Three years ago, the Magical Fight I used to play was a niche game that hardly anyone knew about, no matter how much you tried to dress it up.
It wasn't even an indie title.
It was a "custom map" that leeched off other famous games—a format somewhat unfamiliar to the average person.
The crowning point was that it was a fan-made game, a secondary creation based on a "magical girl anime."
No way that could ever be popular.
But the passion I poured into it and the joy I felt were absolutely real.
Watching a game like that vanish completely—not overnight, but over the course of three years—left a sharp pang in my chest.
Bye-bye, my precious memories.
"Is this really the end?"
I loved Magical Fight too much to just bid it a clean farewell and bury it in my memories.
It felt like the sticky emotions of an ex-girlfriend—not a game—that had been forcibly torn away from me.
A thick regret and lingering attachment settled in my heart, like someone who never got to see their closest friend on their deathbed.
"There was that Biscord channel."
Biscord, the gaming messenger app that supported voice chat, video calls, and screen sharing.
I suddenly remembered setting up a chat channel with my old Magical Fight buddies.
I installed it and logged in. Nice— the channel was still there.
[Legender vs Victory]
Online: 2 | Offline: 9
Legender: Yo
Legender: Dude, Magical Fight dead????
Victory: ???
Victory: Wtf where you been
Victory: Army enlistment???
Legender: Don't answer a question with another question
Legender: Is MF dead?
Victory: Yeah it is
Victory: Everyone from MF jumped ship to Teamfight Arena
Victory: You really had no clue? Everyone's on TFA these days?
Victory: What, been holed up in the mountains training martial arts or something?
Legender: Been tied up with some stuff
Legender: MF really bit the dust huh
Legender: Aaaaaargh! My perfect little god game!
Legender: It's gone! Kyaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!
Victory: lol
Legender: Can't we just get 10 people together for one quick game?
Legender: I miss it so bad
Legender: Miss you MF!!!!
Victory: No way can't do it can't gather
Victory: If you wanna do clan wars like the old days, absolutely not
Victory: You don't wanna just stomp newbies right? You hate that stuff
Legender: Yeah that's true
Legender: Kinda bummed tho
Victory: Quit moping and try Teamfight Arena
Victory: You'd smash straight to Challenger
Legender: Similar to MF? Seeing as everyone jumped ship
Victory: Kinda different
Victory: But you'll get hooked fast
Victory: Screen share lmk I'll show ya
Legender: OK
Times change, and old things fade away—it's only natural.
With no other choice, I started downloading the new era's big thing: Teamfight Arena.
Who knows? This might unexpectedly hit the spot.
It's different from MF, sure, but a game this massively popular must have tons of...
"What the hell! This trash game!"
Twenty minutes in, and I was already spewing curses.
This was what killed Magical Fight?
Stole all the players?
How? Why?
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—"What the hell is this trash game!"
Victory—Jeon Woo-seung—grinned at the voice coming through his headset.
It was the exact reaction he'd half-expected, which made it all the funnier.
—"So damn boring! What the hell is 'mass appeal' even supposed to mean?!"
Magical Fight, the game he and Legender had enjoyed together.
It was a well-crafted game, no doubt—but brutally difficult.
Brutal difficulty could spark a sense of achievement, but once the gap between veterans and newbies grew too wide, fresh players stopped coming, and the game died.
It was one of the classic ways skill-based games faded away.
By comparison, Teamfight Arena was far more accessible.
Easy to learn, hard to master.
One of the key ingredients for crafting a mass-appeal god game.
There had to be depth to dig into, but entry had to be a breeze.
Magical Fight was hard to learn, hardest to master.
Unless you were a total masochist, it was tough to stick with.
Woo-seung reminisced.
—"You were pretty decent, weren't you? So why the hell are you playing this baby game?!"
His voice chat partner, Legender, sounded absolutely furious.
—"This is just Magical Fight but dumbed down! This is what killed MF?!"
Memories from three years ago, when they'd been obsessed with the game together, came flooding back vividly.
MF had been fun, for sure.
But it was their own private league.
No one else knew about it.
That didn't make the memories any less shiny, though.
'Wanna come join me here?'
Victory. Jeon Woo-seung.
The living legend of Teamfight Arena. The absolute peak.
Genius. Monster. Devil. God. Teamfight Arena incarnate.
Every over-the-top title belonged to this man.
With his divine record of four domestic tournament wins, two world championships, and victory in every event he'd ever entered.
The world's most popular game by far: Teamfight Arena.
And at its peak stood Victory—Jeon Woo-seung.
'You could match me, easy.'
In his gaming career, there was exactly one rival he'd acknowledged.
Legender had never touched Teamfight Arena.
