I Am Trash
While the Mir Guild was happily enjoying their vacation, the other guilds were still grinding through hectic days.
Fans on the outside commonly believe that power strengthening equals recruitment. They think that simply reinforcing the squad will let their guild produce dramatic results right away.
But from an actual guild’s perspective? It’s a frustrating oversimplification.
There’s no denying that recruitment forms a crucial part of strengthening a team, but let’s say the signings are done. What comes next? Just bodies. No weapons, no armor, no integration into the strategy, and no hope of teamwork.
That’s why the industry calls these rookies “empty cans.”
So what does a guild have to do first for these empty cans?
The obvious answer is gear setup.
You have to equip them with items before they can hunt or compete, right?
Even that doesn’t work just because you want it to. If it did, everyone would have done it back when Mir Guild first changed the meta.
Major-rivalry-level items start at Unique grade at minimum. From that point, the difficulty of crafting skyrockets. And even if you manage to obtain them, that’s not enough. The gear has to match the strategy and tactics your guild wants to run!
By that stage, money alone can no longer solve the problem.
If a guild somehow survives that hellish gear setup, an even bigger mountain of work waits on the other side.
Teaching the empty-can rookies the guild’s color, making them breathe in sync, and forging real teamwork.
That was the job given to the raid teams.
“Formation! Formation!! Maintain the formation!!”
“Hey! Team 2! Hold the line! Make it tighter!”
“Right foot! Right foot! I’ve told you a hundred times, start with the right foot!”
Inside the Haemu Guild arena, the raid teams were slamming into one another at their captain’s command.
Team 1 versus Team 2, fifteen on fifteen, full gear, full-contact team battle.
Sweat poured like rain. Shouts and screams were swallowed by the clash of metal. The training was so brutal you could taste iron in the air.
Perhaps that was why none of the raiders looked happy, even as a joke.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck…
Closed-season training camp? Are you kidding me?
Strictly speaking, the breaking season was a rest period.
The Bureau, with all its league big data, had drawn a firm line: this was the time when hunters needed rest for the sake of their condition and match performance.
Yet instead of catching their breath, they were stuck training. Complaints were inevitable.
Fine, that much could be accepted.
The real problem was that the dissatisfaction was no longer staying personal. It was beginning to find direction.
Why the hell do we have to do this shit for the new recruits during our break!
First they copy Mir’s strategy out of nowhere, then they rush to sign people to match it. None of it sits right.
The existing members hated that they couldn’t rest during the break and instead had to mesh with the newcomers.
Fuck, they’re giving us dirty looks. It’s not like I wanted to come here.
When you think about it, they’re the ones who sucked, so we got brought in. Shouldn’t they be thanking us?
The new recruits weren’t thrilled about training the moment they arrived either, and the existing members’ attitude only made them equally irritated.
Naturally, both sides’ resentment flowed toward the front office and the representative who had created this mess.
If you were going to do this, at least finish the signings in the off-season!
Incompetent front office bastards. I’m suffering because of you guys.
Even the representative and the analysts watching from the side eventually vented the same frustration.
Sigh, look at all that resentment. If you people had performed better, we wouldn’t have needed to recruit like this.
You think only you are suffering? We’ve been pulling all-nighters for days. And rest? You have no conscience. With the money you’re paid, how can you even think about resting after those results?
Eventually everyone reached the same conclusion.
This is bullshit!
This was exactly why Lee Shin had told them to rest during the breaking season.
The representative and front office who had failed the season plan and made everyone suffer. The raid team that couldn’t produce results and forced the squad to be reinforced.
Technically it was everyone’s fault, but humans are treacherous creatures who see the world only from their own perspective.
The moment they started keeping score of who did better or worse, conflict arose and targets for anger were chosen.
Next came factions, then cliques, and finally the complete destruction of teamwork. A total catastrophe.
This was why they had to remember why Lee Shin emphasized One Team and family so much.
Haemu Guild lacked that strength, which was how they had reached the point where everyone was blaming everyone else.
And the person most uncomfortable in this mess was none other than Park Jeong-seok, lying there exhausted.
“Huff… huff… damn…”
Park Jeong-seok had sprinted the entire length of the canyon from bottom to mid to top.
Was it because he was wearing full-plate armor he had never worn before and running at full power? Swears kept rising to the tip of his tongue.
Park Jeong-seok was a light-armor, mobile tank. The reason he was gasping for air in heavy armor was simple: the representative’s order.
“Jeong-seok, I’m counting on you. You need to switch to supporter.”
“The meta has changed. The top lane is no longer about versatility or mobility. It’s a battle for initiative using pressure. I’m sorry, but we can’t use you like this. So let’s become Hwarang together.”
What Haemu Guild had originally wanted from Park Jeong-seok was a post-Hwarang role. Therefore he should be able to perform the current Hwarang’s duties. That was the conclusion.
In reality, it wasn’t a request. It was an order. It was also his last chance.
The representative, having realized Lee Shin’s intentions, had begun to doubt Park Jeong-seok’s value. He hid it well, but Park Jeong-seok could feel the cold gazes that had changed from before.
“Mr. Jeong-seok, change your gear and we’ll run it again.”
“Again? This is already the fifth time.”
“To mesh with the new members, we need to find the optimal setup quickly. We can’t keep doing mobility drills forever. We’ll need a lot of training anyway, right?”
The analyst spoke gently, yet why did it sound so different to Park Jeong-seok’s ears?
