Chapter Text
In the domestic league, Daydream and Hyunmoo 1 have always been arch-rivals. Even without any personal grudges, finishing second seven times in a row (Hyunmoo 1) would leave anyone bitter, right?
From the start, the gap between the two organizations was already clear. Team Daydream (DD), backed by its powerful parent company, was always quicker when it came to recruiting talent. With high benefits, a strong image, and built-in popularity, it was practically a dream destination for pro players.
In contrast, Hyunmoo 1 (H1), under the Bureau, had a much tighter budget. Most of their contracts came from familiar faces — people who had been there since the team’s earliest days.
Unlike DD’s deep roster, the Bureau really revolved around just three core members:
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Choi — jungle (IGN: Choi)
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Ryu Jaekwan — dragon lane (IGN: Cheongdong)
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Park Hongrim — mid (IGN: Is)
The top lane and support positions were always hard to fill, and replacements rarely stayed long. Either they were lured away by tempting transfer contracts (especially from DD), or they simply couldn’t adapt to the Bureau’s environment. And honestly, it was understandable — support is often seen as a less important role, and top laners are used to playing independently. Dropping them into a team where everyone had been bonded for years would naturally feel isolating.
That doesn’t mean Hyunmoo 1 was weak. Consistently finishing runner-up could also be seen as proof of their strength. Their coordination was smooth and polished, their mechanics solid — especially Agent Choi, widely regarded as the best jungler, who had won multiple international solo championships.
However, the lack of roster stability eventually caught up with them. The mid laner and team captain suddenly fell ill and had to stop competing indefinitely. Of the three pillars holding the team up, only two remained. Scrambling to assemble a playable roster, Hyunmoo 1 fell into crisis for the first time — barely even able to secure second place.
The roar of the crowd was so loud it drowned out the in-game audio. Choi Yowon removed his headset, his usual smile on his lips.
“It’s okay. We did our best this time.”
He patted the shoulders of the dazed rookies after the fourth game — the final match of the grand finals.
Or rather, a crushing 4–0 defeat.
They had lost to DD countless times before, but this was the first time they’d lost so badly and so helplessly. Seeing Jaekwan trying to hold back tears, a strange feeling welled up inside Choi.
Maybe this is how she felt when she first took us in.
Choi quickly comforted his juniors, still in shock, and helped them up for handshakes. Empty reassurances like “Making it this far in your first season is already amazing” or “I thought we wouldn’t even make the stage this year” wouldn’t really help — he knew that — but he had to say something. The atmosphere couldn’t get any worse.
While the rookies shook hands half-lost in their own thoughts, he was the only one who tried to greet the opposing team warmly — partly out of courtesy, partly because one face caught his attention.
Noru, real name Kim Soleum, was DD’s new jungler. Extremely young and good-looking, he had drawn massive attention since the debut roster announcement. Many people tried digging into his profile (Choi included) and were shocked: completely blank.
A player who seemed to drop out of nowhere, with no known background, only fueled curiosity and expectations — especially since DD were seven-time defending champions.
And as if to meet — no, surpass — those expectations, Noru delivered an astonishing debut season.
Though he didn’t want to admit it, every time Choi watched his matches, analysis videos, mic checks, and of course their direct clashes, he couldn’t help but marvel.
A prodigy, for real.
Outstanding mechanics, flexible decision-making, and above all, razor-sharp macro sense earned him FMVP in his very first season.
Watching a position that once belonged to him being taken over stirred a strange feeling in Choi’s chest.
He knew he shouldn’t be jealous of a kid, but…
If his organization had more money…
If they had more sponsors…
If his juniors had better facilities…
Ah.
Blaming circumstances like this — that wasn’t like him at all.
Time kept moving forward, and what had to come would come. Hyunmoo 1 prepared for the next season. Though the two teams weren’t especially close, they occasionally crossed paths — filming season trailers, appearing on weekly esports shows, attending showmatches… And through all that, Choi — ever the extrovert — realized something:
Noru… no, Soleum… was softer than he expected.
It sounded like a strange way to describe someone, but it fit. Contrary to his sharp, composed image, in real life he gave off a surprisingly gentle presence.
In mic checks he seemed decisive, but offline he was… a little awkward. Cute, even.
So the cold heartthrob image? Just an introverted, quiet kid!
Watching him carefully hold back from dumping flour on their team during a showcase penalty, or the way his face lit up after receiving a grape soda after five hours of filming — Choi Yowon found himself smiling unconsciously.
When had his gaze started lingering on someone this much?
Thanks to moments like these, he grew closer to Soleum. Despite the age gap, they were both junglers, and Choi’s sun-like energy quickly built a good relationship with the younger player. Their teams started interacting more too. Two squads once thought to be like cats and dogs now got along oddly well (even the fans had to adjust).
But real life was real life — competition was competition. After another season, Hyunmoo 1 had clearly improved… but they weren’t the only ones improving.
“And that’s it for Hyunmoo 1! Once again they fall short — nine consecutive runner-up finishes. Two wings cannot make a spring, and the championship still eludes them. Daydream shatters their dreams as they destroy the core — and we crown our champions: DAYDREAMMMM!!!”
No matter how many times they lost, it never got easier. After two crushing seasons, Hyunmoo 1 sank into deep despair. And once again — their support player left, unable to withstand the pressure.
Before they could process that bad news, worse news arrived. Holding his trembling phone, Choi couldn’t believe his eyes:
Noru — Kim Soleum — retires from competition.
“Huh?”
Unlike the rookie on his side, Soleum was at the peak of his career — a shining national star. Why retire? Choi couldn’t understand. He tried contacting him but failed. When he asked other DD members, they all gave the same answer: Soleum chose to leave voluntarily. Reason unknown.
The star player of a rival team leaving — he should’ve felt happy. But instead, a restless feeling churned in his stomach, his mind overheating like an overloaded CPU. Even when his own support left, he hadn’t felt like this.
Maybe it’s just shock… it was so sudden…
That day, Choi felt like he had lost something incredibly important.
Whether it was luck or not, Hyunmoo 1’s support left right after the winter season, giving them time to rebuild.
But where are we supposed to find a support now? That role’s so hard to fill.
After a month of desperate searching and recruiting with no results, a thought crossed Choi Yowon’s mind: disband the team.
If this keeps going, it’s not good. The team’s morale is collapsing, and the fans are disappointed. Maybe it’s better to stop early…
But…
Ending things like this… I don’t want that at all.
He remembered their glory days — lifting the championship trophy, representing their country at the SEA Games. Who would’ve thought such a legendary team would end up like this?
Suppressing a sigh before entering the gaming house, he adjusted his expression. Since when had he started overthinking so much? Probably since becoming captain…
“I’m home~”
…
Huh?
“Ah… welcome back.”
…
Soleum?