APGD 12

Chapter 12

99th Year Pro Gamer

I returned home quickly and turned on my computer right away.

“It’s already late today, so I’ll just grind around seven ranked games before bed.”

Ranked games, aka “solo queue.”

Of course, as with most pro players, ranked didn’t mean much to me.
No matter how high you climbed on the ladder, it had zero advantages in actual tournaments.
In fact, the more you played ranked, the more data your opponents had to analyze.

Especially since, by design, ranked only let you queue with up to two people.
There was no way for an entire team to practice together.
Naturally, it couldn’t produce data more valuable than scrims.

So why was I squeezing in time to grind ranked?

Because I needed a link—a point of contact—with one of my key future teammates, right after Park Yongwon: Jung Jo-jun.

In other words, common ground.

With Yongwon, I could use the Presidential Cup to build that connection.
But with Jo-jun?
There was a tried and tested method—even if crude—that had worked multiple times in my past life.

“Back then, when I hit Challenger Top 50, he sent me a friend request first.”

Jo-jun only paid attention to players he judged were strong.
Especially those with high ranks—he was obsessed with ladder points.

Anyone below pro level or Challenger tier might as well not exist to him.
He wouldn’t even look at your friend request or message.

Which meant, before reaching out, I first had to clear the precondition: climbing high enough on the ranked ladder.

Without the points, no words could bridge the gap.
So for now, before contacting him, I had to carefully build a foundation through ranked.

Elitist?
Picky?
Maybe.

But when you actually met him, he wasn’t really like that.

“In a different sense than Yongwon-hyung, he’s genuine.”

Once he opened up, he was fiercely loyal and warmhearted.
Sharp-witted too—he was the type who could lift team morale instantly.

He was the kind of player who could spark a positive atmosphere inside any team.

Of course, it wasn’t just his personality that made me want him in my dream team.
The biggest reason?

His skill.

“His potential’s on par with Yongwon-hyung. At this point, his actual ability is even higher.”

Right now, Jo-jun’s position was mid-lane.
But soon, he’d rise to become one of the two pillars of Korea’s AD carry scene.

Basically, he was an unscratched winning lottery ticket.

His strongest point? Explosive DPS (Damage Per Second).

Judging by that metric alone, he was already a world-class seed, one of the best in existence.

“I have to recruit him for my dream team—no matter what.”

With that determination, I logged into the BoL client.

Clack, clack, clack.

I typed my ID and password in an instant.
Of course, I wasn’t using my main account for ranked, but a smurf.

“If you want to minimize information leaks, smurfs are the way to go.”

Even today’s qualifiers had proved that.
The opposing team had scouted me by checking my main account’s history.
And they wasted all their bans on that incomplete information.

“Another three or four days, and I’ll hit Challenger on this account.”

Though it was technically a smurf, the rank was already higher.
After cutting down on sleep and spamming solo queue nonstop,
my MMR had skyrocketed in just a few days, already sitting comfortably in upper Grandmaster.

I opened “My Info” in the client and checked my current rank.

[‘Penta’: Grandmaster, 722 LP]

That was mid-to-upper Grandmaster.
Overall, roughly around rank 500.

“Yeah, it’s way higher than my main now.”

The rules did state: “You must register using the account under your own name with the highest tier at the registration deadline.”

But that only applied at the time of registration.
Once the tournament was underway, it didn’t matter if your smurf climbed higher.

So technically, even if my smurf’s MMR had always been similar to my main’s,
since my main had the higher score at the deadline, I hadn’t broken any rules.

“Anyway… if I keep grinding, I might run into Jo-jun soon.”

He also played on two accounts: a Challenger-level main and a Grandmaster-level smurf.
And right now, his smurf was sitting around the same bracket as mine.

“Well, who knows when it’ll happen, but if I do get matched with him, I’ll have to leave an impression.”

I queued up for ranked.

Jung Jo-jun.

22 years old.
Known online as GeomjiCall (“Index Slash”), with 300,000 subscribers on YouTube and a popular streamer.

He didn’t touch other games.
On stream, his content was always BoL.

He was such a BoL addict, they called him a “BoL demon.”

And he was infamous for his gimmick: he only played sword-wielding champions, true to his nickname.

But that stubbornness had recently become a problem.

“Sigh…”

Once again, his dream of going pro had collapsed.

He recalled the pro team tryout from earlier today.

“Hmm… mechanics aren’t bad, but your champion pool is way too narrow. Especially your mages—they’re underwhelming.”

“Stop obsessing over ladder rank. You need to practice core mid-lane mages more.”

“With that champion pool, you won’t debut on the pro stage.”

“Anyway, thanks for trying. Unfortunately, you’re not what we’re looking for.”

Though a successful streamer, Jo-jun was still chasing the dream of becoming a pro.

Not for money—streaming more than covered his expenses.

He wanted the glory: to compete with the world’s best and hold up a championship trophy.

“That damned word—‘champion pool’—I’m sick of hearing it.”

The phrase gave him PTSD by now.

And he knew it was true. Without expanding his pool, pro debut was impossible.

So while he stuck to his “sword-only” concept on stream,
off-stream he was practicing current meta picks, even mages.

He was grinding hard, trying to break his own stubbornness.

