The Empty Seat I Left Behind
"What's with you all? Why are you reacting like that?"
I'd already seen my placements through, decided today was enough, and was ready to go lie down. The whole time I played, though, something had felt hollow. I remembered one viewer who used to beg, whenever I ended a stream, for even a short little chat before I signed off—so I did them the favor of turning the broadcast on.
And strangely enough, the hollowness I'd been carrying a moment ago began to fill. That said, they would not stop calling me a fox, would not stop calling me bewitching. I knew perfectly well my voice was high and pretty, but being labeled like that put me in a bad mood, so I decided to poke them a little.
"I went out of my way to turn this on because I thought of you, and this is what I get? Fine. I'll turn it off."
"Pfft. What even is that."
Seeing that kind of syrupy cringe written out for real was so funny I almost couldn't answer.
"Did I finish my placements, you're asking? Yeah. I finished."
In Project A, your rank is decided by your first five competitive games—the so-called placement exam. Depending on how those five go, you land somewhere from Bronze up through Gold, and if you're aiming at a high rank, placing well is the surest way to save yourself time.
"Five wins in five games, obviously. Rank is... Platinum 2."
I'd been MVP in all five, and I'd taken a surrender out of the other team in all five. Platinum sat one step beneath Diamond, the rank I was actually aiming for, and from Platinum 2 to Diamond 1 the gap was only two hundred points. Most people climbing toward Diamond win and lose in a tangle and watch the number creep up. I wasn't like them. I didn't think I could lose in this stretch. Frankly, if I locked Reyna, even a one-versus-five might be possible.
MMR. I'd thought the first rank had come out strangely high. So that was why.
I kept talking with them like that, and then a donation came through that I couldn't possibly let slide.
"...LOCK//IN?"
PCT LOCK//IN. An international held in Brazil in 2023, the event that opened the 2023 season—a tournament that was, in a sense, closer to a prelude than a finale. It hadn't existed in '21 or '22. It was an exhibition for Project A fans around the world. But the prize pool rivaled the so-called PA Cup, the once-a-year crown for the strongest team on earth, and more teams entered it than anything else on the calendar. KZ wasn't the only org that took it seriously. Every team did. And more than any of that, it was the tournament where I decided to retire.
After the '22 PA Cup, with my contract running out, I never signed the renewal the org put in front of me.
When we closed the '22 PA Cup in third, I ate every insult there was. Third. The highest finish of any Asian region, and proof that Korea could put up a real result. The only reason the abuse landed on me was that I'd lost the matchup to Yaye.
People said KZ had managed third because Choi Eunha was on KZ. Then they said the other thing: KZ could never climb higher than that because Choi Eunha was on KZ. Good, but only that far. That was the address they'd written for me, and admitting it was more than I could stand.
So I wanted about a year to rest. The org came back with a new contract. There was still an important international in the first half of 2023, they said, and they'd honor my salary through it. PCT LOCK//IN. Just play through this one. In practice, a three-month extension. If I vanished overnight the roster would be thrown into real chaos, so I took the offer.
And in the end I broke. I shattered.
I almost wish my form had been bad. At least then I'd have had an excuse. My condition then was the best it had ever been—good enough that I could call the tournament my peak. Our play was at its ceiling too, enough that I let myself think we might even win the whole thing. But my best, my absolute best, snapped like nothing against a monster.
The international ended with nothing left for me but another wound, and after that I didn't announce a break. I announced retirement. That was PCT LOCK//IN to me. The tournament where I met my limit with my own eyes. The tournament where I walked into a wall.
Turned into Choi Eunha, a girl born in '07, I hadn't looked up KZ or any other Project A pro. If the butterfly effect of my disappearance had sunk my old teammates' results, I didn't think I could bear how sorry I'd be.
"Out of the Korean teams, who's the best?"
I couldn't keep dodging it forever, so I decided I'd take whatever answer came.
But even without me, KZ was putting up the same results they had when I was there.
I searched KZ on Namuwiki. In the entry spot I'd left empty sat Foxy—the sub KZ had been raising, the younger one. It was a KZ without me. A KZ without Galaxy, without Choi Eunha. They were posting the same results as when I'd been with them, and I didn't feel a scrap of jealousy. If anything, I was just glad they were doing well without me. When I retired, the thing I'd worried about most was whether KZ could ever fill the seat I'd left.
"But is it actually fine if I just... cast it like this?"
"Mm... if that's what you want, I'll do it."
"Then I'll end it here for today. I have to go out tomorrow."
"...I'm going to get a school uniform fitted. What boyfriend? I'm not getting one of those."
The housekeeper had already told me, over lunch, to keep tomorrow open. I had to be measured for the uniform at the school I was about to enter. And seriously—a boyfriend? That was disgusting.
I wasn't joking. If some guy confessed to me on the street, I was confident I'd scream and run. Or slap him and run. I'd decided to accept living as a woman, but anything romantic still wouldn't come into focus. Even back when I was a man, I'd been so buried in the game that I never managed a relationship at all.
"Alright, I'm heading out, everyone. See you next time~"
I ended the broadcast and dropped straight onto the bed.
"LOCK//IN, huh..."
Back in the Legend of League days, Rioat Games had sold the broadcast rights for cash. Then Lee Seonghyeok, the player they called the Goat, the biggest name the game had, retired—and the networks that used to buy those rights stopped buying them. The Legend of League circuit collapsed, plain and simple, under Rioat's own blunders. They seemed to have learned from that. Project A tournaments weren't being run as a broadcast-rights cash grab.
KZ was already moving forward just fine without me. So instead of carrying guilt toward them, the right thing was to cheer for whatever came next. I turned the tournament schedule over in my head, and the broadcast schedule with it, and fell asleep.
"Mm..."
Going out. I was only going to be fitted for a uniform, but in this body—a woman's body—it was, for all practical purposes, my first time stepping outside. Washing up had already become familiar, so I dried my hair neatly and even put lotion on. Then one worry settled in my head and stayed there.
"What... am I supposed to wear...?"
It wasn't that the closet was empty.
...There was too much of it. That was the problem.
"Eunha! Are you all ready?"
"J-just a second!"
There really was no time left. This was the moment to decide. I reached in, pulled something off a hanger, put it on, and stepped out.
"...? Auntie, you're not changing?"
"Listen to this child. I've got work to do here at the house. Where would I be going?"
Wait.
I was going alone?
"Step outside and the driver will be waiting. Don't keep him waiting too long. Off you go."
"Okay."
The driver. The face that came to mind was the one who'd always taken me to school and cram school back in middle school. The housekeeper was the same person from then, so the driver would be too, right? I opened the front door, looked out over the garden set in the front yard, and opened the gate. A sleek black luxury sedan sat there, and beside it a man in a suit.
"...Who are you?"
The person waiting for me was not the driver I'd remembered from my middle-school years—not that kindly faced, slender older man. What stood in front of me was a giant, brute muscle forced into a suit. Even the suit was losing: the body underneath was so busy looking for somewhere to breathe that you could picture it clearly with the clothes still on.
"I'll escort you, miss."
Huh?
So the driver... wasn't the same as before, was he.