One to Zero

One line, from Jaeseong, with his eyes on fire for a win.

"Want to play me in a one-on-one?"

Hearing that, I thought, So it's here.

From the moment I'd run into FOXY on the first floor, I'd figured he would come at me like this. To anyone ordinary it was ridiculous. He'd offered to show me around the building, and now he wanted a duel out of nowhere—what kind of nonsense was that? But I couldn't look at the kid in front of me and see a normal person. For better or worse, he lived a long way from ordinary. Every time ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I saw Park Jaeseong, I caught myself wondering what he would even be doing with his life if Project A didn't exist.

"Hmm... a one-on-one?"

So. What was I supposed to do with this?

Playing him wasn't hard. Coach Jaeha and Manager Han had already said I could start filming whenever I wanted, and I'd come to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the office early to begin with. Staff headed out around six. If the shoot took two or three hours, I still had a good three hours to spare—not that I had the slightest intention of staying until six.

The worry sat somewhere else. If I beat him here, things were going to get awkward.

Whatever I'd been before, I was a Project A streamer now. Jaeseong, meanwhile, held the title of Korea's best entry—the country's number-one entry fragger. And I beat that Jaeseong? It could hurt KZ. Their momentum was at its peak, an undefeated domestic title still fresh. If word got around that the team's ace had lost to some streamer, it might rattle morale right before a major international event. It could plant a useless worry in Jaeseong himself, too, with that same tournament waiting.

If I lose even to a streamer, can I really show up at Masters?

That kind of doubt. If we were both pros, maybe it wouldn't matter. As things stood, a one-on-one between Jaeseong—Korea's best pro, its entry—and me, a streamer, was a match with nothing in it for him or for KZ. If it were only a duel for fun, fine. There was no way something that dry was what he wanted.

"I..."

If I were looking out for KZ, for Jaeseong, the right call was to refuse. I was about to say so when the things he used to say came back—back when he lost our one-on-ones.

Right. Thinking about it, he wasn't the type to fold just because he lost. He took defeat and made it fuel, one step and then another—like the hero of some cartoon I'd watched as a kid. Even if he lost to me today, he wouldn't shrink. He'd burn hotter, swearing he'd beat me next time, and that hunger would be good fertilizer for him.

"All right."

It didn't cost me anything, and I didn't think it would do him any real harm, so I accepted the one-on-one without a fight.

"But I have conditions."

Not for free. A few conditions came with it.

Even after I agreed, where was I supposed to sit? The practice room was a private space for the pros. Someone might say it was only a computer, what was the problem—but sensitive people could take it personally.

"You can use Seungtaek-hyung's seat. I got permission yesterday, so don't worry."

Of course he'd already arranged it. However dense he was, he wouldn't have asked for a one-on-one with zero preparation. Maybe Seungtaek had told him before he even opened his mouth. Either way, permission was permission.

"The first condition, fine... but the second one's too much."

I'd set two conditions on the duel. First: whatever the result, accept it cleanly, and don't tell a soul. Accepting the result was just formal language. What mattered was keeping the outcome ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠secret. Knowing Jaeseong, he'd brag about it everywhere, and given that KZ had to stream a set number of hours on Kwitch, he might even say it on broadcast. And the second condition—the last one—

"One map doesn't tell you anything... shouldn't we play, like, three, so we can actually see who's better?"

Win or lose, we end it clean in a single game.

"Then should we not?"

I'd agreed for old times' sake. If he couldn't take even this, I had no reason to play him. He was going to start in again—just one more, seriously, last one, just one more—and never stop. I had no interest in falling back into an endless one-on-one hell with him, so I decided to be firm. I already thought one-on-ones were a waste of time. If anyone but Jaeseong had asked, I wouldn't have said yes.

"Aah—! I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

The moment his greed looked like it might cost him the match entirely, Jaeseong yanked the comment back and called it a joke.

"Pfft..."

Seeing him like that, I couldn't help laughing. He was exactly the Park Jaeseong in my memory.

"...?"

A little sad, if I remembered that he didn't remember me at all.

"I was kidding too. But... where's the mouse and keyboard?"

This was the practice room for KZ's franchise starters—the space where the starting five trained. Everyone but Jaeseong was on break, so of course their keyboards and mice weren't at the desks. Someone might ask why you'd carry a keyboard and mouse around. For a pro, gear mattered. Soccer players had cleats, basketball players had shoes, baseball players had bats and gloves. Esports players had keyboards and mice.

