Believing in Myself
Time flew by.
Siwoo and his friends held strategy meetings even at school, analyzing pro matches and studying various team compositions. After classes ended, they rushed to the capsule room to fine-tune their coordination in 5-player ranked games.
In the process, Siwoo pushed past Diamond rank to reach Grandmaster tier. It was thanks to a long streak of wins. But even that was just the basic qualification for a pro gamer.
These guys are incredible.
Getting into the top 0.062% among all those players was considered basic.
Anyway.
They'd even settled on a team name for the tournament.
It was Saseong, taken from their high school's name.
According to Han Jiyeon, simple and clear was best.
With that, they submitted their player roster, and the team Saseong was officially included in the preliminary participants.
But not everything went smoothly. Clashes of opinion were frequent as they practiced together.
Still, a group dinner and some talk would smooth things over like nothing had happened.
Siwoo cherished those times.
He even wished they could last forever.
It wasn't just about the game. Sharing the joy with others, charging toward a common goal—it made him feel truly alive.
That naturally brought him closer to the other friends, and before he knew it, vacation had arrived.
And then, the eve of the long-awaited tournament.
Siwoo and his friends agreed to meet at the capsule room.
"The others might take a bit longer."
"Should we queue up a game?"
"Timing's a little off for that. Let's just wait."
"Yeah."
But with time still to spare, only Siwoo and Han Jiyeon were holding down the fort.
"Hey, Siwoo, no friend requests or whispers?"
"In-game?"
"Yeah. From coaches or directors. With your skills, they'd definitely hit you up. Jongsu got a few."
Thanks to his string of victories, Jongsu was on the cusp of the top tier, Challenger. Pro offers were only natural. He was young and exceptionally talented.
Siwoo nodded.
"I got some too. Asking if I had a team."
"I knew it!"
Han Jiyeon beamed, clapping her hands.
"The coaches and directors have spotted your talent! They don't scout just based on tier. They review replays thoroughly and only approach if they're sure."
She continued explaining.
"High tier doesn't mean you're good at the game. You have to check physicals and instincts too to know for sure if they'll make it pro."
"So what about people with high tiers who don't go pro? There are plenty of eternal amateurs."
"Mostly age. Pro careers are short. Even with VR, it's similar—though maybe a bit longer than PC days."
Han Jiyeon shrugged.
"Some just prefer streaming over the pro life."
To Siwoo, she seemed like an E-sports PhD. Made sense—her dad ran a pro team as a side business, so she'd hear all the insider news.
"What'd Jongsu say?"
Siwoo asked.
"He said he's not interested yet. Plans to go streamer later. Pro life seems too tough."
So streaming it is.
Suited Jongsu. He was outgoing and quick with a joke.
"Anyway, what about you? How'd you reply?"
"Told 'em no interest for now."
"Aw, really? That's a shame."
Han Jiyeon pouted at the air.
"You passed last time too, and now with actual offers..."
Then she turned to Siwoo.
"Mind sharing why you're not going pro? You know it yourself—even top players can't touch you. With skills like that, I'd think you'd at least try a test. What's holding you back?"
Siwoo knew it too.
The players he faced in 5-player ranked were no longer matches for him.
Most were top-tier monsters hovering around the upper 0.01%.
Some were even Challengers, pro trainees, even a few active pros mixed in.
But—
Even they couldn't beat Siwoo.
At first, he couldn't believe it.
Thought it was luck, a good day.
But he kept winning, kept dominating—
And Siwoo realized.
He had the real deal.
Even so.
"It's not like you can just decide to become a pro. Even as a trainee, you might never debut."
Siwoo ran a hand through his hair.
His chest tightened suddenly.
He had confidence, for sure.
But turning it into action? Reality weighed too heavy.
What if this skill was an illusion?
Just a hot streak?
What if he bet everything and failed?
It wouldn't be just a game loss.
Time, opportunities, his family's hopes—all down the drain.
I can't waste time.
Siwoo reminded himself sternly.
His sister worked nonstop every day, and his mom suffered through chemo.
In that situation, his choices were painfully limited.
Only ten pro teams in Korea.
Starters per team? Maybe five at most.
Fifty spots out of thousands, tens of thousands nationwide.
Could he really make it?
...It's tough.
Theoretically possible.
But ranked was ranked, pro was pro.
Trainees might be sandbagging now. Real skill showed on the official stage.
Siwoo bit his lip long and hard, then let out a quiet breath.
He was scared.
And he wanted it.
"And you've probably guessed, but my family's not well off."
Siwoo smiled bitterly.
"It's more about fending for myself. And easing the burden on my big sister."
"Don't worry about that."
Han Jiyeon fixed him with a serious gaze, her expression earnest.
"Pro treatment's improved a lot. Even trainees get a minimum 30 million won salary now. Promising talents like you could get more."
She went on.
"Pretty good for a trainee, right? And you're still in high school."
Most domestic E-sports teams honored the minimum salary clause. They had to—VR Overlant was the hottest, most popular game since launch.
Siwoo blinked.
"There's a minimum salary clause?"
"Yeah. Hard-won by the early pros' blood and sweat."
Back in the early days, pros often got under 10 million won—pitifully low.
Short contracts, vague terms, no player protections.
Poor practice setups, barely scraping by.
