Chapter 32: Let’s make logging out a habit.

“Let’s call it a day for now. Don’t get too discouraged just because we lost. It’s not the main game, just a scrim.”

After a crushing defeat in the scrim, Coach Jackie decided to dismiss the players.

He had already kept them too long, losing track of time.

Today wasn’t the only day. Pushing further would only lead to exhaustion and burnout.

However, players rarely understood this perspective.

It’s hard to keep a clear head after a loss.

Reactions typically fell into two categories:

Either players would respond with quiet dejection, or they’d be fired up, demanding to practice more.

As someone who had coached even in the second division of the pro scene, Jackie thought he could predict their reactions.

But this time, he was wrong.

“Yeah, totally. Losing happens sometimes.”

“We can win next time, right?”

“Well, I’m heading out first!”

“Good work, everyone.”

“Thanks for today… see you later.”

“Oh, yes! Good job. See you next time.”

Jackie exchanged farewells with his departing team members, scratching his head in surprise.

The atmosphere wasn’t bad.

They weren’t sulking, nor were they overly obsessive about the loss.

Instead, the group disbanded in a relatively positive mood.

For an amateur team, this was a rare occurrence.

Had something happened?

Was there a mood-maker in the team?

Shrugging it off, Jackie decided it was a good thing.

At least, he didn’t have to worry about their mental state.

After all, no matter how much a coach tried, mental resilience ultimately depended on the players themselves.

Once everyone had left, Jackie began reviewing the scrim, analyzing the reasons for their defeat one by one.

“Hmm…”

He let out a deep sigh.

There were so many issues that it was hard to know where to start.

Disjointed teamwork, players failing to fulfill their roles, and in-game communication that was more noise than strategy.

While these were all problems, the most significant issue stood out:

“The main caller is the problem.”

The absence of a main caller—a leader to guide the team during fights—was critical.

Currently, Ryuah had been assigned as a temporary caller, but calling it a strategy was generous.

Typically, support players positioned in the backline handled this role, so she had given it a try.

However, as a silver-tier player with limited game knowledge, it was too much to expect from Ryuah.

Jackie hadn’t anticipated much, so he let it slide.

Even if Tex or Cheolwoo had taken the role, it would have been difficult.

Despite their higher ranks and experience in team games, their positions made it tough.

As frontliners who had to face enemies directly, managing calls mid-fight was no easy task.

Even professionals required extensive practice to pull it off.

Players accustomed to solo queues often struggled with team play dynamics.

Still, teaching high-rank players was easier since they had a solid foundation of game knowledge.

Jackie began reviewing the players’ gameplay one by one, considering who could take on the role of main caller.

Among the backline players…

First, Ryuah, who had just tried it.

From her perspective, she already seemed overwhelmed with her tasks.

Then there was PoppyZoa, another support-type player like Ryuah.

She seemed slightly better off than Ryuah.

She had claimed to have plenty of experience as a medic and bard, and her gameplay showed no hesitation.

At the very least, she always seemed to know what needed to be done in the moment.

While she got flustered during unpredictable situations, her overall performance was decent.

However, there was one fatal flaw.

“She doesn’t talk much.”

She was probably naturally quiet and reserved, but it seemed even worse during gameplay.

This is a common trait among solo queue players—the type to go silent when they focus.

While PoppyZoa’s gameplay was solid, expecting her to also take on the role of shot-caller seemed unrealistic.

If she were assigned the role, it might negatively affect her performance, creating a situation where priorities became misplaced.

That left only one candidate.

The sniper perched high above, elegantly observing the battlefield from her vantage point.

It was as if she naturally regarded everyone else as beneath her.

Jackie turned his gaze to her and thought to himself, “What a shame.”

To be honest, Jackie didn’t want to assign the shot-caller role to Molu.

In his eyes, Molu had the most potential as a damage dealer among the four teams.

That’s why he had taken the risk to recruit her, even at a significant cost.

As the most expensive acquisition on the team, Jackie had wanted to create an environment where Molu could focus solely on unleashing her full potential.

But things hadn’t gone as planned, and it was entirely his fault.

He had been outbid by other coaches in the unfamiliar auction system.

Still, he considered it a relief that he had at least managed to secure Molu.

