FBPP C11

Chapter 11

“Wow… this guy’s the real deal. Is he a wall or something? Damn… what kind of life does a bastard have to live to turn out like this?”

Had there ever been a time he felt this drained? In games, no matter how much they flamed each other, there was always a clear reason both sides were pissed. But this—this was different. That guy was just picking fights for no reason. Even when Ji-han asked why, he never answered—just kept needling and provoking. Ji-han fought back, got aggressive, but the guy gave him nothing. All it left him with was exhaustion.

If AkashaPhilban at least played like crap, Ji-han could’ve gone at him tooth and nail, unleashing his full rage. But the bastard played without a single mistake, leaving Ji-han no opening. He just kept getting baited, falling into the rhythm, losing his cool, blowing up—and looking like a fool for it.

If he pressed the issue any further, he’d only end up looking desperate and pathetic.

Forget it. Just ignore him. Maybe the guy’s just sick in the head.

During his downtime, Ji-han’s life was monotonous.

With a career that had dragged him all over the world, his sense of time had long since been destroyed. Adjusting to jet lag had become impossible; unless he set an alarm, he woke whenever his body felt like it.

Today, Ji-han woke up at 3 p.m. Compared to yesterday, that was a full two hours earlier—progress, considering that in his first week back in Korea, he’d been waking up at 11 p.m.

Instead of pulling back the thick blackout curtains, he flicked on the lights.

Breakfast was nothing more than milk with a protein shake. After downing that, he drove ten minutes to a private gym.

Without an expensive membership, you couldn’t get in. And even with money, not just anyone could get one. The place catered to top-tier celebrities, professional athletes, and other public figures who wanted to exercise out of sight.

After stretching and taping his wrists for protection, Ji-han massaged his stiff shoulders and sat at the bench press machine. To avoid injury, he focused on machines rather than free weights.

With steady breathing, he pushed and pulled the handles. Soon enough, his chest tightened under the strain.

He had an upcoming talk show that would air nationwide, and the thought nagged at him. He’d been holed up at home gaming, and sure enough, his muscles had deflated. No matter how much protein he downed or how consistently he trained, the moment he rested, his muscles vanished like air from a balloon. Keeping them up was maddeningly tedious.

Evolution had messed up. Why the hell did the body burn muscle first? Humanity poured all its points into the brain, leaving people like him—people who had to face cameras—cursing their fate.

Too skinny, and people sneered, calling him gay. Put on a bit of weight, and they sneered again, calling him fat. Sometimes Ji-han wondered if he was a pianist or a celebrity. The worst part? It wasn’t just the general public. Even classical music fans looked down on pianists who gained weight.

He recalled the face of a colleague who’d been practically crucified by fans for gaining weight after marriage.

Ji-han grabbed a bottle of water from the gym’s fridge. Since shoulders and chest showed most under clothes, he planned to hit those hard today.

The gym was massive, with wide spaces between equipment. Heading for the side lateral raise machine—great for hitting the delts—he rounded a corner and collided shoulder-first with someone.

Damn. What the hell, a brick wall?

He cursed internally, but his mouth automatically formed an apology.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you around the corner.”

His water bottle rolled across the floor. The other person bent to pick it up and handed it back.

“No, I should be the one apologizing. You’re not hurt, are you?”

…What the hell was with that voice?

It was the best voice Ji-han had ever heard. Deep, low, yet languid and smooth—so much so it almost tickled his ears.

Accepting the bottle, Ji-han finally looked up. But his gaze landed far higher than expected.

Seo Ji-han was 180cm. The man he’d bumped into was at least 190, if not more. His tank top revealed broad shoulders, a wide ribcage. Part of it was surely from training, but the sheer frame looked naturally huge.

An athlete? Yet his face was too striking—handsome to the point of familiarity. Maybe an athlete who also did ads?

“Yeah, I’m fine. How about you?”
“I’m fine too.”

The man gave a light shrug, muscles flexing, full and taut.

Damn, unfair. Ji-han could work out till death and still never bulk like that. Sure, with sheer willpower he could pack some on, but it wouldn’t suit his face. Some men were simply built to wear muscle, and this one was.

For a split second, he wondered if the guy juiced. But he shook it off—those bones alone were proof enough. Muscle came naturally with a frame like that. Definitely an athlete. Instinctively rolling the wrist of the arm he’d bumped, Ji-han gave a slight nod.

“Alright then, I’ll be going.”

He brushed past the man. Near the trash can, he almost tossed the bottle but stopped, clutching it again.

