In fact, personal solo rank isn’t a crucial factor for professional gamers. This was true in Eo War, even if it wasn’t the case for other games.
What mattered to pro gamers was their tournament results, not their solo rank tier. Just because one’s tier is low doesn’t mean the team applies pressure or that the player can’t compete.
For example, there were pro gamers in the Diamond tier, but even so, that was somewhat extreme, and the team didn’t have a favorable view of that player. Fans also tended to prefer pro gamers with tiers that weren’t too far from their own.
For pros, solo rank serves as a playground to experiment with sudden bursts of inspiration and as a practice arena to maintain their form. It’s a more relaxed practice compared to the intense seriousness of tournaments or scrims.
Of course, winning is always nice, and winning streaks are even better. After all, winning usually feels good. No gamer would dislike raising their score and standing in a higher personal rank. Recently, there had been news that teams were scouting players with high rank scores, making that competition subtly fiercer.
Still, there was no denying that tournament results and the scrims directly related to them were far more important.
This was also true for Yang Jun-hyuk, a pro gamer who belonged to VIX7.
As his name suggests, he was Korean and had started his pro career in Korea. He spent a notable four years building a modest career with two championships in E-Champs, but found himself on the verge of losing his desired player life due to competition for the main roster, prompting him to take a flight to North America.
While it was a choice filled with anxiety and contemplation at the time, he now thought it was the right decision.
Since he left, the Korean Eo War league began to experience a dark age.
The Ed Cup victories they used to win regularly were cut off, and the year before last, they didn’t even make it to the semifinals. Yang Jun-hyuk couldn’t feel too sorry for the decline of his domestic league because the success he had experienced was too sweet. The year before last, he achieved the pinnacle of his career by finishing as the runner-up.
Of course, last year and the year before’s championship titles belonged to China. At this point, it wouldn’t be wrong to say China was the undeniable number one in the Eo War league.
But whether this would still hold true this year was in question. It wasn’t that China had weakened. Richao still showcased monstrous skills, and many strong teams were lined up besides his.
What changed were Korea and North America. There had been constant murmurs that both leagues were not normal this year. More precisely, the Korean XBD and Yang Jun-hyuk’s North American VIX were particularly strong.
Within the team, the atmosphere was charged with a sense of urgency to lift the championship trophy this year. This was partly due to their captain, Yen Sunny. After all, this would likely be his last year. He probably wished to finish his career with a splendid finale as his last dance.
For Yang Jun-hyuk, this was also something he desperately desired. Winning the Ed Cup was an experience every professional aspired to achieve.
Amidst such circumstances, Yang Jun-hyuk stared at the screen in front of him.
Round score 2:0. He was being unilaterally pushed back since the game started. It was the Korean server, which Yang Jun-hyuk hadn’t visited in a long time. After moving to the North American league, he had been too busy adapting to think much about his home country. He occasionally contacted his parents and kept an eye on the leagues from time to time.
The familiar Korean server warmly welcomed him back.
“Oh no…”
As soon as he turned the corner, a hail of bullets fell upon him, and his character fell to the ground. Now, only two teammates remained. The opponents numbered four. It was obvious from both a numerical and skill perspective that this round would slip away to the opposing team as well.
And indeed, they lost that round too. The score was 3:0. Through the activated team voice, he could hear the sighs mixed with his teammates’ words.
“Ah, this is tough. Let’s focus a bit more. Those who can, please give detailed briefings on the mic.”
“Is briefings even meaningful…? We’re just getting crushed here.”
“Well, isn’t it better than not doing it?”
Challenger, and that too at the very top tier. With intentional smurfers and trolls filtered out, everyone shared the same desire to win. In response to the awkward comments, he silently raised his gun.
Yang Jun-hyuk didn’t join in on the briefing for two main reasons. First was a reminder from the team to be especially careful not to get involved in trouble while ranked, and secondly, as the man had pointed out earlier, this was not a situation that would improve simply from a briefing.
“First, we need to do something about the Swordsman…”
That statement was accurate. It was the biggest reason this team was failing. At the center of their defeats was always that ‘Swordsman.’
