Chapter Text
if you had asked doran what he thought his upcoming 2025 career was going to entail, he would have told you he was expecting to be shipped off to china to a b-tier team, struggle to pick up a new language, miss his mother and her homecooked food, and fail to secure another worlds trophy.
and yet, here he was; standing in front of t1’s gangnam headquarters, his new contract signed and dotted with his shaky penmanship; wondering if he was actually just dreaming or if he was truly hallucinating. had he finally had the mental break that he had been expecting for years now? was he really crumbling into pieces at the very idea of filling a legendary toplaner who was able to hoist two world’s trophies above his head while doran mourned and ignored the live streams? how was going to live up to these expectations?
“c’mon joonie, let’s grab some dinner and then you can start moving into the dorms. you’ll probably have some schedules to attend soon,” his agent clapped his shoulder, startling him out of his mental descent. he practically jumped out of his skin as he shifted awkwardly in his ‘nicest’ clothes, a simple pair of slacks, a lightly wrinkled white collared shirt and a long wool coat. he nodded in agreement and followed behind his agent, but if he was honest, he would have little recollection of their time together, because all he could think about is that familiar gruff voice in the back of his head, the one that always managed to remind him of the real world, the one that had carved his way into his every day thoughts, the one who wouldn’t leave despite him moving teams and putting the past behind him.
the one who… who made him this way.
when doran was growing up, when his only name in changwon was choi hyeonjoon, he had been a reserved kid, but loud with the right group. he had an older brother who he was close with and would occasionally argue with then share snacks after apologies were said. he had a small but close group of friends. they had introduced him to league of legends, watched worlds finals with him and all gushed and fanboyed over faker; the unkillable demon king. doran’s first and only inspiration in his life. the one who reminded him to never stop working hard, that a gold medal and the title of champion didn’t come to those who just naturally got it. while he may not have been the best student, he was hard-working, someone who grinded out all his stress on league and pushed himself every day.
his mother would sigh and worry, but she would also cut him fruits and leave them in his room when he would go to the bathroom late at night. she would always try her best to help him keep his room tidy, despite him begging her not to. his school uniform would also be pressed to perfection every monday. her actions would wrap hyeonjoon in enough love to soothe him and herself. she would try her best to make do with what they could afford, the two of them facing the world together.
funny, now that they were separated, he found himself missing her more and more.
‘you’re not a son she would brag about.’ the voice hissed, poisoning the memories that doran held so dear to himself. he paused while bringing the kimbab to his lips, his agent looking at his phone and completely oblivious to doran’s mental battle with himself.
‘not here, please,’ he begged the voice. he knew that once it started, it would be difficult to stop and he couldn’t afford another breakdown in public. there was only one time he had ever become unmanageable in public and the punishment he had received had been one of the cruelest he had ever experienced. he couldn’t embarrass himself like that now that he was signed to t1. the agency would let him go faster than if he had something absolutely egregious on his live stream or suddenly announce a gay marriage.
‘like anyone would ever want to marry a fag like yourself,’ the voice added, disgust evident in their tone. doran barely managed to swallow the final bite of his kimbap before he grabbed his old backpack from the chair next to him, surprising his agent.
“i should get going and get ready, can you let me know the details, please?” his tone was polite but he could feel that familiar rise of panic slowly creep up his chest. his palms were starting to heat up despite the cooling weather outside. his agent looked a little surprised but gave him a short bow of his head. doran murmured back a soft, “thank you for your hard work,” with a deeper bow and quickly scurried out of the restaurant to hail a cab.
while sitting in the back of the taxi, he could feel the claws of the voice start to dig itself throughout his body. phantom hands grabbed his hair, his shoulders, his neck, his wrists, his hands, his fingers. his body remembered the rough grip of the coach, the pull on his hair and the sting of the metal ruler slapping skin. his knees remembered the sharp stabs of rice. but most of all, his memory remembered all of the harsh words and criticisms, etched into his memory like his first kiss, his first time ranking into masters, and when he was signed to griffin.
‘waste of fucking space.’
‘a disappointing son.’