Not even though he'd been the pinnacle of its predecessor, Magical Fight.
What kind of storm would brew if that pinnacle stepped into this new battlefield?
Woo-seung smiled faintly, anticipation bubbling up.
'This'll be fun.'
—"Consumables are just potions and wards!? Blink has a three-minute cooldown!? Where the hell are the spellbooks! If you're gonna copy, at least copy it right!"
Progress.
This was progress.
Compared to Magical Fight, where every item was a consumable, Teamfight Arena—with mostly gear items—was simpler.
Compared to Magical Fight's chaotic spam of short-range teleports via Blink, Teamfight Arena—limited to one use every three minutes—was cleaner.
The spellbook system—that special mechanic for trading character growth points for immediate combat skills—was the main culprit behind Magical Fight's nightmarish difficulty. Teamfight Arena didn't have it.
That's why it blew up. Easy to jump into. Anyone could enjoy it.
But Woo-seung's old rival clearly wasn't sold.
—"It sucks! Total trash game!"
'Is this really her first time with Teamfight Arena? Does she not even know who I am?'
He couldn't say everyone knew, but...
Most gamers would at least be aware of Victory—Jeon Woo-seung.
Why didn't Legender, a hardcore gamer who'd poured her passion into the game, know about him?
Why hadn't she touched Teamfight Arena, the game dominating the global scene for three years straight?
No clue whatsoever.
'Guess I'll let her figure it out on her own.'
A mischievous glint sparked in Woo-seung's eyes as he thought it over.
He absolutely wouldn't spill it himself.
It was like a game in itself.
The protagonist hiding their true identity—that vibe.
'Looks like we've both got our secrets.'
There was a faint mechanical tint to Legender's voice.
Woo-seung quickly realized she was using a voice changer, a voice modulator.
He didn't bother asking why.
She's got her reasons.
"Woo-seung! What're you up to?"
Someone approached from behind and called out to him.
Woo-seung instantly switched his mic to off at the sound from outside the headset.
Right now, he was in the team practice room.
He couldn't let them catch on that he was a pro gamer and ruin this fun little game.
"Just showing a friend the ropes in Teamfight Arena."
The other guy, Choi Joo-an, was quite a bit older.
But after ages living in the team dorms, they'd gotten close—and practically speaking, it was hard to issue game orders politely with honorifics—so Woo-seung dropped the formalities with him.
"Learning Teamfight Arena from you? Aiming for top Challenger or something? But no one can match your mechanics."
"It won't be that bad."
"That talented, huh? Lemme see."
Joo-an peered at the screen.
The player on screen was sitting at a 20-kill, 0-death score.
But raw numbers weren't what mattered—it was the bracket.
Top Challenger players treated top 3% Diamond scrubs like bugs and turned Gold players (top 30%) into massacres down in Bronze.
"What bracket?"
"Bot match right now."
"Bot match?"
Woo-seung's answer was a total buzzkill.
A 20/0/0 or even 100/0/0 in the beginner tutorial bot match proved nothing.
"Bot" was practically slang for trash-talking players who couldn't speak, the AI was that pathetic.
The pinnacle of Teamfight Arena personally coaching a total newbie fresh off the boat?
"That's a total waste of time, isn't it? Like a college student tutoring kindergarteners."
"You don't nitpick with friends. Besides, this one's got a different vibe."
"Different vibe? Like future king material? That kinda thing?"
Joo-an chuckled, but curiosity piqued at the same time.
Who the hell was Woo-seung hyping up like this?
How far could they go?
So Joo-an committed the player's ID to memory.
Jeon Jeonseol.
Easy nickname to remember.
—"Ah, zero fun. This the right game? This killed Magical Fight?!"
"Hyung, be quiet for a sec."
Woo-seung asked Joo-an to mute, then flipped his mic back on to soothe the fuming Legender.
"It's still just the tutorial. It'll feel different once you start facing real players."
In truth, it would take quite a while before they could jump into proper ranked matches.
No need to say that and kill this monster newbie's momentum.
"Hey, Woo-seung."
Joo-an spoke up, so Woo-seung muted again.
"Seeing you this desperate to game together... girlfriend?"
"Nah, hyung. Dude."
Three years ago, Victory and Legender had played tons of games together and shared tons of stories.
Including some naughty ones.
Guys in their prime and all that.
"Then what, that kinda taste? No wonder you're an iron wall with the girl fans!"
Joo-an teased him with a grin full of mischief.
"Not like that. Just... this one's..."
What was Legender to Victory?
Woo-seung grinned as he answered.
"An awesome rival. Makes me wanna throw down for real."
Legender. Teamfight Arena rookie.
Her new ID: Jeon Jeonseol.
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