The long, two-month trip to the U.S. had finally come to an end.
While we were away, portable VR devices had not only been released but also commercialized, with many budget-friendly models hitting the market—so much so that even the in-flight atmosphere had changed by the time we returned. In the premium cabin where Kessler and I were seated, portable VR devices were provided, and even those who weren’t using the airline’s devices seemed to have brought their own.
Ever since portable gaming consoles hit the shelves, gaming industry stocks had skyrocketed.
Once we ascended past a certain altitude, the seatbelt sign turned off and data connections became available. At that point, many passengers unbuckled, reclined comfortably, and slipped on their VR headsets. With roughly half the passengers logging into games, the workload and difficulty level for flight attendants had noticeably decreased.
Starting next month, they were even implementing a mealtime reminder system during gameplay—another testament to the growing influence of Kinder Games.
“Up we go.”
At the airport, I hoisted our overflowing luggage onto a cart. On the drive home in our long-term parked car, the familiar scenery of the streets stirred an unexpected sense of warmth. Kessler and I held hands, our matching rings glinting.
“Why am I so tired?”
“Lean on me, baby fox.”
“That was seriously fun, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Now that we’re back in Korea, it almost feels like we just got back from a honeymoon.”
“You adorable thing.”
We had one more day to rest, and then the day after tomorrow, the weverK summer training session would begin. Kessler, clearly not ready to part, fidgeted with my hand.
“Yeah, get in all the touching you can. You won’t see me for the next two weeks.”
“Should I come with you?”
“No.”
“What if I promise not to interfere and just sleep next to you?”
“Other married people treat it like a vacation when their partner goes on a trip—why are you so desperate to stick by me?”
“I married you so I could stick to you. How is that a vacation? When you’re gone, I cry myself to sleep.”
“Oh, please. You’re laying on the charm now.”
I slurped down an iced Americano and leaned back in my seat. Maybe it was the lingering travel fatigue, but even after chugging an energy drink the next day, I felt awful. I ended up heading to a nearby hospital.
Kessler, who had done nearly every single thing with me over the past two months, was perfectly fine—proof that this was all just due to the limits of my natural stamina.
While I was resting and hooked up to an IV, I got a message from my mom, who had returned to Korea earlier.
Mom
Woo-rim, you got home okay, right? Could you send me some game money through Fox Delivery?
[Why? I don’t have any left.]
Mom
Really? Dad and I were gonna go camping in-game.
[Mom, why did you give birth to me with such a frail body…]
Mom
???
As soon as I got home, I drained what was left of my game money and shipped it through Fox Delivery, then began packing for summer training.
Since we were required to wear standardized training uniforms featuring company sponsors, there wasn’t much need to bring casual clothes. So most of what I packed was underwear, socks, and snacks—but hidden among them was something unexpected.
It was a framed photo of Kessler. I had no memory of packing this.
“Did you put this in here?”
“Yeah. So you’ll think about me a lot while you’re there.”
“Got it.”
In the blink of an eye, the day passed. The next morning, dressed simply, I walked toward the company building with Kessler seeing me off.
“There are reporters. I’ll go alone from here.”
“Have a good day, my love.”
Across the street from the company entrance, more reporters had gathered than I’d expected. They were here to photograph me, back from a quiet overseas break and now making a public appearance for the first time in a while.
To get inside, I’d have to pass through the crowd, but they were blocking the path, making things awkward. I clutched my light travel bag and carefully tried to edge my way through a small side route when—
“When’s Poksup coming back?”
“Isn’t he just gonna ghost us again until the tournament? He didn’t even show up for the company trip.”
“No way.”
The reporters, mid-conversation, jumped in surprise when I suddenly appeared behind them—but their reflexes kicked in fast as they raised their cameras.
“Pro! We thought you weren’t coming! Can we get a ball heart, please?”
I formed a heart with my hands and asked politely,
“I’ve gained weight, so please focus more on my face rather than full-body shots.”
“You do look healthier. Did American food suit you well?”
“Oh, it really did. I gained three kilos, but lost one on the way back. Thank you.”
In the distance, I could see the long lenses of personal fan cameras aiming my way.
“Woo-rim is so handsome!”
“We missed you!”
***
Poksup, looking unchanged after gaining 3kg and losing 1kg
Poksup, “My summer hibernation is over”
“This is what true world-class casualwear looks like”
As new articles went up after a long while, the fan communities that had been anxiously awaiting any updates during the off-season finally began to stir with energy.
└That sighting of Woo-rim at the hospital was probably fake, right? He looks perfectly healthy.
└Is he really okay?