‘worst toplaner that the league ever gave a chance to.’
‘a stand in for a better player.’
‘a son who never deserved a father.’
doran didn’t pack that night.
~~
his first broadcast went as well as he had hoped it did.
he was very, very nervous to read the chat and play in front of more people than he had to in the past. he had tried his best to show a cheerful mood and he proudly showed off the t1 merchandise that had been so kindly gifted to him. he was now part of a prestigious brand, as t1 held such a large fanbase. he had tried not to read the chat too much and focused only on positive comments or genuine questions, but his eyes still flickered to comments that stung, like an addict finally getting a hit.
- ‘this is what’s going to replace zeus? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ fu*king crazy’
- ‘this guy has the personality of water ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ what a b*tch’
- ‘not as cute as zeus’
- ‘lol what is faker gonna do with this? impossible to teach…’
that last comment stung the hardest. how was he even supposed to meet faker like this and just introduce himself so casually? the t1 jungler oner had already stopped by to say hello and greet him properly, already adding to the worry that he was seen as rude and aloof. the last thing he wanted was his new team to think he didn’t have any manners.
so once he finished his stream, he quietly crept into the hallway and took his time peeking into the different rooms. the first one he visited was keria’s, where the support player was just in the middle of doing some off-stream solo queuing. doran’s heart raced when he quietly opened the door, which made the younger support turn around. a huge smile bloomed on keria’s face and it took everything in doran not to panic.
“hyeonjoonie hyung! welcome to t1! it’s so good to see you again, how’ve you been since drx?! can you believe that was, like what, four years ago?! and now we’re back together! you have to tell me all the gossip you’ve heard from gen.g or hle~ any secret bromances happening? anyone–” doran’s mind was already tuning keria out.
the mention of drx made a shiver travel down his spine.
that team.
that coach.
and keria had been oblivious the whole time.
doran never blamed any of his teammates for not realizing what was happening to him. at first, his naive brain had thought that his other teammates were also suffering at the hands of that particular coach. but after a few weeks, he started to realize that he was the only one who would flinch at loud noises, would become anxious when he saw the coaches, and was the only one required to stay late for… for late night training sessions.
just hearing the words ‘extra training sessions’ made him feel like something was gripping onto his shoulder, fingernails bluntly pressing into his skin, leaving temporary marks but permanent mental scars.
‘it’s your fault the team lost, if only those fingers of yours were better. it’s almost like you don’t need them since you don’t use them properly...’
“i-i’ve been fine!” doran managed to say as keria partially dragged him into his room, showing off his setup. the reassurance made the younger player smile as he showed off his keyboard that his fans pitched in to help customize. a warm pang of jealousy ran through doran, but he stayed quiet and eagerly admired the love that keria had been showered with. he had been blossoming into one of the best supports of their generation, he had even been given a strong nickname, like how faker’s was the unkillable demon king, keria’s was equally as impactful.
legendary genius monster.
doran wondered if he would ever get a nickname like that. if he was ever going to make any kind of legacy for himself at t1.
‘t1 is only keeping you here until they find someone better. you’ll crumble under the pressure and make them lose their next worlds trophy.’
oh yeah. keria was expecting an answer.
“a-and there isn’t anything like that kind of stuff in gen g or hle. it was kind of boring, just league and stuff,” doran had no idea what keria was referring to but that was okay. the younger support player just grinned.
“hey, do you want to get dinner at haidilao this weekend? faker hyung is gonna pay~ also you can’t refuse if he is going, he will stand outside your door until you agree!” keria laughed and doran felt a shiver of dread and hope wash down his spine. just hearing that faker would be near his streaming booth, waiting for him to accept his invitation filled him with joy and nervousness.
would he really be able to slot himself into this team? could he really make a name for himself in this team? or would he just crack under the pressure, again?
~
solo-queue was such a pain.
doran could feel himself growing more frustrated when he stared at the defeat screen, the red and yellow mocking him as it reflected in his glasses. he impatiently clicked through the menu, mindlessly gave honours to his team’s support and jungler before he clicked back to the main queue page in the riot client.
the ‘FIND MATCH’ button was mocking him, egging him on to queue again.
