APGD 17

Chapter 17

99th Year Since Debut
Pro Gamer

At the time, RajanTV’s live stream was in full swing.

A man in his early-to-mid 30s was slurping instant noodles while watching the broadcast.

‘Is there some special content today? The viewer count’s way higher than usual.’

That man was Kang In-cheol, a commentator for Ball.

In the early days of Ball, he mostly worked as a secondary commentator in Korea’s 1st division league, the BCK.
But now, he was active as a main commentator for Korea’s 2nd division league and the Chinese league broadcasts.

He was practically a figure synonymous with the history of Ball itself.
Naturally, his recognition among Ball fans was enormous.

‘Pfft! Rajan’s in great form today, isn’t he?’

Though it was “just” a personal stream, there was a reason Kang In-cheol was watching a Ball-related broadcast in the middle of the off-season.

He was deeply immersed in Ball.
To be precise, he loved everything about the industry surrounding it.
In terms of sheer passion, he was comparable to—or even more dedicated than—most active pro players.

‘I’ve got work tomorrow anyway, so I’ll just watch Rajan’s stream until I fall asleep.’

He glanced at the calendar propped beside his monitor.
Tomorrow was the day of the Presidential Cup National Amateur eSports Tournament’s [Seoul Regional Representative Qualifier] Final Round.

Unlike the online preliminaries, tomorrow’s offline finals would be live-streamed.

Which meant that Kang In-cheol would be joining the broadcast team as a commentator.

‘Crazy, they’re calling this a “100 million won match”? What the hell’s happening that someone’s burning that much money?’

He clicked his tongue but grinned, intrigued.
Nothing was more entertaining than watching drama unfold.

‘But seriously though, a pro doing account boosting for an amateur tourney? Does that even make sense?’

As the chat exploded into heated debate, Kang In-cheol genuinely wondered the same thing.
Rajan was likely thinking it too.

[Honestly, I’m curious. Han Moonsang seems convinced this guy’s 100% pro level. I’ll check it myself to see how strong he really is.]

The fact Rajan wanted to review the replays said enough.

Kang In-cheol shoved the ramen pot off to the side of his desk and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the infamous replay alongside Rajan.

And soon—

‘Holy… this guy Chad is insane. What the hell?’

His jaw dropped.

Before watching, he’d dismissed the idea outright.
What kind of pro in their right mind would boost for an amateur tourney?

But the replay completely overturned that thinking. Chad’s gameplay was shocking.

‘This is way too obvious. No amateur pulls this off.’

Kang In-cheol had cast countless pro matches.

Not just Korean games—he watched every major league worldwide: China, North America, Europe. He hadn’t missed a single season.

That’s why he was confident.
This level was definitely pro-tier.

But…

‘Thing is, there’s no Korean mid laner like this.’

Maybe in China’s mid-lane dynasty, sure.
But among Koreans, not a single past or present player came to mind who had this kind of raw mechanical ability.

‘Who on earth is this guy?’

Naturally, Kang In-cheol’s curiosity toward TacticMaker grew.

And then—

[I’ll go check it out live at Coex tomorrow. If I watch this guy’s match in person, I can tell for sure.]

Rajan announced his intention to attend the offline finals.

‘Oh, tomorrow’s ratings are going to skyrocket, huh?’

Grinning, Kang In-cheol quickly grabbed his phone and made a call.
His contact was in the Korean eSports Association’s Operations Department—specifically, one of the referees for tomorrow’s Seoul qualifiers.

They were the same age and had run into each other often in the industry, so they were on pretty friendly terms.

The line connected after just a few rings.

—“Hello?”
“Taesan, what’s up?”
—“What do you think? Pulling overtime to prep for tomorrow.”
“Rough night, huh. Hey, so about tomorrow’s qualifiers… how are the brackets decided?”
—“Brackets? Usually we just randomize. There’s no seeds from online play, so it’s whatever.”

It made sense.

There’d only be one team advancing from Seoul.
Whether you lost in the first round or made it to runner-up, anything but first place was meaningless.

So “bracket luck” didn’t exist.
Only the winners advanced.

“Oh, got it.”
—“Wait, by the way… you didn’t check KkTalk, did you?”
“KkTalk?”
—“I messaged earlier asking if there’s any team or matchup you’d like to cast. Helps when drawing up the schedule.”

Kang In-cheol opened KkTalk.
Attached was a list of the teams entering tomorrow’s final qualifier.
Player nicknames included.