Unstable revenue, bad public image.
"But those pioneers elevated Korean E-sports to world-class."
Han Jiyeon smiled faintly as she wrapped up the explanation.
"Point is, it's not wasted time. And Siwoo, you're underselling yourself. You'd make it, no doubt. Not just saying it to sound nice."
Siwoo's eyes wavered.
Her words struck deep inside.
Like a firmly locked door cracking open just a bit.
If trainees had that minimum salary, it might not be reckless gambling anymore.
He could keep going to school, catch up on studies if needed.
What crumbled wasn't the future—it was the fear.
That money could give his daily-grinding sister a few days off a month.
Of course, balancing school and pro was tough—he knew that.
But if it wasn't the path, he could always pivot back.
He could handle that much.
Siwoo drew a quiet breath.
Hesitation, courage, and fear swirled in his eyes as he looked at Han Jiyeon.
"...Can I believe in myself?"
That one sentence was his first permission to himself.
"Think back to your results so far."
Han Jiyeon met his gaze steadily.
"Your aim's the most precise, your plays the best. Not luck, not delusion—pure skill. Why doubt that?"
She stated it firmly, then playfully smacked his shoulder.
"Time to believe in yourself."
Those words chipped away at the deep walls in his heart.
"..."
Until now.
For his family's struggles, to lighten his sister's load—he'd ignored countless dreams and desires.
Bit his lip, closed his eyes, turned away.
Every time, the same scene flashed in his mind.
Pro gamers soaring on the central arena screen.
Exploding cheers, blinding lights.
And himself, standing on that stage.
Pro gamer?
No need to ask.
Of course he wanted it.
Yet he'd never voiced it, just fiddled with games at arm's length.
He had the talent, clearly.
So why dodge when he craved it?
Overwhelming gift, yet evasion?
No reason.
No excuse to hesitate.
At least try.
Turning away now was cowardice.
That way, he wouldn't resent his past self for ignoring that dream-hunger later.
"...Alright."
Siwoo hardened his expression and nodded.
"After this tournament, I'll hit up the contact who reached out."
Han Jiyeon grinned, offering a fist.
"I'll cheer you on."
Siwoo bumped it.
"Thanks."
He smiled awkwardly.
Since starting high school, she'd been nothing but help.
At first, he could barely talk to her.
Couldn't join friend groups, ate lunch alone some days.
Han Jiyeon was the one who approached.
Struck up talks, called his name, stuck by him in awkward spots.
Without her, he'd have been sidelined through class bonding too.
She extended her hand first, letting him finally step in.
Into the crowd.
Into relationships.
Into friendship.
The more he thought, the luckier he felt.
That it was Han Jiyeon who reached out first.
No—what if it had been someone else?
Poor family, quiet guy—
Predatory types might've targeted him.
He wouldn't be who he was now. Might've been swallowed by kids' casual cruelty. No "rent-a-dick" nickname either.
In that sense, he was grateful.
Han Jiyeon herself was a light.
This time too.
She'd given him courage.
Made him dare to want a dream for the first time.
...Someday, I have to repay her.
Siwoo wiped his slightly heated eyes with his sleeve and clenched his fist.
Make a result here with no regrets—that was his first payback.
Part 1 League powerhouse pro team, Kaiserst.
Kaiserst was a prestigious club backed by massive parent company funds and a solid history. From the early days of E-sports' rise, they'd invested generously.
The payoff? Consecutive league wins and international titles in other games.
But with VR's arrival and the shift to a new game, they crumbled completely.
No franchise star emerged from their strategy, and recruitment flops piled up.
Past glory kept some fans, but even they were drifting away.
They'd banked on capital alone, results tanked, aggressive spending dried up.
A rocky start snowballed to the end.
The upcoming spring season was their last shot.
"Lots of prospects to watch closely this time?"
Said Shin Seung-hyun, Kaiserst's coach, scanning the roster.
He'd coached in North America before taking the helm of the bottom-dwelling Kaiserst.
No results meant the team could be axed—his shoulders bore that weight.
Yet he'd joined to prove himself.
Goal? Worlds championship, naturally.
"Yeah. Famous defender Kim Do-hyun, attacker Lee Ha-seong, and Lee Jung-hyuk too. All promising. But most are already signed. We'd need transfer negotiations."
The Overlant Series Cup.
Called amateur, but really a showcase for teams' pampered prospects to gain experience and prove themselves.
Meaning: packed with trainees.
Regulars rarely even passed prelims.
To snag active stars meant transfer fees—Kaiserst had scaled back Overlant investments.
Work smart within budget.
At least maintaining a winless team was a win in itself.
Budget wasn't tiny though—still more than most, even if reined in.
"Still, hidden gems exist."
Shin Seung-hyun eyed one name on the list.
"Lee Siwoo. Headshot 97%, KDA 17.8, 54-game Grandmaster, unaffiliated."
"...Those stats alone sound insane. A monster like that exists?"
"Yep. On the list. Maybe a transfer from another game."
It happened sometimes.
Pros-in-training switching majors.
That explained bulldozing up ranks. Or maybe a once-in-a-generation talent like the old "Laker," E-sports god.
"Young too. Let's keep an eye on him. Mechanics scream potential."
Shin Seung-hyun narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing.
"The scent of a super prospect."