Project Shining Star (5)
"Passed? Yes."
Carry: Shin Sera.
"Whoa! Whoa! I passed? For real? I'm actually a pro now? Wooow! Oh right, Coach, that means you'll do another 1-on-1 mid-lane beatdown with me next time, right?! You have to! Hehehe. Mom!!! I passed!!! Oh man, this feels so freaking good! I'm going insane! Kyaaah! Huh? Why isn't the phone hanging up yet..."
Mid: Kim Seona.
"Right? I passed, didn't I? I figured it was obvious I'd make it."
Offlaner: Cha Yuna.
"I passed? For real, I passed? Huh? Then why'd I even have to audition when you knew I'd pass anyway, Coach?"
First Support: Kim Eunjae.
"Passed...? Me? R-Really passed? Th-Thank you! Thank you! I'll work so hard! Thank you!"
Second Support: Lee Ha-young.
The players' reactions varied wildly, but they all agreed to sign with Shining Star.
And so, they all showed up at the team office at the same time to sign their contracts. Everyone except the adult Yuna brought their parents, and Sera came with her aunt instead. The other four besides Seona were seeing my face— their coach's—for the first time.
Yuna, in particular, spotted me and immediately asked, "Coach Kang Yuseong?" before double-checking my ID and gazing at me with eyes full of admiration.
And last to arrive was Kim Eunjae, the trainee from The Shine who was officially a pro gamer starting today.
"Hello! Kim Eunjae, your pro gamer starting today... Huh?"
Eunjae froze in place the moment she saw me.
"Aren't you the guy from the interview? What are you doing here? This is the women's team?"
"I'm the coach."
"Oh, duh. You're the coach. I'm a player! Name's Kim Eunjae... Huh?"
Mid-sentence, something seemed to click for Eunjae, and she cut herself off. Her expression hardened at terrifying speed.
"U-Um, Coach... You don't happen to remember what I said at the audition, do you?"
"Something about wanting to quit smoking?"
"Waaah!"
After that, Eunjae spent a good while banging her forehead on the desk, pleading, "It was a joke! I messed up! Don't fire me!" It took several reassurances that it was no big deal before she finally signed the contract.
The players' salaries were set at 25 million won. Not a huge amount, but considering they were all high schoolers except for Yuna, it was pretty substantial. Plus, there was a clause for salary renegotiation and renewal if they started in the Academy League and successfully promoted. Depending on their performance, they could earn way more.
Of course, the package included dorms, practice rooms, meals, and medical support.
'You kids have it better than most. Be grateful.'
Back when I turned pro at this exact point in time, teams paying less than minimum wage were everywhere.
Teams without meal provisions or medical care, forcing players to buy their own food; teams with such crappy gaming capsules that players had to buy their own—plenty of those too.
Even in Division 2, that was common, let alone two tiers below in Academy teams.
By comparison, Shining Star—as a subsidiary of parent company The Shine—offered shockingly good baseline conditions for an Academy squad.
Not that these girls would know.
The contract term offered to the players was two years. Longer than the one-year average for Division 1 pros, but standard for Division 2 and below.
There was one highly unusual clause: a no-dating rule until the contract expired.
—Is this clause really necessary?
The first time I saw it, I'd immediately flagged it for Manager Kim.
Of course, 99 out of 100 pros who start dating mid-career see their form plummet. But that's a self-management issue—not something to spell out in the contract.
Manager Kim nodded at my question.
—It's absolutely necessary. The chairman and I haven't changed our goal: secure both skill and popularity. We'll prioritize results per Coach Kang's input, of course. But as you saw at the auditions, we're positioning this as a sort of idol group too.
—Do you know what's most fatal to an idol group? Dating scandals. Even top groups lose half their fans the moment one breaks. It won't affect match results, but it's devastating for buzz and popularity. The chairman's adamant on this, so I'd appreciate your understanding.
—Hmm... Got it. It's not like banning dating guarantees poor performance anyway.
I'd only asked out of curiosity—it wasn't a dealbreaker for team ops, so I dropped it.
And as expected, a few players questioned the no-dating clause. I gave them the exact same explanation Manager Kim had given me.
Ha-young grumbled about privacy invasion and kept pushing back, but the idol group example shut her down eventually.
Once the players and their guardians had all signed, the conference room cleared out, leaving just me, Manager Kim, and the five players.
The girls stared at me intently, eyes sparkling, mostly ignoring the manager. Probably because I was the number one solang player.
Manager Kim spoke first.
"Once again, congratulations on becoming Shining Star's proud players. Breaking through thousands of competitors to reach this point proves your potential. I hope you'll train hard and aim for even greater heights."
As soon as he finished, Ha-young shot her hand up. He nodded for her to go ahead.
"So, when do we move into the dorms?"
I fielded that one.