‘Found him. TacticMaker.’

His team name was “Yongwon and Friends.”

“Oh, I just saw it. Perfect, actually—there’s one team I was hoping to cover.”
—“Which team?”

Kang In-cheol smirked.

“Yongwon and Friends.”
—“Huh? Really? Aside from one guy, aren’t they all just Master tier? They’re probably the weakest lineup. …Why them?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow at the venue. Just—try to set them up with a fun match right out the gate, yeah? Do me a favor.”
—“A favor?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow’s stream could really blow up big.”

Saturday morning, the day of the Seoul Regional Final Qualifier.

The matches were held at Coex Exhibition Hall near Samseong Station.

Park Yongwon had arrived nearly 40 minutes before the games began.
The rest of the team—except for Lee Dosu—had also shown up around the same time and were looking around the hall with him.

“Whoa, it’s my first time at Coex. This place is huge.”
“Yeah, if you count all the PCs across the halls, it’s gotta be hundreds.”
“Looks like the Ball booth is in Hall G, around 40–50 setups.”
“Hams~! If we just win three matches today, we’re through to the main stage, right? I can’t wait for some sweaty top lane duels!”

Eight teams had survived online qualifiers.

Through the morning and afternoon, they’d compete until one emerged as Seoul’s representative.

“Yeah, just three wins including finals.”
“But isn’t Haneul turning into a total top-lane maniac? I don’t get why you ever played support before.”
“Right?! Guess I was always meant for top. It just fits me too perfectly!”

Yongwon chuckled.

“Anyway, let’s stay confident! It’s not just our mechanics—we’ve gotten way better as a team, right?”
“Totally! Since getting Dosu’s feedback, it feels like every one of us has leveled up. Having a main shotcaller makes our macro so much cleaner too.”

The team had transformed since Dosu joined.

He’d first suggested their bold lane swaps.
Through his constant feedback, their individual skills skyrocketed.
But more importantly, their team cohesion had solidified.

They no longer obsessed over wins and losses.
Every match became a lesson: what they lacked, what strategies to refine.
Under Dosu’s lead, their growth as a true team was undeniable.

“Honestly, with Dosu’s skill, any team would’ve welcomed him. Just having him with us feels like a miracle already.”

Yongwon smiled.

“So let’s focus on his shotcalls, cover each other, and give it our all today!”

Everyone nodded in unison, determination burning in their eyes.
They had come too far to stop now—they would reach the main stage.

Soon, the hall filled with crowds as start time drew near.

Spectators outnumbered players three or four to one.

“…Wow, why’s there so many people? Way more than I expected.”
“Right? Feels like military enlistment day or something. Guess Ball is just that much more popular.”
“Hey, look over there! Isn’t that a famous ex-pro? The streamer—Rajan?”
“Whoa! No wonder the crowd’s huge.”

The hall swelled with people.

Referees and staff gathered for a quick meeting, then one turned to the crowd.

“Alright, we’ll begin the Seoul Qualifier Finals shortly! Please quiet down for announcements!”

The hall fell silent.

“First, all participants must complete ID verification! As announced before, please prepare your ID cards or driver’s licenses!”

Players pulled out IDs from bags and pockets.

“We’ll verify team by team. Once ready, please come to the desk.”

Teams began lining up.

But even as the line cleared, Dosu hadn’t arrived.

“Uh, Yongwon-ham, we’re in trouble. I heard Dosu stayed up late grinding ranked… don’t tell me he fell asleep on the subway.”
“No, no. He messaged earlier—he’s on his way now. Said there was some minor subway delay.”

Just then, the referee approached Yongwon.

“Team Yongwon and Friends, right? Is your lineup incomplete?”
“Ah, yes! Sorry, one member’s almost here!”
“Haha, that’s fine. Still about eight minutes until 10 o’clock. As long as ID checks are done by then, no issue. The other four are here, right?”
“Yes, yes!”
“Then we’ll check the four first.”

The four passed ID check smoothly.

“Confirmed. Hmm… so the missing player is Lee Dosu, nick TacticMaker, correct?”
“Y-yes! That’s right.”

Suddenly, murmurs rippled through the surrounding crowd.

Not just because someone was late—the atmosphere felt heavier, charged.

The team glanced around nervously.

And then—

“Sorry! I’m here! I’m Lee Dosu, the one who plays as TacticMaker.”

Dosu pushed through the crowd, finally arriving.