The match between MBS and CT took an unexpected turn right from the first set.

- “Oh, what a surprise! Shin Ji-ho, the player responsible for MBS’s victory, came out as the vanguard and lost miserably!”

- “CT’s vanguard, Park Jin-su, executed an early Zealot rush perfectly.”

The ace, Shin Ji-ho, who needed to secure at least three kills, was defeated in the very first set.

For MBS, who had even hoped for an all-kill, this was undoubtedly a headache.

‘What a foolish move.’

Watching the game, Lee Shin thought.

The map for the first set, Determination, was one of Shin Ji-ho’s favorites.

Coach Bang Jin-ho had likely intended for Shin Ji-ho to gain momentum by playing on a map he liked, allowing him to perform as he wished.

However, precisely because it was Shin Ji-ho’s preferred map, CT had anticipated that he might come out as MBS’s vanguard.

‘Shin Ji-ho is an idiot too.’

Why else would the struggling veteran, Park Jin-su, be chosen as the vanguard?

There was no way Park Jin-su, who was hopeless in macro play, could beat Shin Ji-ho in a long game.

So, what was his play?

Obviously, a risky early-game strategy aimed at securing a quick win.

Shin Ji-ho should have been wary of that, but he let his guard down, thinking his opponent was easy.

‘Or maybe he was just overconfident that he could block anything.’

But as a seasoned veteran, while Park Jin-su lacked multitasking ability and raw mechanics, his control was top-tier.

In tense early skirmishes, where every unit was crucial, he excelled.

- “CT seemed to have anticipated Shin Ji-ho coming out as the vanguard. Deploying veteran Park Jin-su as their first player turned out to be a brilliant move.”

- “Yes, it was a display of true veteran cunning. He completely eliminated Shin Ji-ho without even taking a loss!”

- “Ah, look at Coach Bang Jin-ho’s face on the screen. He looks really displeased.”

- “MBS is desperate for ranking points, but they’re already drifting 40 points away from their goal after just the first match.”

- “Now, moving on to the second set. With his job done, a relieved Park Jin-su will now face MBS’s second player, Park Shin. The map for set two is Andromeda.”

- “If they lose here too, MBS really will be heading to Andromeda.”

With MBS fans disappointed in Shin Ji-ho’s underperformance, the second set began.

Park Shin was a 20-year-old pro in his third year.

His name was Shin, just like Lee Shin.

His race was Human, just like Lee Shin.

Even his height was the same—183 cm.

A main player on MBS’s first team, Park Shin had chosen the Human race because he admired Lee Shin.

Unfortunately, he had earned the unfortunate nickname “Fake Shin”, but at least it made him somewhat well-known among eSports fans.

“Fake Shin! Fake Shin!”

“Fake Shin! Fake Shin! Fake Shin!”

The crowd at the stadium chanted in unison. There were chuckles mixed in, and even CT fans joined in, making it clear the chant was more teasing than actual support.

- “Park Shin, who, along with Shin Ji-ho, leads MBS’s Human lineup, has stepped up.”

- “Let’s hope divine favor is on his side to save MBS.”

The commentator’s joke sent laughter rippling through the audience.

But today was simply not MBS’s day.

Park Jin-su employed the same strategy he had used in the first set—the Center Temple Rush.

A high-risk, high-reward strategy where instead of building in his base, he constructed a Temple in the center of the map.

It was an all-in strategy sometimes used for surprise attacks, as Zealots produced from the Temple could quickly reach the enemy’s base.

And today, Park Jin-su’s Zealot control was exceptional.

A single Zealot infiltrated Park Shin’s base and managed to take down two of his builder units, the Construction Bots.

Sensing weakness, Park Jin-su doubled down, constructing additional Temples and continuously producing Zealots, refusing to let up on the attack.

Sweating profusely, Park Shin struggled to hold on but ultimately, with a look of despair, typed "GG" in the chat, signaling his surrender.

- “Ah, Park Shin has called GG!”

- “Is today just Park Jin-su’s lucky day? His Zealot control is on point, just like in the first set!”

- “He exploited the psychological gap—‘He wouldn’t use the same strategy twice, right?’”

- “Wow, Park Jin-su already has two kills today! At this rate, he might get three kills, four kills, maybe even an all-kill! MBS’s bench, preparing to send in their third player, looks miserable.”

As the third set was being prepared, the giant screen displayed the audience.

Every time the moving camera captured someone, they would wave and smile or shyly cover their faces.

Many held up signs with cheering messages they had prepared. Since pickets and pens were handed out at the stadium entrance, anyone could easily join in the cheering.

And then, it happened.

The giant screen showed Lee Shin.

Although he wore a cap and a mask, any esports insider would recognize his characteristic slouched posture.

- “Huh? Could that person on the screen be Lee Shin?”

Lee Byeong-cheol, a veteran caster with ten years of experience, recognized him instantly—even without seeing his face.

So did the analyst, Jeong Seung-tae.

- “It really seems like him. Excuse me, sir in the audience, but could you show your face? Could you be Lee Shin?”

- “Hahaha.”

The entire audience began to stir.

“Lee Shin?”

“Seriously?”

“No way!”

“Where is he?”

The murmurs grew louder.

As Lee Shin’s face continued appearing on the giant screen, he frowned. He waved his hand as if swatting away a fly, signaling the camera to move away.

- “Oh? He’s getting irritated and telling the camera to go away. That’s Lee Shin! That’s definitely Lee Shin!”

- “There’s no one else in the world with that kind of attitude.”

The excitement in the caster and analyst’s voices made the audience burst into laughter. Lee Shin’s blunt, no-nonsense personality was well known.

- “Ah, Lee Shin looks flustered. It’s like he’s thinking, ‘How did they recognize me?’”

- “He’s the only one who doesn’t know why. He’ll probably never figure it out.”

The laughter grew louder. And then…

“Kyaaaaaaah!”

“Oppa!”

“Whoa, it’s Lee Shin!”

When Lee Shin removed his mask and cap, the stadium erupted into a frenzy.

He stared straight into the camera that persistently focused on him.

Then, he raised his index finger to his lips.

Like magic, the audience’s cheers quieted down.

He followed up with a light gesture, telling the camera to move away.

Finally, the camera switched back to the game booths where the players were getting ready.

Just when it seemed like the excitement had settled and the third set could begin, chaos erupted around Lee Shin again. Fans swarmed him, requesting autographs and taking pictures with their smartphones.

- “Ah, Lee Shin came to watch the match, but he can’t even focus on the game.”

- “Indeed. Maybe we shouldn’t have pointed him out. Dear audience members, please return to your seats so that everyone can enjoy the match.”

But now, even reporters had started bombarding Lee Shin with questions.

It was inevitable.

Lee Shin had vanished after experiencing what was considered the worst incident in Korean esports history.

Now that he had reappeared, of course, chaos would ensue.

The situation escalated to the point where even the stadium staff had to step in to restore order.