"Ah, the hyungs are all on vacation, so there won't be any... oh! I'll lend you my spare. I use G-Wolves too, same as you..."

While I was wondering whether I'd have to borrow something from upstairs, Jaeseong offered his own gear. Good. I'd been about to go up if I had to. I could still play either way, but going from a wireless mouse to a wired one felt all wrong in the hand.

...Wait.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

How did he know which mouse I used?

"I saw it on stream."

"Oh... right."

Right. He'd already declared himself my fan. When I didn't turn the face cam on, I always streamed with the hand cam up, so anyone who knew mice well enough could figure out which one I used.

"Here. I bought it as a spare, so use it, no pressure."

Jaeseong had been on G-Wolves for a long time. Recognizing my mouse, having a spare—neither was strange.

"Thanks."

"Will the keyboard be okay? What do you usually use?"

Taka-tak. Tak.

"Mm... I usually use a Razer Huntsman. The feel's a little off, but not enough to bother me."

"Then I'll plug it in. One sec."

He connected the keyboard and mouse he'd lent me, and I logged into Project A.

The one-on-one was ready.

One-on-ones had never been a hugely popular format in Project A. The game itself almost never came down to a pure duel, and custom lobbies weren't nearly as alive as they were in Legend of League. People still played them now and then—to settle friction with a teammate after a lost map, or just to kill time with a friend.

Me, I usually ended up in them because I couldn't turn down the reckless kid in front of me.

"Did you send the friend request?"

"Ah, one sec... my friends list is full..."

"Your Korea-server account is full too?"

"Yeah. I was still playing on KR until last year. Ah—sent it."

Wow. I really did not want to accept that name.

I hesitated for a second—take it, or don't—then accepted on the thought that he was still my junior.

"What map do you want? Ascent? Or Haven?"

When people played a pure one-on-one, they usually picked Ascent. Open space, cover on both sides—the most comfortable map for a duel.

"Haven. C main."

Jaeseong and I both preferred Haven C main. C ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠main ran straight as a corridor, so the fight ended in an instant. What he always wanted was exactly that: whose reaction was faster in that single moment.

"Oh, you actually know what you're doing."

The second I said C main, Jaeseong lit up. Everything he felt showed on his face. We weren't going to use abilities, so I locked in whoever came to hand.

"You're on Jett too?"

"Well... it's the agent I've played the most, so my hand just went there. I didn't pick her on purpose."

"I did. Jett just looks quick, you know? Fast."

"Ah... yeah."

I let Jaeseong's nonsense slide and headed straight for C main.

"First round, we start light on Sheriffs?"

"Sure. Why not."

On Haven, defense reaches C main first. In a duel like this, with both kits sealed, attack has to swing into an angle the defender is already holding. Peeker's advantage meant you couldn't say the one already holding was always favored over the one coming in. Even so, when you didn't know where the defender was, sticking your body out was dangerous—especially when both of you had aim at the very top.

In a spot like this: if I were him, how would I come out?

The best peek was a jump peek. Almost no risk, and no matter how fast his reactions were, the worst I ate was a single body shot—in exchange for where he was standing. I settled the thought and put my crosshair right up against the wall, aimed a little higher than where a head would be.

Focus. Focus again.

I didn't know when he'd swing, so I had to stay locked in without a break. In a fight like this, what mattered most was aim—and right beside it, patience.

Had it even been five seconds? A Jett silhouette flashed into view and vanished. My right index finger, waiting for exactly that instant, clicked the left mouse button.

Bang!

The bullet went clean through Jaeseong's head.

"Huh?! Wait— how??"

He stared at me, openly rattled, the look on his face asking how did you just do that? Fair enough. No matter how fast your reactions, shooting a jumping player's head wasn't easy. In the pro scene you sometimes saw monstrous shots that punished a jump peek, but those usually came after the peeker had kept jumping into the same angle. In short, dying on the very first jump peek, the way Jaeseong just had, almost never happened.

"No, seriously... how did you one-tap that..."

He was still asking for an explanation. I looked at him, smiled, and gave him a single line—too short to even call a remark.

"1–0."

"...!"

Three characters. That one remark must have cut his pride deep. He was staring a hole straight through the monitor.

"We swap attack and defense each round."

"Okay."