He Is That Guy

All the blood in my body went cold. The expectation that had swelled without limit burst with a pop and vanished without a trace.
“……”
“And it’s loud here, so I didn’t quite catch what you said just now.”
His cheeks, which had been faintly flushed, drained white in an instant. Before the frozen Chae could protest, an unfamiliar voice cut in between them.
“Yu Jihan!”
One of the teammates who’d played with him. The AD carry, was it?
“Why are you standing there? The interview’s starting right now.”
“Shit. I’m coming, I’m coming.”
The teammate slung an arm around Yu Jihan’s shoulder and urged him on, and Jihan bent slightly to match his pace. Then he flicked one last glance at Chae and immediately turned his back.
“You said you didn’t sleep yesterday—you look wrecked.”
“A little?”
“Hey, we still need dinner. We said we’d get beef if we won.”
Their voices faded away. Chae watched the back of Yu Jihan until he stepped into the interview booth; only when the door closed did he lower his head.
‘How…….’
How can you not remember at all? It’s only been four years. Only four years.
I even dreamed about you, over and over. I kept waiting for this day. So why don’t you remember me? I told you my name……
—Yeah, I’ll remember.
The answer he’d given four years ago when Chae told him his name rang in his ears. The lips that had curved gently as he looked at him, the kind hand that had patted his head.
He felt wronged and miserable. It was like being betrayed. Chae bit his lip and barely swallowed the grief rising to his throat. In his bloodless face, only the skin around his eyes flushed red.
The face of the boy who had playfully told him to call him oppa next time they met overlapped with the face of the young man who didn’t recognize him and wore an awkward smile.
Then a monstrous wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Chae let out a long, hollow breath.
‘Right…….’
The truth was… he knew. This wasn’t Jihan being bad. It was never that. He’d never been someone who left a mark on anyone—Jihan included.
Jihan hadn’t maliciously ignored him; how could Chae truly blame him?
A headache like his skull would split open hit. Eyes squeezed shut, Chae dragged his weary body away.
All at once, the air around him felt icy. Shoulders drooping like a wounded animal, he shuffled forward on powerless feet.

 
****
Back in Seoul, Chae was laid up with a fever for a full week. Even so, the image of Yu Jihan never left his head; it surfaced every single moment.
At this point, Chae essentially declared surrender to Yu Jihan. In his heart, he wanted to forget him and move on. But now, that was nearly impossible.
Just facing a Jihan who had forgotten him had shocked him into a week in bed; how was he supposed to neatly forget someone like that? No matter how resentful, some things simply can’t be done.
‘This hurts…….’
For the first time, Chae found his broken brain unbearable. If he could live like other people, he wouldn’t have to go through pain like this. His abnormal fixation was crushing.
So Chae started playing the game “Hiore” that Yu Jihan played. At least when he played, he could forget—just a little—the feeling that clenched his chest.
He looked up guides, copied Jihan’s plays, and focused on the game; three months flew by. Around then, the woman told Chae to move out of the mansion. It was spring of the year he turned nineteen.
Living alone in a large apartment, Chae went only to and from school, met no one, and poured himself into Hiore. He’d always been better than most at games; once he set his mind and put in the hours, his skill skyrocketed.
“Honestly, your mother… good grief……”
Hearing late that Chae had moved to an apartment and was living alone, Yoo Kyung-seok came by. Beating his chest with a pained expression, he asked:
“Hey, Yu-jeong. Are you really okay living alone?”
“I don’t care.”
He was living alone, sure, but the woman still covered his expenses and sent someone to clean, so nothing was inconvenient. It wasn’t much different from the mansion anyway.
“Are you taking your meds?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Don’t skip them. And call me right away if anything {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} happens……”
As he sighed deeply at Chae’s flat attitude and launched into his usual nagging, he happened to see the monitor past Chae’s chair and startled.
“Wait, that’s Hiore. You play Hiore?”
Kyung-seok had shown up right before Chae queued solo ranked, so the client was still up. It wasn’t anything to hide; Chae just gave a lazy nod.
“Since when?”
“Four months ago.”
“Four months? You hit Diamond I in four months? Whoa, your solo queue win rate is over 70%?”
At Diamond I, a few more wins would promote him to Master.
More than anything, hitting that high a tier in just four months while keeping a 70% win rate—that was flat-out genius.
‘He got hooked on Hiore after watching that tournament in Busan!’
A born gaming nerd who’d also been a pro himself, Kyung-seok misunderstood that Chae had fallen for games the way he had.
“Yu-jeong, want to try out for our team? With a year of practice, you could absolutely play pro.”
“Not interested.”
“No way! How could you not be? Are you worried about failing? Have some confidence!”
“I said I’m not interested.”
“Don’t just stay home alone—if you moved into the team housing, it’d be great. I’ll call the head coach right now and set a trial date. Just try it once, okay?”
“……”
Annoyed that Kyung-seok wasn’t even pretending to listen, Chae knit his brow. He was about to refuse again when, faster than that, Kyung-seok lit up and kept selling it.
“If you become a pro, you’ll make a lot of friends among the players. And Hiore users love it when they run into pros in solo queue. You can grind without worrying about what anyone thinks.”
He rattled off all the things that might appeal to someone much younger than him. And the part that snagged Chae’s heart was none other than “users like pro players.”
“Really?”
“Huh?”
“Do they really like them? The users… when they meet pros?”
Momentarily taken aback by the sparkle in Chae’s eyes, Kyung-seok nodded readily.
“Of course. I know from experience. Even opponents type in all chat that they’re fans.”
“…I’ll just try the test.”
“Seriously? For real? You can’t take that back. I’m calling the coach right now to set it up.”
Phone in hand and visibly excited, he started dialing. Watching him talk to the coach, Chae—by now out of habit—thought of Yu Jihan.
On Yoo Kyung-seok’s recommendation, Chae took the LVS team entry test and, naturally, passed. The plan was set: train as a trainee for a year, then debut at the Spring split next March.
Leaving the apartment for team housing, Chae began learning the game more systematically among the head coach, coaching staff, and senior pros. Before he knew it, he’d climbed to the top of Master and was on the verge of promoting to Challenger.
That fall, nineteen years old, after the usual scrim block, he queued for late-night solo ranked. He noticed the enemy jungler’s username felt extremely familiar.
“—Hah……”
Without meaning to, he sucked in a gasp, clapped a hand over his mouth, and stared like he’d burn through the loading screen. Even after rubbing his eyes and checking several times, the enemy jungler’s name didn’t change.
“Oh, Jeo’s on the other team?”
Right then, the team’s mid laner, Seo Tae-young, happened to walk behind him, saw Chae’s screen, and chimed in. Chae, who’d been zoned out staring at the monitor, snapped back at that.
“You know him? This ‘Jeo Jolryeoyo’…?”
“Jihan? We’re super tight. You’ve come up, huh? Running into Jihan in solo queue. His jungle’s good.”
At the boastful explanation, Chae’s chest burned for no good reason. It infuriated him how casually Seo called him “Jihan” and claimed they were close.
He knew perfectly well that Yu Jihan was good at jungle!
But as someone who was nothing to Jihan, there was no way Chae could say any of that. Clamping his lips shut in frustration, he fixed his focus on the monitor where the game had begun.
His first game meeting Yu Jihan. He would focus no matter what and remember it from start to finish. Just in case, Chae even started a screen recorder.