He Is That Guy

I’m good at games.
That much was certain. Ever since I was a clueless kid in elementary school to now, with a few more years on me, I’ve always been in the top 1%. No matter the game.

But there's always someone better. I was reminded of that cruel truth about four months ago.
“Goddamn it!”
I cursed and slammed my keyboard. My expensive gaming keyboard flared with RGB lights.

“Lost again—what the actual hell...”
The enemy team had pushed into our base and was mercilessly pounding on our Nexus. All I could do was glare at the gray-toned death screen with a face twisted in frustration. Then, a line of chat from the enemy team popped up in bright red text.
[All] LVS gamgack (Serata): ㅈㄱㅊㅇ
[All] LVS gamgack (Serata): ㅇㅈ?
[All] LVS gamgack (Serata): ㅎㅎ
[All] StopBackseatPlz (Luna): ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅇㅈ
[All] That’sAGeminion (Umpa): Damn, that carry was smooth as hell

What? Jungle diff? My eyes burned with rage.
Like hell. That bastard's a pro, and he’s boasting about jungle difference against a regular player? Of course he won! If I were good enough to beat a pro in the jungle, I’d be making bank in a tournament somewhere, not grinding ranked matches here! What a shameless piece of—
“God, this is pissing me off…”

The match ended before we could even make a move. The screen shifted to the damage chart. As the jungler, I’d dealt twice as {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} much damage as our laners. These useless bastards…
[LVS gamgack: Hey, Sleepyhead]
[LVS gamgack: You there?]
I closed the damage window, sighing, only to be greeted with a message from the enemy team’s jungler. But I didn’t care what he had to say and clicked the leave button without hesitation.

“Haaah…”
I didn’t think I could focus properly if I queued up another match in this state. I was about to close the game entirely when a yellow notification flickered in my friend list.
“…What now?”

It was a friend request—from the same enemy jungler. From him. The guy who was currently a trending pro, a god-tier player with a ridiculous win rate, a handsome face, and a legion of fans wherever he went.
But all I could do was frown in disgust.
“This is what, the fifth time?”

It didn’t matter how famous he was. What mattered was that he had been on the enemy team again, and every single time we matched up, he made sure I lost—humiliatingly.
I curled my lip and clicked.
[Decline]
Did you really think I’d be thrilled to get your friend request? While I was at it, I went ahead and did something I’d been putting off for a while: blocked his ass.

Now that felt good.
LVS’s jungler, gamgack. I’ve matched against him dozens of times and never won once. While I stayed stuck in Grandmaster, struggling to break past that wall, he hit Challenger within two weeks of the new season and now floats effortlessly in the top rankings.
If there weren’t such a shortage of players in the high-tier matchmaking pool—Grandmaster and Challenger, the so-called “heavenly realm”—I wouldn’t have to face monsters like him so often. But since we both played jungle, he always ended up on the other side.

Every time I saw him in the lobby, I had to grit my teeth and play, knowing I’d just get steamrolled by the unbridgeable gap between us.
Dodge? My pride wouldn’t let me.
I grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge, downed half of it in one go, and exhaled heavily.

If I’m being honest, he’s a big part of why I’m this frustrated. Ever since we started matching, he’s been sending me friend requests after every game. If that’s not mockery, what else could it be?
It got so bad I even dreamed about it once. I dreamt he sent me a message: “Want me to teach you how to jungle?”—and even in the dream, I was livid.
“…Forget it.”

As I recalled the ridiculous humiliation I’d suffered thanks to him, something inside me snapped. A deep, bitter wave of self-awareness hit me. I was twenty-four now. Was it really worth getting this worked up over a video game?
Back at my desk, I stared at the monitor.
HOL. Full name: Hero of Legend. The number-one online game, and the centerpiece of international tournaments with massive prize pools. The kind of game where pros like gamgack raked in insane money.

Though, come to think of it, he hasn’t done much since last fall’s world championship.
There were rumors he was taking a break. Whatever the case, it was a massive game with a massive player base. I was ranked in the top 0.01%, and yet it all felt… meaningless.
I’d only kept playing because I had one lingering desire—to beat gamgack, just once.

I slowly closed my eyes, then opened them, made my decision, and quit the game. Then I uninstalled it.
The new semester started next week. Since I was returning from leave, I had a mountain of things to catch up on. There’d be no time for gaming.
 

****
I was half-right.
Between classes and a new part-time job, I was too busy to game—or even sleep.

But that only lasted through the semester. When break rolled around, I suddenly had way too much free time.
Sure, I still had my part-time job, but I’d picked it up around my class schedule, so it was only three days a week, five hours a day.
The first week of vacation was all drinking with classmates, but by week two, I was crawling the walls from boredom.

“…Maybe I’ll game a little.”
The thought slipped out, and HOL instantly came to mind. Ever since I uninstalled it, even when I went to the PC bang with friends, I always logged in with a throwaway account. My main account was gathering digital dust.
“What to do…”

I murmured as I opened my browser out of habit. I figured I’d check out the forums to see what the latest was. Just as I placed my hands on the keyboard, something caught my eye in the real-time trending list.
[Zenoris]
It was the name of an MMORPG that had been making waves lately. My mouse moved toward it like it was under a spell.

“Popular Game ‘Zenoris’ Makes Headlines With New Class Release…”
“Zenoris Unveils New Class: Dark Mage!”
“Hot off the press! Watch the new Dark Mage gameplay here…”
So a new class had dropped. Dark Mage, huh? Even the name sounded badass.
I clicked a YouTube video. On screen, a small, chibi-like character swung a staff with a pointed tip and began chaining skills.

“Hm…”
I watched the gameplay and read through the skill descriptions. It was clear right away—this class wasn’t for casuals. The combos were tight, unforgiving.
“If you mess up the order even slightly, you’re only hitting 70% of the damage output, and it drains more mana. Plus, the AoE gets reduced…”

People were excited about it, but I could tell: nine out of ten players weren’t going to be able to use this class properly.
I clucked my tongue and started downloading Zenoris.
As ridiculous as it sounded, the difficulty was exactly what hooked me.

“Well… maybe just a little…”
There was no one listening, but I mumbled my excuse anyway and sat there patiently, watching the install bar crawl forward.