“New members” meant “the top laner who came to clean up your mess.”
“Quickly” and “forever” meant “why is this taking so long.”
And “we’ll need a lot of training” meant “you’re a slow learner.”
Of course, it was an interpretation colored by Park Jeong-seok’s inferiority complex, but it wasn’t entirely wrong. Among the front office, the words “failed signing” were already being whispered about him.
“Understood. I’ll go right away.”
His treatment had changed pitifully from half a year ago when he had been called a surefire prospect. But the league was cold like that.
Only after changing setups dozens of times and crossing the canyon again and again could Park Jeong-seok finally finish training.
After training, Park Jeong-seok entered his house and hurled his bag roughly.
“Ha, this is fucking bullshit.”
No matter how busy they were, it was ridiculous that not the representative or the team leader but a mere team member was in charge of the starting roster’s training.
The reason he couldn’t say a word was that he himself was largely responsible for his diminished voice.
“They’re treating me like this just because I messed up one strategy match? Ha…”
That was right.
When Park Jeong-seok transferred to Haemu, he had been not only a starting member for the rivalry matches but also the leader of Team 2. Team 2 was filled with his own younger brothers and a few others.
Yet during the league, that Team 2 had participated in a strategy match and ended up in a miserable 19th place overall.
Compared to Mir’s Lee Hye-jung and her Team 2 who took third with the best record, it was an utterly miserable result.
From then on, the front office had begun to treat him with subtle disregard, calling him “the representative’s stain” behind his back.
Of course, Park Jeong-seok had things to say too.
“You guys were the ones who ordered me to do the annihilation match! How the hell was annihilation warfare supposed to work with a Team 2 roster in the first place?”
He had tried to imitate Mir Guild’s Team 2 and run an annihilation match, saying they couldn’t keep doing things the usual way.
But annihilation matches weren’t so easy that they would succeed without any preparation… The result was, naturally, a total disaster.
“At least give me proper support before you talk. No wonder we stay in the lower ranks all the time.”
Potion and consumable quality control, rotating main equipment, preparing additional gear to fit the strategy—everything.
In Park Jeong-seok’s eyes, Haemu Guild fell short in every aspect.
But did he realize?
That was how most lower-ranked guilds operated.
It wasn’t that Haemu was especially bad. On the contrary, they were running things rather smartly given their resources.
The only problem was that Park Jeong-seok’s previous guild had been Lee Shin’s Mir Guild. The stagnant water that was Lee Shin could draw maximum synergy from even a single piece of equipment tailored to a character.
After living that life and then coming to Haemu, the gap felt brutal.
Park Jeong-seok flopped onto the sofa and looked at his phone.
“Ha, some people are suffering like dogs while others are on vacation.”
On the screen was footage of the Mir Guild enjoying their cruise vacation.
The Mir Guild was openly showing off their vacation through YouTube and SNS.
It was as if they were taunting, We’re playing like this. Jealous?
“That representative bastard is at it again.”
He really knew how to piss people off like a ghost.
In fact, at this point their leisurely appearance was so different from the other guilds that hunters were talking about it a lot.
The open chat room, open only to verified hunters, was filled with envy and jealousy toward the Mir Guild.
It made sense. Only half a season ago, Mir Guild had been rolling around in North Korea while they enjoyed leisurely vacations. Now the positions had completely flipped, so their irritation exploded.
Park Jeong-seok slipped in among them and left a comment—“Fr lol”—on a post criticizing the Mir Guild.
“Ha, if I had known it would turn out like this, I would have just stayed there.”
Who could have predicted that a promotion guild would rise to overwhelming first place without a single loss?
Park Jeong-seok’s mouth tasted bitter. Would things have been different if he hadn’t pushed that unreasonable deal and had quietly stayed?
Like how the Mountain King, who had been thinking of retiring, miraculously rejuvenated and blew up the league.
Like how Lee Hye-jung, who had been treated as beneath him, was now called “Mommy” and soaring as the leader of Team 2.
“Would I have lived that easy life too?”
Park Jeong-seok’s gaze locked onto Park Su-bin’s face floating in the live broadcast.
The embodiment of unfairness that proved talent trumped effort.
A bastard who had climbed to a height others couldn’t reach in a lifetime through nothing but innate talent, now called world-class, was saying:
“Everyone, I am trash.”
…That fucking guy really only learned the bad things from Lee Shin.
Park Jeong-seok threw his phone. His cheeks trembled with rage.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, the Yongbungs were in full emergency mode.
Did I hear wrong? Trash? What trash?
They didn’t care whether the thrown phone belonged to Park Jeong-seok or someone else. In their eyes, there was only the dark shadow cast over their beloved sacred-bone world-class player.
When Park Su-bin sighed deeply and banged his head on the table, the fans’ hearts sank.
At the fans’ questions, Park Su-bin looked at the camera with watery eyes. His pupils looked like they would burst into tears at any moment. Danger! It seemed like they shouldn’t make him speak!
So the Yongbungs’ target immediately shifted to the person beside him.
Baek Yeon-woo looked at Park Su-bin with his signature icy-cold eyes and shook his head.
“That is…”
“I have no talent!”
“Shut up. I’m speaking. That is…”
Baek Yeon-woo continued, and the fans’ expressions changed.
And they thought:
The broadcast that would forever remain a black mark in the career of Park Su-bin—the ranker discussed as Korea’s strongest—began just like that.