Chapter 94: PARA

“It’s disappointing that we lost today, but we still have one more chance… Let’s play well tomorrow and secure the fourth seed.”

Kim Han-seong, who used to explode with anger and analyze every loss in detail, had shifted to encouraging the team. The reason was their continued defeats.

‘What’s the problem?’

Anyone watching the games would give the same answer: Para, Yoon Seo-ha, was the problem.

‘Is this why they call League a mid-gap game?’

After the narrow, heartbreaking defeat in the MSI finals, the players had all grown.

‘They all improved on their weaknesses.’

Kim Do-jin, Lesser, was arguably the best jungler in the LCK in his current form. Park Jin-hwan, Caster, could overcome matchup disadvantages with almost any champion. The bot lane had expanded their champion pool to include carry picks and early-game snowball compositions after MSI.

Despite these improvements, their disappointing fourth-place finish in the regular season and subsequent loss in the third seed decider match, the reason they were now fighting for the last seed was…

‘The mid lane is losing too hard.’

Para’s unexpected slump.

‘I thought it would be the other players.’

Para had showcased unbelievable performances since her debut, maintaining that form for over a year. It was safe to say she had practically carried the team to the MSI finals. The sudden collapse of their ace had a profound, indescribable impact on her teammates.

‘Her playstyle relies heavily on outplaying opponents through mechanics…’

This style was vulnerable to slumps. Even a slight dip in form could erode the foundation of her plays, leading to difficulties.

‘No, it’s not her mechanics.’

While the mid-lane difference was frequently the cause of their losses, Para wasn’t getting completely stomped in lane. The biggest issue was the lack of communication. She was no longer coordinating and strategizing with her teammates like before.

‘Why the sudden change…?’

She was always somewhat reserved outside of the game. But before the finals, she had been the primary shot-caller, communicating more than anyone else. Now that she had fallen silent, the team’s lack of experience began to show.

‘It’s absurd that Seo-ha was making up for their lack of experience.’

Kim Han-seong felt both grateful and sorry that she had been leading the team, not just in-game but also in other aspects. He wanted to talk to her before the fourth seed decider match, their last chance.

“Where’s Seo-ha?”

“She said she was going home.”

She had already left the practice room.

“…”

In the car heading home, my manager, aware of my situation, silently focused on driving.

‘Was I too cold earlier…?’

Kim Do-jin tried to talk to me after the game, but I abruptly cut him off and left. I’d been doing the same with the rest of the team, including the coach, only engaging in the bare minimum of conversation since the finals.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Take care of yourself!”

My manager’s overly cheerful farewell seemed forced. I took the elevator up, opened the door to my apartment, and…

“You’re home?”

“Want to eat?”

Both of my parents, who were usually rarely home, were there. They seemed to be home more often lately, probably worried about me. After a brief greeting, I went to my room and buried my face in my bed.

‘…So noisy.’

Notifications kept buzzing from my discarded phone, but I ignored them. I hadn’t spoken to anyone besides my teammates and parents since the finals. I hadn’t streamed or looked at online communities either. The reason…

‘Everyone probably thinks it’s my fault anyway.’

Para. Paranoia. The paranoia that had plagued me since becoming a pro.

‘Even after being reborn, even after changing genders, it’s still the same.’

My parents, who hadn’t supported my pro-gaming career in my past life, the constant runner-up finishes… was it all too much for someone who had lived a relatively smooth life? Since my past life, I’d struggled with paranoia after losses, making it difficult to talk to anyone.

That’s why I’d avoided interacting with fans and rarely visited online communities. I knew my mental state would shatter if I saw posts criticizing me. Even my obsessive work ethic stemmed from this.

‘If I lack skill… I thought I had to at least put in the effort.’

In the world of professional sports, where results were everything, I didn’t think anyone would like a player who constantly placed second. So I tried my best when meeting fans, but…

‘…I don’t know.’

I didn’t know anymore. My mechanics were perfect. My preparation hadn’t been lacking. And it wasn’t as if my teammates were inferior to VXG’s.

‘They’re not bad players.’

They were the same players who reached the World Championship finals without me in my past life. So what was the problem?

Lost in these frustrating thoughts, I lay face down on my bed. How much time had passed?

“…Seo-ha?”

My mother cautiously opened the door and entered.

“A friend…?” she asked.

“Yes, she’s here. Should I tell her to come back another time?”

The only person I knew who had my exact address was my manager. Curious, I put on the hoodie draped over my chair and headed to the front door.

The person waiting for me was…

“Hey! Why are you ignoring everyone!?”

A very angry Choi Eun-seo.

At my mother’s suggestion to go for a walk, I went outside with Choi Eun-seo. We headed to a bench in the apartment complex’s park. As Choi Eun-seo sat down and I was about to join her…

“Seriously… seriously… what the heck…”

Tears welled up in the eyes of Choi Eun-seo, who was usually always smiling and brightening the mood. She bit her lip, trying not to cry.

“After how nice I’ve been to you, you haven’t contacted me once since the finals… ignoring all my messages… you’re such a jerk…”

I was momentarily taken aback by the curses, words I’d never heard from her before. It took me an hour to console her. Finally, she stopped crying, looked at me intently, and asked,

“So… what’s the problem?”

She was back to her usual self.

‘What do I say?’

From an outsider’s perspective, it was just one failure, a rookie mistake at that. If they knew I was this distraught over it, they’d probably say I was being entitled.

Seeing my hesitation, Choi Eun-seo gave me a look of exasperation.

“Idiot, failure? It doesn’t matter how many times you fail. What matters is the will to keep going. Are you really going to give up?”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. It doesn’t matter if I fail?

“Would you still support me if I lost ten times, ten times in the finals?”

My fans in my past life had also said it was okay at first. But as the runner-up finishes piled up, they all started saying the same thing: “She can’t do it. There’s a reason she can’t win. It’s always Para’s fault.”

Would Choi Eun-seo be any different? I asked, filled with doubt, but…

“Yes, ten times, hundreds of times, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t give up. Even if I lose my Hansan connections, I’ll support you and cheer for you.”

“What… why…”

“Because I want to. And that’s what being a fan is. Of course, good results are important for public recognition. But does support always have to be about results?”

“Isn’t that obvious? What’s more important than results for a pro!?”

“There is.”

Choi Eun-seo’s gaze was more serious than I had ever seen.

“If you just pour money into creating a super-team, does that automatically make them the most popular?

“That’s…”

“No. In the LCK, super-teams gain popularity, but they’re not always the most beloved.”

I couldn’t argue with her. Even in my past life, there were many instances of overpaying to assemble super-teams with famous players, but they weren’t always number one in terms of popularity.

“Some people develop personal attachments to teams and players, or they like the narratives surrounding them. And there are people like me who support based on future potential.”

“But even those people can change their minds.”

“Of course, people’s feelings can change. But will everyone change their minds? Every single person? No.”

“But…”

For pro players, online communities were often the easiest way to gauge public opinion. And I remembered the countless posts criticizing me after every loss. So many people blamed me, and she was saying it wasn’t true?

‘Will this life be any different?’

Choi Eun-seo looked momentarily stunned.

“Wait… are people saying bad things about you online?”

She searched for something on her phone and showed me the screen.