‘again.’ the voice slid into his ears, egging him on. baiting him into his anger, where doran would become much more
‘queue again, pussy.’
‘you need to win three more games. then you can eat.’
‘but if you lose again, stay in the queue. you don’t eat until you can win. you don’t deserve to eat until you see the words ‘VICTORY’. and knowing you, you won’t see it for a while.’
doran could feel the spiral of his mind starting, the feeling of losing. the feeling of helplessness. he hated when the voice would take over his thoughts like this. he knew that realistically the coach wasn't behind him, that he wasn't here anymore.
but the fear didn't leave.
it transformed him into a critical player, a player with great mechanics but a fragile mental state. sometimes, doran wondered if he was addicted to losing or doing poorly just so he could hear that voice repeat insults at him. maybe something was really wrong with him and he needed to deal with these feelings properly. maybe he should say something to someone and confess what happened to him all those years ago.
he clicked the ‘FIND MATCH’ button.
he didn't eat that night.
~
when he's alone and frustrated, the memories come flooding back. nowadays, it seemed to happen after team meals, after doran would wear a mask and pretend like he felt like he belonged in the most prestigious league organizations in the entire world. then, once he was alone in his dormitory, he would sit on the floor next to his bed, numb and silent as his mind would replay memories that were carved into his brain; as if they were movies on repeat. and doran would sit there in the darkness of his room and let them take over his mind. and tonight was no different.
“palms up, doran,” the coach growls, anger dripping off each syllable. doran knows why he’s here, why he’s staying past 12 in the morning, why the rest of his teammates have gone home hours ago.
he failed.
drx had lost their playoff game to t1. they had tried to fight, but t1’s playstyle was better. despite all of their efforts, despite all of the difficulties due to coronavirus and the online-offline switches, they had lost their shot at worlds.
his first shot at one of the most important trophies and he had completely fucked it. and of course, their coach was pissed.
“how many minions did you miss? do you even fucking care?! how many objectives you lost because you thought you could be the flashy player and make plays?! how many fucking times do i have to tell you to play around chovy?! you listen to him! why are you so fucking stupid?!” despite not being physically hit, doran flinched as his coach’s voice got louder and louder, the older man practically screaming at the top of his lungs. doran could feel his ears starting to ring as that familiar feeling of compression started squeezing his throat and chest; his hands trembling as he held them out in front of him, palms up.
the slap of the sharp, metal ruler had him biting his bottom lip to keep himself as quiet as possible.
it’s not that he hadn’t expected the hit, but usually his coach was more relaxed with his discipline. there was usually an arrogance that his coach acted with, always prattling on about how he was better than doran in every way.
but this felt different, more primal. more violent.
the hits came one after another, so much so that doran actually felt himself recoiling back. he wasn’t trying to avoid the hits but fear was clouding his vision and his body yearned to protect itself.
a calloused hand grabbed doran’s left wrist and the ruler managed to strike him right on the sensitive joint between his hand and wrist, causing doran to cry out in pain. the noise seemed to only enrage the coach further, as he pulled doran closer to him and brought the ruler down right onto the top of doran’s head.
a short gasp of pain left doran’s mouth and the ruler struck him again.
“shut up! shut the fuck up! you little bitch, back in my day, my coaches would have beat me black and blue for messing up as badly as you did! you should be fucking grateful i take time out of my day to teach you! you should be begging me on your hands and knees to resign your contract and give you a second chance! but instead, all you do is lose us games because you can’t do anything!” doran heard the words come from his coach’s mouth but he didn’t dare to speak back, knowing better than to interrupt the older man. at one point, though, the hits to his head stopped and the toplaner became cautiously optimistic that maybe the coach would just stop here. he was exhausted and desperate to go back to the dorms and sleep.
he dared to peek upwards, hoping that the older man had edcalmed down a little bit. but their eyes met and doran could immediately feel the atmosphere tighten.
