PCT CL Broadcast Room
PCT Park, where Project A's pro league is played. In the player lounge — the room where a roster waits before a match — two men were already there.
"Seongun. Time to start setting up. What are you doing in here?"
"Ah, Coach."
They were Kim Sangho, coach of the newly rebuilt second-division side, and Han Seongun, its captain. A player only just debuting should never have been handed the armband, but the rebuilt SC had been filled out with five rookies and no one else. The window for finding teammates had been what it was, and even with a major corporation attached, almost no proven player was willing to walk into the second division of his own accord. They hadn't had a choice.
So on top of a debut that was already going to crush him, Han Seongun had a captain's responsibility set across his shoulders as well.
"Nervous?"
In a few dozen minutes he would play that debut. Kim Sangho let the short question out because he was worried for him. They called Han Seongun the greatest prospect in history, and the pressure that came with a name like that was not something you could shrug off. Their time together had been brief, but living in the same building, what Kim Sangho had come to see was simple: Han Seongun was still just a teenager that age.
"...A little."
Not the light the community worshipped — not the radiance meant to carry the future of Korean Project A. Just a talented rookie.
"It's just... our scrim results haven't exactly been good. So I'm worried."
Unlike the other teams, who had spent years learning one another, SC was a newborn side with barely a month of chemistry behind it. They were bound to come up short, and for an SC whose whole aim was promotion to the first division, that gap was something they absolutely had to close.
"Seongun, a scrim is only a practice match. You get hung up on every scrim score and then throw the real games — what kind of look is that?"
"That's... fair."
"This team is getting better. Trust yourself, trust the others, and play. We can win this one. You hear me?"
Kim Sangho was certain. Certain he could take this roster into the first division, and further than that — beat KZ, lift the title, and seize domestic number one with his head held high. He knew he fell short of other coaches on pure strategy, but he had a hard confidence in one thing: his eye for people did not miss.
"Then let's get to the stage. They'll be waiting."
"...Yes."
Even so, Kim Sangho — still short of what a coach had to be — failed to notice. However many kind words and pieces of advice he offered, Han Seongun's hands had not stopped shaking.
I opened the official Kwitch broadcast for PCK CL, and a bright EDM track spilled out over a countdown dial that was nearly spent. They'd posted the stream time to line up with the opener, so the match itself was just about to start.
The dial ran out, and the holding screen cut to the PCK arena and the casters seated at the desk.
"Hello, everyone. Welcome to the 2023 Project A Champions Korea Clangers opener."
"Hello!"
"Whoa... there are so many people."
I don't know the second division all that well, but I'd heard that most days they can't even fill the seats. Today was different. The stands on the screen were packed so tight you couldn't find an empty chair.
Maybe it was just the occasion of opening day. Or maybe Project A had only gotten bigger.
"Wow, the energy in here is incredible. I can barely remember the last time a CL arena looked this full."
"Probably means today's match is drawing that much attention, right? And the player every Project A fan has had their eyes on is finally taking the stage."
That's about Nebula, isn't it.
A prospect they called the greatest ever, carrying the hopes of the whole fanbase by himself — his being here had to count for plenty.
"Today's opener is CLC, a steady mid-to-upper CL side year after year, against a newly rebuilt SC. Let's look at the key players first."
Ordai's face came up beside Han Seongun's — the players the broadcast expected to decide the match, shown before a single round had been played.
"Agh — that scared me."
The second Han Seongun's face hit the screen, the arena roared, and most of that roar belonged to the women in the crowd.
"Nebula really does have a lot of fans. He's been famous for a while, so it tracks..."
"And I'll admit it — I was startled the first time I saw him. Nebula is genuinely handsome. They say his female fanbase has exploded lately, and yeah. I can see why."
Tch. Is that even handsome? Honestly, he just looks insufferable.
"Hmm..."
I couldn't very well say it into the mic, so I swallowed it.
