When I was eliminated from the Nate Ongamenet round of 16, people called it a ‘phenomenon.’ And when that happened, the players that defeated me in a match became a star.

“You said he defeated Lim Yohwan? Then does that mean that he plays the game better than Lim Yohwan?”

I had entered the finals three times consecutively. Of the three times, I was first place two times and second place once. Whenever I entered a tournament, I had always played winning matches, and it was taken for granted that I would always enter the finals. But that came to me as a tremendous burden. Some players were happy to enter the round of 8, and others were satisfied just to have entered the semifinals for the first time. But for me, there were fans that would even demand, “Why did you place second?”

No matter how excellent a progamer may be, he cannot win every game. If he were to fight 100 times and win them all, he would not be human but a god. But I was not a god. Something that was just as important as winning a game was how much I was enjoying the game. Of course, the moment the game had become a profession, I couldn't play whenever I felt like it, and stop when I didn't want to play. Even if I was exhausted and didn't want to play, the game was a sacred duty that I had to practice with self-discipline. No matter how tough it was with other schedules, I had to definitely practice several games a day. That my fingers would not lose their senses, and that I would not forget the fact that I was a progamer, I sat in front of the computer.

At the time, there were over four broadcasting stations that ran game tournaments. And if one were to include the event matches and additional broadcast appearances, it would be an intense schedule where matches would have to be played constantly for almost a full week. If it was an event match and not an official match, people would criticize, “Can’t you just wing it?” and “Aren’t you going to lose an important tournament while practicing for that sort of thing?”, but I thought that a match that was to be played in front of my fans would have to be won no matter what, and won dramatically.

Is it not because of the fans that I am able to continue gaming? If there were no fans, who would be watching my games? There would be no reason to broadcast matches that were not being watched. If I were to exaggerate it a bit, the fans would be the reason for my existence.

Of course, if I were to change races and play a match, or if it was a tournament that did not use a normal map but a special map for the event, I would not practice; but in the matches where I used my race, I could not take it lightly, no matter how insignificant the match was. I wanted to win no matter what, and the only way to win was to practice. And so I thoroughly practiced for the matches that would take place day after day. Even if I was to lose, I felt that it was my responsibility to present a strategy that I had prepared through practice, and lose brilliantly.

The tournament that approached was the 2002 SKY Ongamenet Starleague. Though I had always received the seed allocation before and had been able to play comfortably, due to the elimination from the round of 16 in the 2001 Ongamenet Starleague, I had to pass through the Dual Tournament. Though it was a more tough and difficult situation, I challenged myself again for the championship.

October 12, 2002, at the Olympic Park Peace Square – that was the day when the new record was set for the most number of spectators at the time in the history of game tournaments. The players that entered the finals that day were Park Jungsuk Reach and I. One way or another, I thoroughly made the preparations. But the problem was on the day of the match. For days, I had not washed properly or slept soundly. With a desire to enter the day of the match with a refreshed feeling, I went to the bathhouse. I stayed at the saunas for a long time and sweat quite a lot. I thought that if I did that, my body would feel lighter. But the outcome was entirely the opposite.

As I entered the arena, the spectators had really gathered like the clouds. When I thought of the many people that were watching, I became a bit nervous but also had the desire to try even harder. But in contrast to that determination, my body gradually began to lag behind. My mind tightened with the tense atmosphere, but my body continued to wither. It seemed that going to the sauna was the cause. The muscles that had clumped together for the past few days had become loose in every direction, and it felt as if the fatigue had come all at once.

But the match started exactly at the appointed time. Whether it was because so much moisture had left the body, my eyes felt thick. While I am playing a game, I almost never blink. Because I cannot take my eyes off the computer screen for even a moment, I have to be careful of even the time I blink. During such a game where I had to concentrate this much, my eyes began to hurt as they became thick, and eventually tears continued to flow. Just staring at the monitor made them teary. Without even time to wipe my tears away, the game pressed on. Because of the tears, my ability to see the monitor screen decreased and I could not see well even right in front of me. One by one, the buildings were constructed at a late timing, and my control was inaccurate. Without being able to unfold a play that I wanted, defeat was as obvious as day. In the end, I was defeated 3:1.

That day forward, the sauna became one of my jinxes. On the day of the match, I never go to the sauna. I do not even wash with hot water. I keep the washing as simple as possible. When one has not maintained one’s condition properly, no matter how thoroughly one has prepared and practiced a lot, he cannot exhibit 100 percent of his plays. Isn’t it said that ‘Every why has a wherefore?’ Because of the sauna, I lost the victory cup from right under my nose.