“you arrogant little bastard- come here,” and suddenly there was a hand in his hair. in panic, doran reached up to grab the wrist of the coach but a second hand grabbed his right wrist, the cold ruler pressed against his skin. with a quick motion, the older man slid doran backwards, making the top laner roll into one of the desks. pain blossomed and spread from his right side into his back and hip.
“you’re going to sit at this desk and rewatch the match with t1. and every mistake you will write it down. don’t skip a single one. one skipped mistake is thirty minutes. you have an hour.” the coach spat at him and doran knew he was not sleeping tonight. the coach was irate but holding himself back by a thread. he shakily stood, hobbled to his computer and sat down. he struggled to find the vod and one he had it open, he grabbed his notebook and pen.
the minutes started blurring as he watched the audience’s perspective of their game.
he saw how t1 had farmed up, he saw how they had grouped up and had this beautiful cohesion that distracted doran for a brief second. it was almost poetic when he realized that he hadn’t written a single thing down.
he rewinded back a minute and desperately tried to look for mistakes.
he could feel the time ticking down.
his coach slapped the ruler down next to his right arm, making him flinch away from the sound.
“wasting time again. are you finally admitting that you know that you’re the worst starting player on this team?” he sneered and the panic only grew as doran shakily wrote down that he had missed a minion, time stamping it appropriately on his list.
his hands were shaking as his eyes darted around the screen.
where was the mistake? he had reacted to the enemy team’s surprise dive and the rest of his teammates had done too. the teams were pretty equal in gold, was it a misclick? had he not kited enough? he felt like he was out of his body, watching himself desperately click around.
suddenly, his computer was forced to shut down. he turned his head to lock eyes with his coach, who had his finger pressing down on the start button.
doran knew that expression on his coach’s face. he knew that he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. so he didn’t fight back. whatever the coach said, he agreed. his took the hits to his wrists and hands. he rolled up his sweatpants to his knees and watched as the coach poured a small bag of uncooked rice onto the floor. and then, doran knelt in it, allowing the hard grains to pierce his skin; not enough to scar but enough to cause consistent pain.
he lost track of time as he knelt in the cold, dark computer room. slowly, as he tried to keep himself upright, he began imagining his team members and what they would do if they saw him like this. if they ever walked in on the coach hurting him. he thought of how each of them would react, thinking of chovy and deft punching the coach while pyoshik and keria screaming insults to anyone who would listen.
his mind was numb, pain grounding him back to earth when he leaned forward slightly, his knees screaming out in pain as he adjusted his glasses.
his coach was long gone, the only thing remaining was a small, old timer. the milliseconds were crawling at the slowest pace imaginable, as he was expected to kneel in the uncooked rice for over another hour. how long had he been here?
by the time the alarm rang, doran was practically asleep while kneeling, his body slumped forward but still upright. the shrill scream of the timer jolted him awake, practically making him jump out of his skin. quickly, he leaned over, his shaking hands turning the sound off as he tried to stand up. unfortunately, his knees gave out, sending him back onto his knees and back onto the rice, making him stifle a groan of pain. after a few minutes, he slowly pushed his knees out of the rice, unaware that some rice grains had been stained red and pink.
with practice precision, doran took his time using a small hand broom and dustpan, that just so happened to be nearby, to clean up the rice that was on the floor. he shakily waddled over to the nearest garbage can, pouring it out. he didn’t even bother to check to his phone, as the darkness around him confirmed that it was probably the middle of the night. usually the coach would always locked him in the practice room and tonight would not be any different. doran grabbed his coat and his scarf then quietly scanned the room. there was a small couch near the back of the room, so he limped over and carefully sat down. then, he placed his scarf on the couch, then laid down. it took him some time to try and find a comfortable position, as if he let his legs stretch out fully, his feet and ankles would dangle off the edge, causing his knees to hurt. but if he curled up too much, his knees would scream in pain and he swore he could feel some blood start to accumulate.
but he needed to sleep.
god, he was so tired.
as he attempted to try and angle his legs so that his ankles wouldn't be too uncomfortable, he laid his long padding over top of his body.
maybe he would improve after all of this…
maybe he could really be a great top laner.