"Most of SC is debuting today, so it makes sense they'd name Nebula the key player — as IGL, he's the one responsible for how the team moves. And Ordai is CLC's ace, so that pick speaks for itself, right?"
"Personally, I'm curious which agent Nebula locks. I think he's at his best on an initiator line — Sova, Fade, that kind of kit."
"We'll know once we watch. All right — let's go to the map veto!"
Every pro match Rioat runs for Project A — PCK included — follows the same format as the platform showdown playoffs. More precisely, the showmatch borrowed PCK's rules, but that part hardly matters. Each side bans one map, then each picks one. They ban once more apiece, and one of the maps still standing is chosen at random. Regular season is a best of three, playoffs a best of three, the final a best of five. Not much separates it from the showmatch.
"I'm curious which map SC takes."
Chat had it simple: Nebula is SC's ace, Nebula is good on Ascent, so SC would pick Ascent. Sadly, that was almost certainly wrong. Even if they really did take Ascent, the odds they'd taken it for that reason were close to none.
"We don't actually know. Nothing's public yet about which maps SC are strong on."
A pro league is not a showmatch, some one-off event where each side just grabs whatever map it likes. Here every single pick matters. Where the exhibition had been comfort maps and nothing else, a match at this level means walking in with a stack of set pieces prepared for one battlefield. Strategy weighs so heavily that even a weaker team can squeeze a stronger one on the map it chose.
"First ban is Fracture."
"Fracture is a map where fast entries and messy fights decide it. SC is saying they don't want that."
"And one of Nebula's real strengths is how flexible the team looks at a slow tempo. On a map like Fracture, they've clearly decided that strength is hard to use."
"As expected, CLC banned Ascent."
"Ascent is an info war through mid, so this is them refusing to hand over a map the other side should be comfortable on."
Each side had banned its own weakness, and the other side's strength. The picks followed, and the last map was decided with them.
"That locks in all three maps, and the coin toss sends SC's pick out as map one."
"Then let's see what both teams lock on Pil!"
The toss put Pil — SC's choice — up first, and both agent-select screens rose on the broadcast.
Chat took one look at the comps — no, at SC's comp — and immediately doubted it. This time I couldn't call them out for it. Because I was more than a little thrown myself.
"...Huh?"
"Pola on Jett? And more than that — why is Nebula on Ground..."
In my memory, Pola's main role is initiator. I know that for certain; we played on the same team at the showmatch. Nebula does prefer hard-info agents like Sova and Fade, but he can play almost everything, a real all-rounder, so I could let that one go...
"Nebula's such a flex that any agent from him looks normal. Pola's Jett, though — that one pulls the eye."
Even the desk was unsure. The locks on screen were strange enough to earn it.
"It's a little startling, sure. But SC's coach is such an odd one that I can't say I don't get it at all."
SC's coach is none other than Kim Sangho, the man they call the problem child of esports. The Kim Sangho I know is someone who keeps showing gambling strategies and questionable player usage. In just about every way, he is the opposite of KZ's coach, Yoo Seonho.
Think about how Pola plays, and the choice has a logic of its own. He came up as a pro in other FPS games, so the gunfight itself he can trust — it's ability use where he still falls short. Move him onto entry and let him think about nothing but the duel, and the pick starts to make sense.
"For now, let's just cheer. Let's go, SC!"
Everyone had thought SC would win the opener. The match ran the other way.
"CLC's movement right now is just too clean!"
Through the first half SC had led 8–4. The second half arrived, and they collapsed as if the lead had been a lie.
"This is the map you picked, SC! You cannot fall apart like this!"
"Ordai finishes Pola, and CLC reach match point!"
"SC are truly on the edge of the cliff. They need a timeout right now, don't they?"
As if that weren't enough, they banked one more loss from 11–9 and it became 12–9. One more round and the map was gone. Match point.
"Haaah. This game is cooked."
Map one, for all practical purposes, had already been handed over.