He didn’t think the guy was creepily watching him, but just in case anyone else’s eyes were on him, he wasn’t about to risk getting caught in a careless act.

After an hour of weights and an hour of cardio, Ji-han returned home around seven and played piano for four hours.

That was his whole day: wake, eat, work out, play piano. The rest was all gaming.

JiniHaniJihani has destroyed an enemy tower.

[All] MalaTangPro (Urs): Hey, Jacqueline, is this a smurf account?? Or are you boosted??
[All] JellyUnderToeBeans (Sains): Definitely a smurf, no way this is Plat mechanics. Farming low ranks, shameless as hell.

As if he enjoyed being stuck here. Ji-han wanted nothing more than to climb out fast.

Then stop banning me, damn it. No cheats, no boosting—he played like a normal human. Was it that hard? Just the basics, that was all he asked.

But carrying had limits. Without teammates to back him, it didn’t matter if Ji-han took down two enemies at the start of a fight. What was the point of a 5v3 if his ADC got killed while he was away?

He could assassinate the enemy leader, but if his tank missed initiation and fumbled the timing, the fight fell apart.

Xenox was a 5v5 game. No matter how much Ji-han raged across the field, once the enemy team focused him, he had no way out. With hit-stun mechanics, even grazing a skill could mean instant death.

He’d become a carry machine. And that meant teammates should’ve adapted—splitting enemy attention, setting up distractions, throwing in feints to confuse opponents about his pathing. But no, they had no clue.

Explaining strategy in chat and marking positions had its limits. A fight changed by the second; it was impossible to track all ten players, their skills, and their cooldowns.

He wasn’t some dark warlock pulling the strings of four puppets.

At this point, he almost missed AkashaPhilban. At least that bastard had played well. If he was thinking that, Plat must’ve finally rotted his brain. He was losing his mind.

[Team] JiniHaniJihani (Jacqueline): Pierre, for fuck’s sake—save the barrier, and when their melee dives, slap it on our ADC. Is that really so hard??
[Team] Anaksunamoon (Pierre): I mean, I want to, but when their sub-tank comes in, our ADC always gets dragged no matter what;;

Unbelievable. He was gonna lose it.

These guys couldn’t comprehend top-tier logic. They followed Ji-han’s calls only because he was carrying, not because they understood them.

They didn’t know why. Why he told them to drop the lane, why he said to hold the enemy tank instead of killing it. Ten minutes ago, in the same situation, they’d listened. Ten minutes later, they acted like it was a whole new game, pushing the lane instead. If he told them to save a skill, they just… never used it, not until the fight was already over.

They couldn’t make active decisions. They were like newborn infants, waiting for Ji-han to puppeteer every limb.

“Well, better than stubborn dumbasses who won’t listen at all.”

At least these ones could learn. There was room to grow.

[Team] JiniHaniJihani (Jacqueline): Next buff’s tank buff, right? Their tank’s level 29, so respawn’s at least 40 seconds, yeah? If we beat him low then finish him, their timers get screwed, right?
[Team] JiniHaniJihani (Jacqueline): We’ve got fewer towers, yeah? Buff monster spawns on the losing side, right? So Gor’nil’s coming up on our side. Without their tank, they either give it up or come down blind, right?
[Team] JiniHaniJihani (Jacqueline): If we drop lane, support and sub-tank just cover side paths, we win vision, right? And dead players don’t get buff, right?
[Team] JiniHaniJihani (Jacqueline): Gor’nil gives defense buff, yeah? Tank buff, right? If we get it, our main tank turns into a brick wall, right? Even our DPS can take a few hits, yeah? Then we march straight into their base and knock down the inner towers.

He stopped moving entirely, venting through furious typing. Because they’d failed to understand, they’d killed the enemy tank outright, pushed the lane, and now they were going to throw away Gor’nil—an incredible buff: +12% max HP, +15% defense, +60 movement speed. All wasted, forcing them into a midlane teamfight instead.

Weren’t the pros supposed to stream this game? Couldn’t they teach this basic shit?

[Whisper] MondaytoSunday: Hey

What now? He was already pissed, and now some pest was buzzing in his ear. He’d come home, left the game open, and played piano—and during that time, this guy had already sent him over ten whispers. And his mailbox? All filled with the same useless one-word message: “Hey.”

As HanJiHanJang, he’d long since grown numb to stalker-like pests like this. Ji-han cleared the mails and ignored the whispers entirely.

[Whisper] MondaytoSunday: Talk to me after the match

Why the hell should he? State your purpose first, at least. He had zero interest in entangling himself with some random pest.

Ding!

Ji-han dropped a ping.