~
ms’s championship was gone, t1’s dreams ended here.
and it was all his fault.
he had felt the pressure mounting game after game, how insurmountable gen g had become. even during their qualifiers, it felt impossible to catch up to gen g’s tempo. but t1 didn’t give up and crawled their way back to the finals, to try and beat gen g at the finals. but despite everything that doran had done, their final game fell apart. he stared at his kda, 0/5/2. not a single fucking kill for the entire game.
a goddamn failure.
but he stood up anyway, rushed to put on his coat and fist bump the other team. he could feel the disappointment radiating from his teammates behind him, assuming that they all knew that he was the exact reason for their losses.
it felt bitter, as he quietly packed up his keyboard and mouse. he could hear the cheers around him, he could see gen g celebrating. a team he used to be one until he no longer deserved to stand next to chovy. and clearly, he still didn’t deserve the stage, didn’t deserve the trophy anymore. so much for all the extra training he put himself through, all the all-nighters he spent solo-queuing.
was his old coach truly right?
he kept his head down but he could still see gen g celebrating as he left the stage. he didn’t look at the fans, too embarrassed to let them down again. he could only imagine the comments that would flood his lives now, even with the increased moderation. god, he could just imagine all of the fans flaming him, clipping all of his mistakes and making essays on why doran joining t1 would be the franchise’s biggest mistake.
and the worst part was that doran believed it. he was starting to really believe that this year was going to be humiliating for him, that this was his final year in the league. despite all of his hard work, he was going to end up bringing down the entire team. he was a curse, a totem of bad luck that was passed around from team to team, until eventually he would never be picked again.
he briefly wondered if he should just enlist early next year, after his contract would expire and he would disappear into obscurity. maybe then he could at least go back to changwon and pretend he was just a regular citizen.
his body moved on autopilot as the team filed into their green room, an uncomfortable silence filling the air. doran was scared to break the silence, afraid that someone would notice his presence and begin blaming him for everything. they wouldn’t have been wrong, but he didn’t want to hear it. he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.
the coaches walked in a second later, talking in hushed tones with faker, the man that doran looked up to the most. he awkwardly placed his things down and quickly occupied a small chair away from the rest of the couches. he just sat down, no phone out, replaying the game in his head. he could see each of his mistakes so clearly in his head and he started wondering what he could have done better. he started thinking of how much time he would need to practice, how he could try and motivate himself so he didn’t let anyone down.
he briefly looked up and locked eyes with coach tom, who looked downright pissed; and immediately he lowered his gaze. he could feel that familiar tightening feeling in his throat and his vision was starting to spin a little. suddenly, the side of the room was much more interesting.
“honestly, they just out-paced us. they had such good vision control, especially in the last game,” keria’s voice suddenly cut doran out of his thoughts. how long had keria been in that conversation? doran blinked, suddenly back in his body and conscious of the world around him.
“the beginning of the game five was good but that rift herald fight really fucked us,” gumayusi added in. the nervousness in doran was rising, as if he was waiting for the rest of the team to just turn to him and blame him. i mean, wouldn’t that be why they’re just talking about him right in front of everyone? his vision began swimming again and panic infiltrated his brain again.
‘they lost because of you.’
‘they lost because you can’t do your job.’
without even realizing it, doran stood up, rather abruptly. his teammates and coaches were perplexed, as the top laner moved towards them with a shaky and timid disposition. this was the first time anyone had seen doran look so… so nervous in front of them. no one dared to move as doran reached out to tug onto mata’s coat, his eyes downcast.
“hm? did you have something you wanted to add in, hyeonjoonie?” coach mata asked, genuinely curious about why the top laner seemed so down. it was an open secret that doran was very hard on himself and so, the coaches had tried to make sure that they spoke calmly but firmly with him, trying to make him less nervous.
it took a moment before doran did speak, in a whisper that only mata could catch.
“it’s my fault. i’m sorry coach mata. i…,” there was a brief pause, almost as if doran’s tongue was heavy with dread. and he was. he was so scared to ask for extra coaching, as it usually meant a long night of enduring insults and hits. but doran clearly needed it. he needed to be disciplined for his poor performance. he had to.