But no matter what, AP mages never clicked.
They just didn’t feel right.
Like they didn’t fit his hands.

“Maybe I’m just not meant to be a pro?”

Honestly, with just his trusty Ryoso (his signature swordsman), he could dismantle any mage player.
But forcing himself onto mages he hated was draining his will.

“No. Stop overthinking. Let’s just stream.”

He glanced at the clock, then quickly set up his stream.

And with a click—he was live.

• “Geom-nichiwa!”

• “Yo, yo!”

• “Snack time, snack time~!”

• “Wow, GeomjiCall started early today!”

• “Finally, my daily dose of drugs!!”

Viewers poured in immediately.

A veteran streamer, Jo-jun lifted the mood right away.

“Geom-nichiwa~! Hey! Welcome, everyone!”

The phrase was a mix of Geom (sword) and “Konnichiwa.”
It had become his channel’s unique greeting.

That was partly because he was a hardcore anime otaku,
and partly because he was half-Japanese, so Japanese phrases came naturally to him.

The viewers didn’t know about his heritage, but the anime-ish vibe and sword obsession gave his stream a cult following.

He knew it, too—that’s why he stuck with the gimmick.

• “Geom-nichiwaaa!”

• “Perfect timing, I just got home lol.”

Barely a minute in, and his stream already had over 100 viewers.
The chat was buzzing louder than usual.

Because today, the fate of a ₩1,000,000 mission was on the line.

The rules were simple:
Promote his smurf account to Challenger within one week.

But there was a catch:
He had to swap his Summoner Spells, putting Flash on D instead of F.

“Oi, kisama! (You bastards!) Stop praying for me to fail already! Mods, ban them all—!”

Then he grinned.

“Ah, just kidding~! But seriously, guys, I’m 100% clearing this today! This isn’t for laughs—it’s ₩2,000,000 on the line! I’m serious!!”

The hype was building.

• “LOL he’s on fire today.”

• “His form’s cracked.”

• “Haha at least 100 will get executed tonight.”

• “He only has a few hours left, right?”

• “If he doesn’t 5-win streak, it’s over.”

In BoL, Challenger was reserved for the top 300 players.
Above rank 300 = Challenger.
Below = Grandmaster.

And it only updated once daily at 11:45 p.m.

“It’s 8:30 now… that’s three hours.”

He needed about 75 LP.
With +15–18 per win, he’d need around five wins.

At ~25–30 minutes per game, five or six games in three hours was doable.

“This means if I lose even once, the mission’s doomed! No breaks—full sweat mode!”

And just as he bragged… he won four games in a row.

“Yoshi!! Total mid diff, admit it! I might just be OP tonight~?”

It was 11:10 p.m.
Time for just one last game before the daily reset.

The final game would decide the mission.

Naturally, chat went wild.

• “Let’s gooo!!!”

• “Insane streak!”

• “Boring if he just wins lol.”

• “Like a scripted drama.”

• “Fate’s final battle.”

Then—

Ding!

[‘NomadOfGeomji’ has donated ₩50,000!]
[If you win your promo game as support, I’ll add a ₩500,000 mission.]

“What?! As support?!”

Chat exploded.

• “Holy shit lol.”

• “Perfect timing.”

• “But his support is garbage…”

• “Still, half a mil is tempting.”

• “You can’t pass this up!!”

35 minutes left.
No time to hesitate.

MMR at the very edge of Challenger cutoff.
Could he handle high-elo support?

Honestly—no.
At best, a 20% chance of winning.

But—

“I never back down from this! Yoshi! Ikuzo!! (Alright! Let’s go!!)”

He accepted.

Even if he failed the ₩1,000,000 mission,
the content would be gold for his stream and YouTube.

“My destiny’s last game! Let’s go~!!”

He queued again, lips curling in excitement.

Soon—

Boom-boom! Boom~!

The draft phase began with dramatic BGM.
Jo-jun scanned his teammates’ names.

In this MMR, the pool of players was small, so you often ran into pros.

But—

“Ah, kuso!! Damn it!! Not a single pro on my team?!”

With no pros on his side, his odds were grim.

• “LMAO”

• “How do you get zero pros?”

• “What if the enemy team has five pros?”

• “Perfect! This is better!”

• “Prove yourself.”

Groaning, he ruffled his hair.

When his turn came, he instantly locked in Alnistar.

“Whatever! No time! Picking Alni! I’ll hard-carry as Alni support!!”

• “LOL first-pick Alni, giga-chad.”

• “Respect, no hesitation!”

• “Peak entertainment haha.”

• “Snack time, snack time!!”

The draft flew by, only one pick left: their mid-laner.

The player named Penta.

Jo-jun glanced at the clock. 11:16 p.m.
Less than 30 minutes till reset.

If the game dragged on, even a win might not count until tomorrow.

“Oi, Penta! Hurry and pick! I don’t have time! We gotta finish before reset!”

Of course, his teammate couldn’t hear him.

As the pick timer dragged, Jo-jun nervously shook his leg.

“Why so slow—? Wait. Masaka (no way)… is this guy trolling me? Delaying on purpose? What if he picks Ryoso—”

DUN!

Penta locked in Ryoso—Jo-jun’s signature swordsman pick.