└I missed him T_T
***
Just greeting the teammates, coaches, and staff I hadn’t seen in a while took an entire hour. Normally it would’ve taken ten minutes tops…
“One more take of this scene, please.”
This time, the training process was being fully recorded for a vlog, which meant there were a few extra instructions to follow.
One scene in particular—where I gave Dealmeat a new cosmetic product as a gift—was filmed with extra care, since it was tied to a company-sponsored skincare line. Only after shooting a variety of other scenes was I able to change into my training gear.
“Is this like a vlog or something?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Killbill.”
“But didn’t you just get back from the States like two days ago? When did you shoot the ad?”
“That was three months ago.”
“Whaaat?”
“…Back when my face was looking real fresh.”
“I think you look even better now, though?”
“Well, I did eat a ton—gained three kilos, but dropped one yesterday.”
It felt a little awkward to admit I was the only one who got picked for a skincare ad even though we all won together. There was a brief article when I signed the contract, but it got buried under the championship news. I guess he remembered.
The ad’s concept was in line with weverK’s new season theme—renewing your skin. Since I’d be going to the U.S. and eating a lot, the advertiser agreed to shoot in advance while I was in peak condition. And since the end of the season is when I’m usually the leanest, I tend to schedule shoots and campaigns around that time anyway.
“Man, I better start taking care of my skin too if I wanna land an ad,” Dealmeat muttered, smoothing the plump skin on his cheeks.
After wrapping up our company schedule, we boarded the team bus and headed for the airport. We got there faster than expected, only to find even more reporters than outside the office. Flashes exploded from every direction, making it hard to keep my eyes open. Still, I forced my eyes to stay wide and held up the Lumino box camera like a proper brand model.
Title: Who keeps blinding the players with camera flashes (21)
└That must hurt their eyes;
└Seriously, who is that jerk? Show your face!
Title: Poksup’s professionalism is unreal (64)
Look at our champ holding his eyes open in the photo zone.
└How does he even do that?
└The photo zone is one thing, but can some fans stop blasting them with lasers;;
└This is wild, he should’ve been an idol
└Meanwhile, Pokki has his eyes shut in every pic lol so cute
└They’re athletes, not idols. Stop blinding them.
└Their eyes are precious—at least give them sunglasses
Once the departure process was over, I collapsed into my seat on the plane as the team briefing for the training camp began. It was rare for championship teams to maintain their performance into the next season. That’s why resetting our mindset and refocusing on the present was crucial.
This summer training wasn’t just about drills—it was a process to realign our loosened team dynamic, compensate for each member’s weaknesses, and build synergy from all angles to enter a new phase.
“Can’t we just rest for the flight? Do we have to do this?”
Tablets had been handed out to all team members. We were tasked with reviewing gameplay footage from last season’s losses and analyzing what went wrong—what we should’ve done to counteract the issues, and how we could work together better. The results had to be submitted upon arrival.
“We really have to write all this before we land? We lost ‘cause we sucked, end of story.”
“They said to write down exactly how we sucked.”
“Even analyze our teammates?”
“Yup.”
“This is basically asking us to throw shade.”
Dealmeat and I had done this kind of thing before, every season, so we were used to it. But for the newer members, it was clearly difficult. Especially the younger ones—they were part of the same team, but the experience gap between us was significant.
Dealmeat and I were seasoned veterans with championship history under our belts. These guys were at most three years into their careers. They were obedient to a fault, following our lead without question, but not confident enough to take charge themselves.
Watching the youngest struggle with his pen, face full of confusion, I asked gently,
“What, you think I’m gonna eat you?”
“That’s not it, but…”
“Coach, these guys are scared of us.”
“Why are you scared of him? Is Poksup your boss? He your coach?”
“……”
Forcing something on someone who’s clearly uncomfortable is always awkward. But this exercise was necessary—for the team. If we were going to overcome our weaknesses, we needed better communication.
And most of all, poor communication had been the biggest reason for our losses. It’s not like I read every situation perfectly, but everyone relied on my decisions by default. Even if they had differing opinions, they were too hesitant to voice them.
In my old team, our experience levels were similar. We’d known each other for ages—like brothers. We could trade opinions instantly and without sugarcoating. But this team? Way too passive. Dealmeat was the only one who could fill the gap thanks to his longer tenure.
But you can’t force communication. We’d already tried rotating shot-calling duties, but it only worked temporarily.
What we really needed now was to get closer as people. I scratched out everything I had written about each member’s strengths and weaknesses and condensed it into a single sentence:
‘Let’s hit the sauna when we arrive. We seriously need to bond.’
And when it came to guys bonding fast, there was one place that always did the trick.