“i need extra coaching.” he didn’t realize that it had taken him almost a minute to finally work up the courage to speak. but when doran looked up, he saw coach mata looking at him with confusion. doran blinked back at him.
“huh? honestly, your game three stats were really excellent. yeah, there were some misplays here and there, but everyone kind of misplayed. you don’t need additional coaching, hyunjoon-ah, don’t worry too much about it. it can’t be helped,” coach mata was gentle, too gentle. it made doran’s hair stand on end, goosebumps rippling down his body.
what?
but this was his fault. this was his mistake. he needed the extra coaching. he needed to be disciplined, he needed to be yelled at, screamed at, blamed, hit, sworn at… something. but the way coach mata had spoken to him, so gentle and patient, felt… felt worse. as if coach mata was keeping up appearances. but what if they were alone together? would the coach change his mind? when would he strike?
would… would he be disciplined in front of the team…?
surely not, right? this was t1… t1 would never do that. but how else could they deliver such amazing results? how else were they capable of earning back-to-back trophies? there had to be a catch. this wasn’t right. doran could feel his whole body move on instinct, slinking away to his backpack while the managers, his teammates, and his coaches watched in confusion.
blindly, doran opened the long front pocket of his backpack, his hands shaking as he grabbed that very familiar, cold, metal ruler.
without a word, he turned around and walked back to the group. coach mata still gave him such a pitiful expression, but doran swore he saw the older man begin to smirk. or maybe it was the lighting. no. it wasn’t. because t1 demanded results and doran couldn’t produce them. he deserved the humiliation, deserved the hit, deserved the addicting curses and criticism. he was the only one who deserved the negative attention because he was the worst player on the team.
he held out the ruler to the coach. he didn’t see his teammates' reactions, didn’t process their expressions as coach mata quietly grabbed the ruler, his expression puzzled. right as the coach opened his mouth, doran knelt next to the chair and with practiced precision, held out his hands. palms up. fingers relaxed. head bowed forward, not making eye contact. he could hear the breath of his old coach in his ear, hissing in that familiar, low tone.
‘you should keep this. the next coach can use it to beat you with, since you’ll always be the worst player on the team.’
clang!
doran flinched as soon as he heard the metal, but surprisingly, he did not feel any pain. he was actually confused, unsure why he hadn’t felt the cold sting of the ruler on his hands. instead, he was suddenly picked up, brought up on his feet by coach mata, who looked panicked.
“let’s go get some fresh air, c’mere hyeonjoonie, my favorite hyeonjoonie,” mata’s tone was clipped but bordering on pleasant, trying to cover something up. the tone made doran start to panic, wondering if he had done something wrong again. but as he was being led out, he looked back and finally caught a glimpse of the other coaches and his teammates.
and then he realized what he had done.
as coach mata led him out of the room, keria hot on their heels, doran felt shame, embarrassment, and humiliation wash over him. the panic buzzing in his head stopped for a brief moment of clarity as he was led to an adjacent, smaller room, one not occupied by anyone else at the current moment.
oh no.
what had he done?
~
the room was dead silent.
no one moved.
it almost felt like no one breathed.
but hyeonjun exhaled. and at first, it was shaky, lifeless. but then he breathed in and out a second time. a third, then a fourth. but then, a tangible rage started to fill him. each breath felt like fuel added to the fire.
what the fuck was that?!
he turned around, staring at the door that just closed. then he looked back at two of his teammates, who looked equally as stunned. minhyung was sitting on the couch, eyes wide and still processing the situation. just as they locked eyes, minhyung’s eyebrows furrowed and hyeonjun felt the silent rage start to consume him.
just as minhyung opened his mouth, sanghyeok’s voice cut through the silence.
“before you two say anything, i need you to think carefully how you’re going to react.” the words scratched down hyeonjun’s brain like nails on a chalkboard and it instantly set him off.
