Ju-Hyeok felt his mind go blank. “Dad, I don’t think this is suitable for you.” It was hard to imagine his father wearing something like the I Wanna Be Almond hoodie, especially when their relationship was still somewhat strained. “Then give me something I can use.” Ju-Hyeok hesitated before rummaging through the merchandise. He briefly considered handing over the Almond hat that turned the wearer into a caricature of Almond, but he shook his head and picked something more neutral. He gave the item a couple of test hits and explained, “This is an Almond clapper balloon.” His father seemed to mull it over before nodding and taking the balloon. Meanwhile, his mother standing nearby asked for the hat Ju-Hyeok had almost handed over earlier. “Oh my, how do I look? Don’t I seem like I’m in my 40s?” Despite their long time apart, his mother hadn’t changed a bit. If anything, she seemed to be in an even better mood today. Ju-Hyeok could tell that she sensed something had shifted between him and his father. It was strange. There hadn’t been an apology, no “I’m sorry,” or “I was wrong.” Yet somehow, the three of them seemed to share the same unspoken understanding. “Mom, 40s is a stretch.” “Ugh, you just have to get the last word in.” His mother huffed playfully and hurried after his father. For a brief moment, Ju-Hyeok and his father locked eyes. “Do you have dinner plans with your colleagues after this?” “Uh... no. Everyone’s exhausted from the finals, so we planned it for tomorrow.” “Then, if you’re free, let’s have dinner together tonight.” Ju-Hyeok froze for a moment. He hadn’t anticipated his father extending an olive branch. His father nodded and walked into the stadium. Ju-Hyeok stood alone in the hallway, surrounded by bustling crowds yet feeling as if he was in a world of his own. The words echoed in his mind, “Do you have dinner plans with your colleagues after this?” His father had acknowledged the people Ju-Hyeok worked with as his colleagues. It meant he recognized Ju-Hyeok’s work. That was why he asked about their schedule because he prioritized his son’s work over their dinner. Ju-Hyeok stared at the stadium entrance where his father had disappeared. His heart began to race. ‘Am I... being acknowledged?’ Maybe his father’s perspective had changed in a big way. After the first game, Hui-Chul closed his eyes briefly inside the capsule. Thump, thump, thump... He needed to calm his pounding heart. Even for someone as composed as Hui-Chul, he found it hard to suppress the excitement. A championship trophy, which once seemed like a distant dream, now felt tantalizingly close. ‘The qualifiers mattered.’ All these miracles stemmed from his decision to take the qualifiers against Rome seriously. In tournaments, it wasn’t uncommon to strategically forfeit certain matches but Hui-Chul had chosen not to do that. He continued to study Rome and refused to approach the qualifiers as just a stepping stone. To him, the game wasn’t just about advancing to the finals. It wasn’t about sacrificing some games in the qualifiers to secure a better position in the main tournament. He had poured his entire life into this game, and he wasn’t about to reduce it to something so trivial. He needed to prove himself. To show the world what kind of person Gook Hui-Chul was. To demonstrate his dedication to the game and what it meant to him. That was why he had faced Rome head-on in the qualifiers even though it ended in defeat. As painful as that loss was, it became the foundation for their first victory against Rome in the finals. ==== ==== Joseon: 1 Rome: 0 ==== ==== Having overcome every trial, his team finally secured a win on the grand stage. Hui-Chul bit his lip and opened the capsule. The roaring cheers of the crowd struck his ears, but Hui-Chul calmed himself. His focus already shifted to the next game. Step by step, he walked toward the waiting room. With each step, he left the first game behind and moved forward toward the second. Victory or defeat didn’t matter. It was over. What mattered now was preparing for the next game. He glanced sideways and felt startled. Everyone else was walking the same path. They, too, had already shifted their focus to the second game and suppressed their emotions as much as possible. No one had instructed them to act this way. It wasn’t something they had trained to do. They were simply united by the same mindset. “Our goal is... the finals?” “The quarterfinals seem realistic, right?” “Honestly, maybe just making it to the main tournament?” “Reaching the round of sixteen would be good enough.” At what point had things changed? A team that once looked in different directions was now drawing their bows toward a single target. Hui-Chul fixed his gaze on the waiting room entrance. He felt that his resolve could possibly waver if he met his teammates’ eyes. At the front of the group, someone was walking faster than anyone else. It was Sang-Hyeon. ‘Our goal... is to win.’ From the very beginning, Sang-Hyeon had only aimed for the championship. Now, he led the team with his emotions fully under control. Inside the strategy meeting room, the think tank members celebrated Joseon’s victory in the first game and practically bounced with excitement. Their celebration was short-lived. Chi-Seung slammed the table and silenced the room instantly. “Now, it’s the second game. Get ready.” The group quickly refocused and shifted to preparations for the next game, yet something powerful stirred within Chi-Seung as he reviewed the first game. Rome’s defenses, their towering walls of glory, had revealed a crack. It wasn’t fully visible yet, but Chi-Seung could feel it. He turned to Water Dumpling seated nearby. “If it’s not a naval battle and the map hasn’t been decided yet, what options are left?” “Let’s see... there’s the Mongolian Plains, the Rugged Mountain Valleys, and...” As Water Dumpling listed the remaining maps, Chi-Seung began narrowing down the possibilities. “Alright, alright... Based on the first game, we’ll refine our approach. Adjust the unit composition and build strategies accordingly. Got it?” The think tank members responded energetically with their determination ignited. ‘We can win the championship!’ Before the first game’s victory, doubt had lingered in everyone’s minds. Rome was too powerful. The skill gap seemed insurmountable. But now? Their mindset had shifted entirely. Every single person in the room was now laser-focused on winning the championship. “Our goal... is victory!” Chi-Seung recalled Sang-Hyeon’s words from the first match of the qualifiers and etched them into his mind once again. “Our goal is victory!!” Chi-Seung’s heart raced. Victory no longer seemed like an impossible dream. Rome had weaknesses. “Rome revealed a clear vulnerability during this game. It was obvious!” Chi-Seung furiously jotted down notes on his tablet, sketching paths, formations, and potential tactics. “What kind of weakness?” SharpSphere asked from beside him. He was curious and eager to understand what Chi-Seung had discovered. ‘If it’s Chi-Seung, he must have seen something.’ “... I don’t know. Not yet.” SharpSphere pressed further, “But you’re sure there’s something, right? Don’t let it slip by! Think hard!” “There is... there’s something. I’m sure of it!” “Can we use it in the next game?” “Yes. Definitely in the next game.” “If we win the second game, the third one will be a naval battle. We have the advantage there! We could make it 3-0!” Hearing that, Chi-Seung froze for a moment. “Wait. It’s not that we could make it 3-0... We have to make it 3-0.” “If the match goes to 3-2, it’ll be exponentially harder for the underdog team to win. Don’t you know that?” He was right. Rome’s players were far superior in terms of player stamina, mental recovery, and the ability to bounce back from losses. “The more dice you roll, the closer you get to the law of large numbers. Every roll edges the probability closer in Rome’s favor!” Chi-Seung looked almost possessed as he analyzed the footage with his eyes darting across the screen. “We can’t afford multiple rolls of the dice. We’re the underdogs. We only have one shot.” His mind worked faster and faster. ‘There’s a weakness.’ His instincts screamed that Joseon had uncovered a specific flaw unique to Rome. It was something only their team could exploit, but— “If we don’t strike in the second game, Rome will adapt and cover their weak points. Our only chance is now.” The clock was ticking. The opportunity to strike would vanish if they didn’t act swiftly. Inside Rome’s waiting room, Anto sat in the central chair. His presence commanded the room’s attention. The atmosphere was tense. Rome had lost the first game and everyone expected Anto to address the failure and assign blame. Anto had a reputation for pinpointing weaknesses and holding his team accountable, but what he said surprised everyone instead. “We need to rethink how we manage the priest units.” He had clearly identified the critical moment when the game began to slip away.