-Mollru 7/2/5
“What is that… reading? Is that a foreigner? Did they enter the country for this Ed Cup like me?”
Caught up in adapting to life abroad, Yang Jun-hyuk was ignorant of community memes. He could glean the username of the Swordsman user from his teammates’ conversations.
“Mollu is so skilled, it’s troubling. Holding off two by themselves…”
Users utilizing Swordsman at the celestial tier were rare. It was almost unheard of in the pro scene aside from exceptional circumstances, leading to a very low pick rate.
Apparently, this person seemed to be somewhat famous. Mollu; that nickname was quite unusual.
“Mollru? Korean Samurai?”
One of his teammates seemed to recognize the opponent. Jackson, who also played in the North American league. But what did Korean Samurai even mean?
‘Could it be that person?’
Just the other day, his teammate Michael had come fluttering to Yang Jun-hyuk in a fuss, claiming there was a samurai in the Korean server. Given Michael’s slightly eccentric demeanor, he hadn’t taken it too seriously. It seemed he was referring to this individual.
‘Korean Samurai…’
It was a naming that didn’t even seem funny. From Yang Jun-hyuk’s perspective, it was even more so. Korean and Samurai? Well, for foreigners, Korea and Japan might seem indistinguishable.
The character ‘Swordsman’ used a katana and was mostly recognized through famous anime, which probably led to the strange nickname.
But despite that ridiculous name, the skill was nothing to laugh at.
“What kind of parrying is that…”
Yang Jun-hyuk unintentionally muttered aloud. The Swordsman’s deflect was perfectly executed. The attack chance he had painstakingly earned went to waste, and instead, he suffered a loss.
The Swordsman was blocking the path leading towards point B alone. He attempted a breakthrough this time, which could be seen as somewhat arrogant, but ultimately failed.
‘This isn’t some unbreakable barrier…’
Yang Jun-hyuk shook his head. He thought the game was going poorly.
Another round was about to pass. Even if they lost, it would be a mercy to win at least one round.
*
Mollru was indeed fulfilling the role of gatekeeper on the Korean server.
Even in the last match, powerful figures from opposing teams had felt the walls and faced defeat.
“Recently, we’re winning quite well. Must be good team luck.”
[It’s just the teacher playing well.]
[For real LOL, if they’re doing two people’s worth of work alone, which team could win against them?]
[But they lost the last match after doing two people’s worth of work, right?]
[That was the team’s…]
[Oh ho.]
[Professional criticism is banned.]
The rank was rising vertically, and Mollru’s nickname was widely spreading across sites, including the community. It seemed this was also the case among foreign users.
Just the other match, a chat had popped up on the opposing team saying “Korean Samurai.” Although she personally didn’t seem to enjoy the attention.
However, apart from her, this situation was enough to boost the pride of Korean users. They had been looked down upon greatly in recent years due to tournament results. The notion of Koreans being good at games was an old tale, and now Mollru had reclaimed that honor.
People valued Mollru highly for achieving what even professionals could not. Those who once disliked her, saying she was just draining money from her viewers, were now reflecting on their past actions.
[Now if we can just educate the Chinese kids, that’d be enough.]
[Is Richao not logging in?]
[The Chinese guys must be afraid and running away LOL.]
[K-Food is indeed spicy.]
Until now, Mollru had mostly faced Korean or North American pro gamers.
While people cheered simply for winning against them, no longer was that enough. They now sought a different target for their frustrations.
The opponents they desired were the Chinese professional gamers. Those who faced severe ridicule from Chinese players wanted sweet revenge against those who took the throne from them. Even if it wasn’t a victory in the truest sense.
And their wish was immediately granted.
[Is Richao here?]
[Richao entered the chat LOL.]
[Called him and he came right away.]
[Isn’t that a bit rich?]
[Yeah~ No, Mollu is going to demolish him~]
[Moll General, please…]
[Korean Samurai! Korean Samurai! Korean Samurai! Korean Samurai!]
“Queue is up.”
Whether she was aware of it or not, Mollru seemed simply at peace. The fact that there were Chinese pros on the opposing team didn’t seem particularly significant to her.
