And then.
"......No."
Her bullheadedness kicking in at the worst time. Infuriating. The status window screamed something was wrong, but she wouldn't talk.
And the damn thing that used to beep and ding annoyingly with answers was silent this time.
"...Go. Scrim review later."
"...Sorry."
Seona shuffled out of the meeting room.
From outside, Hayoung's comforting voice drifted in.
"Seona, you okay? Did he chew you out bad? It's fine, really. Must be a slump. Practice hard together, and you'll bounce back. It's you, after all!"
"...Yeah... thanks."
"Aww, why so down? After dinner scrims tonight, wanna hit up karaoke late? Or that udon place for a reverse? I've been craving it! You bought last time—my treat this round. Wanna go?"
"I'm good today. Thanks. I... need a break."
"Oh... okay. Rest up. If you're sick, take some meds! No pushing yourself, got it?"
No reply from Seona.
I stepped out and stood beside Hayoung, who was watching Seona's back with worry.
"You have no idea what's up with her either?"
Hayoung sighed. Sighs were all we had lately—me, the players.
"No... Feels like something's wrong, but she won't say."
"Frustrating as hell. Can't help if we don't know. You're closest to her—keep an eye and support her."
"Got it! Probably just a slump hurting her pride. Or burnout maybe..."
"Burnout? She hasn't accomplished enough for that yet. I'll watch her during training—you handle dorm time."
"Leave it to me! I'm the captain, after all!"
"I will."
I ruffled Hayoung's hair, and she beamed.
Good thing we had Hayoung at least. Until Seona opened up, we'd keep tabs together.
"Okay, I'll grab food with Unnie Yuna and the others!"
"Yeah. Rest up."
Three people climbed into a black luxury limousine. The two younger ones took the driver's seat and passenger side, while the slightly older middle-aged man reclined in the spacious rear seat, which could double as a bed.
The back was stocked with snacks, drinks, a foot massager, and a mini-fridge—pure luxury.
"Choi secretary, what's next on the schedule?"
"Yes, Chairman. At 5:30, a meeting with Taejong Daily's Yuk Il-nam. Regarding the chemical leak worker death—you need to request they drop the story before publishing. They've benefited from us plenty, so they probably won't refuse—"
"Got it."
The secretary cut off immediately.
Kim Seon-woo, head of the nation's largest conglomerate SA Group, popped a small chocolate from the side tray into his mouth and tossed the wrapper carelessly.
With his packed schedule leaving no time for proper meals, chocolate was a godsend for quick calories.
Moving between endless meetings, this car time was his only break.
Kim Seon-woo stared out the window. As the rare mega-limousine passed, pedestrians' gazes locked onto it.
Then, he spotted something odd.
"Hold up. Pull over."
The driver flicked on hazards and eased to the roadside. Kim Seon-woo narrowed his eyes, staring intently at one side of the boulevard.
"Choi secretary, what's that on the right?"
The secretary followed his pointing finger to a large, flashy building that stood out from its neighbors.
He scanned the sign quickly.
"The Shine headquarters—one of the big three entertainment agencies."
"Not that—the life-size standee."
The secretary squinted at the standee by the entrance, just like Kim Seon-woo.
Famous Korean celebs anyone would recognize by face alone.
"Agencies often put up standees of their stars. Choi Sarang, Yoo Areum, Park Hoyoung, Choi Minjun... who's that last one... huh?!"
Examining the final figure, the secretary let out a baffled groan.
Kim Seon-woo felt the same.
"Isn't that Seona?"
His late-life youngest daughter. The sore spot who clashed with him at every turn, insisting she wouldn't join the company like her siblings—wanting freedom, stubborn as hell.
And there her photo was, plastered on The Shine's standee.
The secretary had met her a few times and knew that face—the group heir's daughter—well.
No mistaking it. That was Kim Seona.
"Miss Seona... yeah, it is..."
"Why the hell is Seona up there?"
"I... have no idea."
"I don't know" wasn't in a group leader's secretary's vocabulary—but this was an exception. Who could've predicted this?
Kim Seon-woo’s brow furrowed into a deep crease, and his low growl rumbled through the limo.
"Driver, turn around and park there. Choi secretary—cancel today's meeting."