“hyung, what the fuck?! did you not hear what hyeonjoon hyung just said?! what the fuck do you mean ‘think carefully’?! did you just fucking see what he did?! he… he wanted our coach to physically discipline him!” he couldn’t help the rage that billows up, the flames at his throat and the smoke practically choking the air around him. minhyung attempted to step in and fan the flames down, though his face looked serious and cold.
“hyeonjun-ah, you know what sanghyeok hyung meant. he just means that we need to figure out the situation first. we need to figure out why hyeonjoon thinks that… that physical discipline is acceptable,” even the mediator, minhyung’s words were true. but hyeonjun’s brain still could not accept logic as his own feelings sat at the forefront of his mind.
“i know you’re upset, trust me. we all are.” sanghyeok’s voice is deep, low, cold. hyeonjun never liked this tone from the older man. the timber made sanghyeok sound calculative, serious, in a way that was unfriendly. in a way that was absolute. sanghyeok didn’t like to speak in absolutes.
“i am going to call a meeting with our coaches after today and we’re going to discuss this further. obviously, hyeonjoon-ah is upset and we don’t want to make him more uncomfortable than he is now.” hyeonjun saw sanghyeok’s eyes flicker towards the door before the older man pulled out his phone and started typing something down.
“for now, i need you two to just let him cool off. if hyeonjoon comes to you, then let him talk. do not scare him off; just try to give him support. clearly, this is a little more complicated than i originally thought,” sanghyeok looked up, glancing at hyeonjun, who narrowed his eyes further at sanghyeok’s expression.
“if i ever see the coach who did that to him, i’m gonna beat the fuck out of them and then lawyer up,” hyeonjun grumbled, crossing his arms like a child who had just been scolded. while the joke was funny, no one was in the mood to laugh.
after what they had witnessed, they all just had more questions.
~
he fucked up.
oh god he fucked up so bad.
doran could barely breathe as he was ushered out of t1’s green room by coach mata and keria. the top laner’s panic grew more evident as they stepped inside of the adjacent room. the coach gingerly placed him on the coach and keria was immediately glued to his side.
“h-hyeonjoon hyung… what… how…” the support started, but it seemed like he struggled to find the words. how do you just… ask this kind of question? doran could feel the attention on him, eyes staring into him and he started to unconsciously curl away from keria, his shoulders curling forward as he tried to make himself smaller.
“hyeonjoonie,, look at me please,” suddenly, coach mata brought a small plastic chair towards the small couch, keeping some distance from the top laner but still close enough that doran could hear the gentle tone. shyly, he looked up through his bangs and glasses, seeing the coach as neutral of an expression on his face as possible.
“who told you you needed that kind of discipline?” the question was simple and did not accuse doran of anything. that actually… confused him. he was still so confused why everyone seemed to be so shocked that he should be punished accordingly.
“coach did,” doran replies, as if the answer was obvious enough. coach mata furrowed his brow for just a moment, before repeating himself.
“was it a coach at t1… or… elsewhere?” the question was not accusatory, just simply curious. but doran could still hear past conversations with that specific drx coach. the one who always disciplined him, who threatened his other teammates, who scoffed in his face when he first threatened to report him for physical assault.
‘even if you tell the other coaches, they’ll just agree with me. sometimes, a player needs discipline. and you need discipline, doran. i’m just doing my job.’
“long time ago… at drx. my… he said that every player needs discipline and i needed it the most. because i’m a bad player,” the top laner stated, as if it was common knowledge. as if each team had one person that was the designated scapegoat. because that was what he was at drx. when he moved to hle and gen g, he had been lucky enough not to be. he had been good. well, not worlds winning good, but at least he hadn’t been hit anymore.
would that change now that he was in t1?
keria kept quiet, but while doran was starting to finally explain himself, he was starting to put the pieces together. all the times that he had found doran practicing early, staying late… flinching every time someone accidentally spooked him. what had happened while he was in drx?! and how did he not even know?!
“and.. and what kind of discipline did your coach do, hyeonjoon-ah?” coach mata had slowly inched his way closer, not touching doran but keeping a close eye on the top laner. to his surprise, he could see that doran was starting to cry, his eyes shining behind his glasses and his hair. he only saw it for a brief moment before the top laner bowed his head down, his voice starting to waver as his regional accent started to thicken.
