Chapter 10: Avoid leaking sensitive info during live broadcasts.

Unlike the intense curiosity surrounding Legendary, there was an unexpected lull after Victory’s verification stream, with no new developments or hints.

As speculation grew that Legendary had fled due to the pressure of Victory’s mention, suddenly, she returned—appearing as a guest on Victory’s stream.

Legendary: “You’re always playing games on weekday mornings too, huh?”

Legendary: “Are you unemployed?”

Legendary: “Or is it just school break?”

Laughter.

That whisper of a comment could only bring laughter.

And so, Victory laughed.

<What is she even saying?>

<Did she just ask Victory if he’s unemployed???>

<Unemployed (Salary: $10 million a year)>

<It’s just a joke, no need to take it seriously.>

For a moment, the chat couldn’t process the whisper’s absurdity.

A gamer, a Teamfight Arena player,

Not knowing Victory?

A name even non-gamers and casual players recognize?

It was an impossible joke.

But then, Victory’s response threw everyone off.

“I’m playing a fun game right now—seeing how long I can go without her realizing I’m a pro. Can you guys help me out?”

What they had thought was just a joke—Victory was claiming it wasn’t.

<How is that even possible?>
<Did she live in a cave or something?>

<A 50-0 newbie who doesn’t know Victory is a pro. Victory’s only recognized rival. This… this actually works…>
<Why does this feel like a movie plot?>
<Honestly, Victory himself already feels like a protagonist. Winning every tournament he’s ever entered.>
<So this is what it means to be the main character? Even his friend’s life is cinematic.>
<Victory, you’re amazing!>
<The undefeated champion and his mysterious rival… My heart!>

<Wait… I think I just got hit by something.>
<Bro-mance??? Ugh! My head!>

It had often been said that idol and pro-gamer fandoms shared similarities.

Even in small ways, like how fans would get excited over a deep, almost storybook-like friendship between two men.

Some professional teams even subtly edited their content to play into this dynamic.

Whether the players involved actually agreed to it? No one could say for sure.

Of course, not everyone bought into this story.

It was too far-fetched.

A Teamfight Arena player not recognizing that Victory was a professional?

Impossible.

<She’s just leeching. Acting like she doesn’t know him to ride his fame.>
<Feels like she’s planning a big streamer debut… She probably has a main account already.>

Victory spotted the suspicious comments in chat.

The accusation—was Legendary using him for clout?

But that was underestimating Victory.

It was treating him like some naive, clueless child.

Victory.

A man rumored to earn over $10 million a year.

The most popular professional gamer in the world.

Naturally, he attracted countless parasites.

Not just random fans—but old friends, distant relatives, former teachers, even people who had once lived in his neighborhood.

Anyone with even the smallest connection tried to get a taste of his success.

And then, there were those who actively resented him.

People who despised success.

People desperate to find a flaw, any flaw, in him.

But no one ever could.

Victory was, surprisingly, free of any scandals.

Unlike many other pro gamers, he had never been caught in any serious controversy.

No school bullying accusations, no inappropriate relationships, no power-tripping incidents.

Not even gaming-related issues like account boosting or bug exploitation.

Not even minor things like trash talk or toxic behavior.

At a young age, Victory had matured faster than most.

Some people called him a fool who only knew how to play games—but they were mistaken.

Someone who truly only knew how to game wouldn’t have been able to navigate his career without a single major controversy.

Victory had earned his recognition.

Not just for his gameplay.

But for his ability to handle himself outside the game, too.

And so, he was certain.

Legendary wasn’t that kind of person.

She wasn’t some desperate leech, hiding her true nature while trying to cling onto his success.

<Do you really think someone Victory personally acknowledged would pull something that pathetic?>
<Why would someone with pro-level skills and infinite earning potential fake a persona just to gain a bit of streaming fame? LOL>

The chat was now full of messages that echoed Victory’s own thoughts.

Victory was satisfied.

It felt good to have someone who truly understood him.

To most people, becoming a successful streamer was a dream, a goal to strive for.

But for someone acknowledged by Victory himself, that dream was far too small.

Legendary: *”You ignore my whispers every time, you **.”

Legendary: “Can’t you at least answer after a teamfight?”

…Maybe she really wasn’t thinking much at all.

And Victory liked that.

He liked that there was someone who treated him not as the famous pro gamer Jeon Woo-seung, but just as a gaming friend, Victory.

<I’m so jealous they can talk so casually with Victory.>
<Stop sending free donos, stop sending free donos.>
<Victory, do you swear and mess around with your friends too? This is so nice.>
<Who do you think you are acting all close with Victory, huh? Grrr.>
<I thought Victory was just a gaming machine?>
<Wait, he actually has a personality?>

Viewers were amused by this unexpected side of Victory—his humanity.

‘Maybe I did ignore her a bit too much.’

Victory had a habit of ignoring whispers entirely while streaming and only replying after his broadcast ended.

By the time he responded, Legendary was often already gone.

Even though whispers were saved like letters, she probably found it frustrating.

Victory: “Sorry.”

Victory: “I’m in full focus mode.”

So this time, even while streaming, he made an effort to respond.

At the time, Victory had no idea.

That this small action would set everything into motion.

Legendary: “Hey, I checked out your YouTube channel.”

Legendary: “You’ve got some old highlight clips saved there. LOL.”

Legendary: “You should watch them too.”

Legendary: “Makes you wanna play Teamfight Arena, huh?”

Legendary: “(YouTube link)”

Victory quickly hid his chat.

But at the same time, he knew.

With VOD replays available, anyone who wanted to see that link could easily find it.

Legendary’s YouTube link had been exposed.

“Everyone, let’s pretend we didn’t see that.”

Even as he pleaded, Victory knew.

Even if many viewers ignored it, some would definitely go check it out.

“Guess the game of hiding my pro status ends here.”

Victory: “I was streaming when you sent that link, and now it’s out.”

Victory: “If there’s anything personal on there, take it down.”

Victory: “I’d recommend locking the channel too.”

Legendary: “?”

Legendary: “You’re streaming?”

Victory: “Yeah, and quite a few people are watching.”

Victory: “You should deal with this fast.”

Legendary: “Lol, my channel doesn’t have anything special.”

Legendary: “Not worried at all.”

Victory: “Then that’s a relief.”

Victory: “Sorry about that.”

Legendary: “No need to apologize.”

Legendary: “Wait, so the reason you never answered me before was because you were streaming?”

Legendary: “Wow, what a hilarious guy. LOL.”

Victory had done what he needed to do—

He explained the situation and warned his friend.

Luckily, there was no sensitive information on her channel.

Still, maybe being so secretive about his streaming was a mistake.

He’d been handling everything so maturely, but reuniting with an old friend made him act a little more like a kid again.

“Then again… maybe this will light a fire under Legendary?”

“I’m coming to take down the number one.”

He hadn’t forgotten her words.

But what would happen when she realized that “number one” wasn’t just ranked first,

but the undisputed best pro gamer in the world?

He didn’t expect anything.

But for some reason…

He kept picturing Legendary stepping onto the pro stage.

Facing off against him.

The thought excited him.