The Winner's Interview (Reality)

A perfect game.

The phrase comes from baseball. It means winning a game of nine innings or more without ever letting a single batter reach first. A word for ending things perfectly — a shutout in the truest sense, not one run surrendered.

Perfect game was never only a baseball word. It crossed into plenty of other sports, and esports, of course, was on that list. A perfect game: a victory in which you do not give up a single point. In an FPS like Project A, that means winning without dropping a single round.

Said out loud, it's hard to feel how difficult that really is. In the pro scene, a perfect game is close to impossible. Few genres carry as many variables as an FPS locked to a first-person view, and in a scene where individual aim has already hit its ceiling, even a bottom-tier team can beat a top-tier team on any given day. No matter how gifted a player is, nobody can hold peak focus forever. That is why, in Project A, a 13–6 is already called a stomp, and a 13–11 is treated as a dogfight.

A perfect game that ought to have been nearly impossible.

But today, that perfect game happened. And not in the regular season. In the final.

In an ordinary year the final is where the league's two best teams meet, so of every match the league plays, a perfect game should have been the least likely there. The highest odds, by contrast, would belong to a blowout between a dominant first-place side and a dominant last-place side.

The one who manufactured that near-impossible perfect game was none other than—

KZ's main entry, FOXY. Park Jaeseong.

The main-entry spot on KZ had once been mine. In this world, where I never debuted for KZ, he was the one filling the seat I'd left empty.

"Jaeseong..."

And at the same time, a junior I'd been quite fond of. A little brother.

Before I made up my mind to retire, I had been considering a role change, after talking it over with the coach. The reason was simple. Set beside the outstanding entries overseas, I thought my own ability came up short. So Coach Yoo Seonho and the KZ front office brought in a prospect to replace me, and that prospect was FOXY, Park Jaeseong. A player who would fight those monsters in my place, after I was already broken and bent.

"Foxy's really something," Zzangdol said. "I don't think he was even this good at LOCK//IN."

"You feel that way too, Zzangdol?"

Jaeseong's age hadn't changed from when I was a man. He was still eighteen — one year older than I am now, four years younger than I used to be. Which meant the PCT LOCK//IN, held at the start of this year, was his official debut. I couldn't say how much had shifted inside KZ once I became Choi Eunha, a girl, but up through LOCK//IN, Foxy hadn't particularly stood out. He was torn apart by Lord and Apas the same way I had been, and he came home to Korea the same way.

But the Foxy of now has grown far past that. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠If he keeps this trajectory, he might really reach a point where he doesn't look lacking even beside those monsters.

Middle school. One line that slipped out while Spax and I were idly talking in a classroom.

Why isn't Korea the best at FPS games?

We'd grown up on StarCraft and on League esports, and we carried the pride that Korea was the greatest gaming nation on earth. We wanted to be able to hold that same pride in the FPS genre we loved most. Unfortunately, FPS wasn't a mainstream genre in Korea, and interest in the pro league lagged far behind other games, so that hope looked very thin.

Back then... what was it I said?

Right.

Then we just have to make it the best.

Empty talk from two middle-school game addicts who didn't know any better. And yet the careless nonsense of that childish stretch became the goal we meant to spend our lives chasing, and Spax and I ran toward it like madmen.

Of course, we never reached that goal.

Time flowed on and on, and Spax and I slipped well past the age anyone would call an FPS pro's prime. The skill that had climbed day by day through our early years on stage had, somewhere along the way, begun to stall. When that third challenge failed, the goal changed, little by little. Not the two of us, me and Spax, becoming the best — a hope, instead, that the best would come out of our Korea.

Maybe, when I retired, I passed that goal on to Foxy. Maybe that's why I could step away so calmly.

But... but still.

Was that really enough?

The final ended without an upset, in a KZ win. A clean sweep, three maps to none.

KZ's players, champions on the back of a flawless showing, walked out to the center of the arena through the roar of the crowd — to the spot where the PCK championship trophy waited. It was the glorious moment every pro gamer dreams of, but their faces stayed resolute. For them, a PCK title wasn't the destination. It was somewhere you pass through.

Players, coaches, and team staff gathered, and the ceremony of lifting the trophy came to its end. Hwang Gihun climbed to center stage for the winner's interview, and the Finals MVP of this championship was announced.

What was there even to say. Of course it was him.

The moment Foxy's name went up, the arena roared. If I had to guess, this match alone had just made him an enormous number of fans. Play like that on a stage the size of a final, and it would be stranger if they didn't stick.

"We'll be interviewing Park Jaeseong, FOXY, selected as Finals MVP," Hwang Gihun said. "Hello, Foxy!"

"Ah— ah, ahem. Hello!"

Foxy couldn't begin to hide the joy and the excitement spilling out of him. Well, the kid had debuted this year. This was his first championship, wasn't it. Unlike the rest of the roster, who won domestic titles as casually as sitting down to eat, this was Foxy's first. Of course he was allowed to be buzzing.

"You put on an incredible performance today. It was hard to believe this was your first final. What do you think let you play like that?"

"Uh... first off, I wasn't really nervous. I wasn't nervous, and the coach and the coaching staff, and the older guys on the team, looked after me, so I think that's how I was able to do well."

A textbook interview. Not very like Jaeseong, but not a bad one. People who liked the Foxy who might bounce off in any direction could find it dull, but there was nothing to gain by standing out in a seat this important. Especially now that he was a starter and not a substitute, Coach Yoo Seonho had almost certainly put a great deal of care into him.

"So you're saying your teammates and the coaching staff helped a great deal."

"Yes, and there's one more thing. There's someone I've really been wanting to beat lately, and that person is here in the arena. I think that's why I tried even harder."

"Hm?"

Someone Foxy absolutely wanted to beat.

Jaeseong's competitive streak ran hot. Once a day, at least, he used to pester me for a 1v1 in a custom. Well — I won most of them. Normally you'd stew after losing like that, but the more Jaeseong lost, the hotter he burned. Next time, I'm definitely winning. Probably P1's Seya, or Gen's Thunder... or maybe JG's Forest.

"I see. Could you tell us who that person is?"

If it was a player Foxy would actually call a rival, I couldn't think of anyone beyond those three. The likeliest was P1's Seya. But knowing that guy, there was no way he'd bother coming to watch a final like this.

Then who on earth...

"Eh?"

Wh-who?

Me?

Why?