“uh, he… he was just... well,” doran found himself tripping over his own words, unsure how to explain himself. on one hand, he needed to be honest and confront what he had gone through. he needed to tell someone. but admitting everything was so… so embarrassing. he was supposed to be a man and men don’t get bullied.
“was it… with the ruler?” coach mata asked, trying to gauge doran’s reactions. a small whimper left doran’s mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut and slowly nodded once, then twice. with the remainder of his bravery left, doran looked up at the coach and when they locked eyes, doran couldn’t help the anxious rant that followed.
“he’d hit my hands and wrists if i didn’t play well. told me to play around the team, to not make plays, i wasn’t smart enough. but i couldn’t. if i saw an angle, i’d take it and no one would help and he’d be so mad. so mad. made me stay late, make me kneel in rice for hours. i slept in the locked practice rooms. he told me i needed to be disciplined. made me review vod after vod, write down my mistakes. i needed to be better, i had to prove my worth and prove that i could be a good top laner,” fat tears rolled down doran’s reddening cheeks, the words tumbling out of his mouth clumsily. coach mata didn’t speak and keria felt himself freeze as he listened closely.
“s-said i-i was a disappointment to my family, unlovable. unteachable. useless. i-i would never be a worlds’ winner. all i do is curse my team. all i do is bring bad luck. and he’s right. every team i join has never made it to worlds, never even made past the quarter or semis. a-and i’m going to curse t1 too. he’s right, we lost msi because it’s my fault. and then we’ll lose our spot for worlds too and everyone will blame me and i’ll lose my job a-and i will have wasted all my time doing this and i’ll never be the good son i told my mom i could be,” by the end of his rant, doran was becoming more frantic, taking in short gasps of air and he let all of his worries and anxiety pour out of him. the air in the room became more and more suffocating, as he began to catastrophize his own demise. his own end to his career that wasn’t even happening (yet).
but then, he feels warm arms around his midsection, which made him sit up in a jolt. he looked down, seeing a familiar jacket and then realized that there was a smaller, warm body pressed against his back.
keria.
minseok.
“why didn’t you tell me?” minsoek’s voice quivered, as if he was still trying to keep up his tough facade. but doran could hear the cracks in the tone.
“... i was scared. scared he’d go after you or chovy.” doran admitted. there had been a time when the coach had threatened him, right at the very beginning. when doran would fight back. the coach would always just take out his phone, threatening to call the higher ups and lie about chovy or keria violating their contracts. and doran fell for it, fell further into the trap the coach had laid out for him.
“... stupid. you’re so stupid,” minseok sniffled, his arms tightening around doran’s mid-section. doran let out a wet chuckle as he look back up at mata, who also looked misty eyed for some reason.
“i’m sorry for what… what i assumed, coach mata,” guilt started to seep into his veins, spreading like wildfire. the coach blinked at him, then a few more times, looking away with an embarrassed expression.
“no, no. i’m sorry for not checking in on you sooner, for just… just assuming that everything was okay. we’re going to need you to at least give a statement, then i think coach kkoma is going to get a few other things set up for you. if you want to try and talk to someone, i’d recommend it. a bunch of the players have their own personal therapists,” coach mata trailed off as he looked at doran with a fondness that doran couldn't understand. but then he felt a hand pat him on the head and suddenly his eyes felt wet again, his bottom lip beginning to tremble.
“i am going to have to enforce a no rulers in backpack rule, if that’s okay with you.” the joke took doran by surprise and he sat in silence for a moment before he tried to stifle his laugh. but the sly grin that slowly spread on mata’s face made him break into a laugh, which in turn had minseok start to laugh too. eventually, the support separated himself from the top laner and ended up laughing with him, as the atmosphere around them slowly began to calm down.
and for the first time in many years, doran didn’t feel like a bad omen or a curse, he felt like an actual player on a team that actually cared about him.
maybe… maybe he had a chance to win worlds this year.