With a sigh, Jackie turned his attention to Molu’s POV.

Bang—

Nothing particularly extraordinary stood out.

Molu had picked her signature sniper and was playing flawlessly.

The only issue was that the opponents were countering her too effectively.

Her snipes were consistently blocked by the massive shield of an armored soldier, preventing her from landing any kills.

This was a chronic issue for snipers and one of the reasons the role had fallen out of favor in the professional scene.

When a sniper can’t penetrate a shield, they become powerless.

In situations like this, what’s needed is firepower—

Overwhelming firepower capable of breaking the armored soldier’s shield.

The only one capable of delivering such firepower was Tex, who was currently playing the Bomber.

As expected, Molu shifted her focus to Tex.

Her judgment didn’t betray the experience she had gained from countless matches of AOWR.

However, a question flitted through Jackie’s mind.

It had happened so naturally that he hadn’t consciously noticed it at first.

“How is she so fast…?”

Jackie rewound the footage 30 seconds to reanalyze the moment Molu shifted her focus to Tex.

The instant her first shot was blocked by the shield, she immediately looked toward Tex.

When she realized Tex wasn’t in a position to help, she gave up on breaking the shield entirely and started harassing the enemy mage instead.

Her decision-making speed was on par with Jackie’s own analysis in hindsight.

Seeing her own gameplay speed match that of a third-party observer analyzing the match left Jackie with chills.

“If she’s this good, she’s practically at a pro level.”

And yet, she’s only ranked as a Master?

This exceeded Jackie’s expectations.

He nodded to himself, thinking that maybe those rumors circulating in the gallery about Molu being professional-tier weren’t entirely baseless.

The same patterns continued as the match went on.

She harassed the enemy mage on the frontlines while simultaneously saving PoppyZoa from an assassin sneaking around the back.

Her screen flicked rapidly in every direction—what sensitivity setting was she even using?

She didn’t miss a single detail: where allies were positioned, how the enemies were moving—it was all under her control.

It was astonishing to see someone scan the battlefield so thoroughly while moving their camera that quickly.

“Her awareness is just… unreal.”

Though she didn’t speak, she was already fulfilling the role of a command center flawlessly.

On top of that, she casually fended off an assassin targeting her, nearly turning the situation around and taking them out instead.

She maintained a level of calm confidence while focusing on her gameplay.

If anything, she seemed more than capable of taking on the role of main shot-caller.

However, one concern lingered in Jackie’s mind.

“What if her sniper gets banned?”

Few damage-dealer characters offer the same level of backline support as a sniper.

Even those with long ranges would need to position themselves closer to the center of the battlefield.

Being at the heart of the action while calling the shots is a daunting task, even for pros.

Could Molu maintain her sharp awareness and leadership if forced to play from the middle?

That was something to verify in the next scrim.

Though it was something only top-tier players could pull off, Jackie had a hunch that Molu might just be able to manage it.

A new video had been uploaded.

Or rather, three videos.

Waking up at the crack of dawn, I found them on my channel.

One was a recording of my first stream.

Another was a montage-style edit of my gameplay highlights.

The last was a video of my recent “Food Combination World Cup” stream.

It had only been a day since I met Siyoung again and signed the contract.

Does this person even sleep?

I texted them to ask if they were okay. Siyoung replied that these videos had already been prepped in advance.

When I asked what they would’ve done if I hadn’t hired them as my editor, Siyoung simply said they would’ve just emailed the videos.

What is that, unpaid labor?

Scrolling through the uploaded videos, I skimmed the comments.

Most people seemed to share the same opinion: overwhelmingly positive feedback.

I had definitely made the right call in hiring an editor.

Even though the videos had only been live for a few hours, the view count was already impressive, and I felt satisfied as I scrolled further down the comments.

Then I saw it—a comment I couldn’t ignore, left on the food combination video.

“This person really has no taste lol. Skipping pineapple pizza?”

Forgetting that my YouTube account was logged in, I instinctively replied to the comment.

“I’m an 82-year-old from the countryside… Even my dog, Nureongi, would refuse pineapple pizza.”

Smiling smugly, I double-checked my comment and saw replies pouring in.

It was only then that I realized.

Ah, I forgot to log out.