"Group living starts next Monday. Pack whatever you need for dorm life. The team's providing capsules, but if the sensitivity doesn't match your body, it'll mess with your play—so get them set up early.
Don't forget toothbrush, toothpaste, your clothes, and any personal items. Bedding, pillows, towels, toilet paper—all the essentials are covered by the team. But if you prefer your own, bring 'em.
You're welcome to move in early if you want. Have everything ready by Sunday at the latest. Monday kicks off straight into team practice."
"Me! Me! Coach!"
Kim Seona waved her hand.
"Not 'teacher,' 'coach.' What's up?"
"So we jump right into scrims on Monday?"
Seona looked excited for official scrims, but unfortunately, we weren't there yet.
I shook my head.
"Scrims don't come that easy. Especially for no-name rookies like us with zero track record. Other teams see no upside in scrimming randoms like us—they won't even respond to requests. We start with bot games. Once you girls show real promise, we can pitch scrims to other teams."
"Ehhh, but I'm not a random."
"To me, you are."
Seona puffed her cheeks and lowered her hand at my instant reply.
This time, Shin Sera raised her hand. I hadn't expected her to speak up first—surprising.
"What about school?"
Everyone except college student Cha Yuna was still in high school, so fair worry. Manager Kim answered.
"Most of you will probably take leaves of absence. Our staff will handle the procedures with your guardians, so players don't need to worry. Ask us or your parents if you have questions."
"I got a question too."
Kim Eunjae's turn.
"What do pros even do all day? Just game nonstop?"
Come to think of it, as a former idol trainee, she wouldn't know pro team life.
The other four seemed clueless too. They were all students, after all.
I recalled the endless routine I'd lived for years. Even six months after regressing, those player memories were vivid.
I tapped the desk with my fingers and spoke.
"Daily schedule... I'll base it on teams doing scrims. Wake around noon Monday through Saturday, wash up, eat, then scrims from 2 p.m. to about 5.
Usually three games per block. After each, I'll give feedback, and you'll discuss what you should've done differently.
Post-afternoon scrims: dinner, short break, evening scrims at 7 p.m.—another three games. That wraps around 10 or 11 p.m. Then solo queue till bedtime. Varies by player—usually 2 or 3 a.m., hardcore ones push past 4."
"Whoa, so we just play fun games all day and get paid? Sounds perfect."
I couldn't help chuckling at innocent Eunjae's words.
"Why laugh?"
"Playing fun games for money. All noobs think that at first."
"What's the pro world really like then?"
"Manager, mind if it gets dark?"
"Go ahead."
I turned back to Eunjae.
"You were a dancer trainee at The Shine, right?"
"Yeah."
"Easy life?"
"Hell no. Constant muscle pain from dancing, soaked in sweat, got chewed out by the choreo teacher for mistakes..."
"Think pro gaming's different?"
"At least your body's not wrecked."
Naive. So naive.
I sighed briefly and continued.
"After scrims—especially losses—feedback gets brutal. I'll dissect every mistake and its ripple effects, tearing into you. And almost every gamer repeats the same errors.
That's when shit-talk turns to straight-up cursing. Mental breakdowns in scrims are routine; overcoming your flaws takes insane effort—you won't get it yet.
Keep losing scrims? Streak piles up, tanks performance, leads to real losses. You'll catch hell from me and each other. Amateur teams implode over this all the time.
Win scrims? Doesn't end there. Losing teams analyze our weaknesses; we get countered in official matches. 'Why win scrims but lose for real?'—doubting your grind happens.
Blame game starts internally, cracks teamwork. Losses mean no win bonuses, psychological pressure mounts. Imagine your own rage after defeats—stress like that?"
Yeah, and that's not even the half of it.
In Eternal Combat, where physical condition and in-game training reflect in skill performance, you might spam one skill thousands of times a day.
Separate gym work to maintain stamina.
No slacking—training volume shows in mechanics and skills.
Even grinding one champ to the limit amid back pain and arm agony barely gets you into Division 1.
And that's just one; you need dozens in your pool for viability.
Capsules drain real physical energy, so wrecked bodies lead to surgery and rehab for top pros everywhere.
I skipped these grim details. They'd feel it soon enough once training started.
"Even the most fun thing turns frustrating and exhausting when it's your job. You students haven't hit that wall yet—think of this as jumping into society way ahead of your friends. You'll get it once we start. Just know this: pro gaming's a battlefield minus the guns. Not the chill fun of home gaming."
All five went silent. Only Manager Kim, with his agency background, grasped the cutthroat reality.
"I shouldn't end on a downer, but one request: if I snap or curse during practice, it's not hate or dislike. Don't fixate on the sting—look further ahead. That's the player I want you to be.
Follow me, and I promise I'll make you successful pros.
I'll keep the cursing minimal too. Survive training, and I'll forge you into the world's best."
"Yes!"
Their faces mixed fear, excitement, anticipation, and determination.