All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

Even after becoming a two-time world champion in League of Legends and leading the LJL region to a miraculous comeback, Kazuma Izumi never let it get to his head. He always believed that luck played a major part in his success.

What’s the most important thing in esports?

Awareness, reaction speed, mechanics, and mentality. These four are key—but there’s another factor rarely discussed: luck.

Getting good at a game isn’t all that hard. But becoming a true pro player? That’s like reaching for the stars.

What defines a real professional player?

Someone who earns their fame through skill and secures a starting position in matches—not someone stuck eternally on the bench.

To put it bluntly, a pro without fame faces a dead end after retirement.

Famous pros can switch to streaming and maintain their income, sometimes earning even more than they did during their careers.

But if you’re unknown, and then face the real world after leaving the scene, carrying a body worn down by years of sleepless training—how many can truly succeed in the game of life?

So many dream of becoming esports pros. Why should you get the starting spot?

It takes skill, yes. But in esports, sometimes luck trumps skill.

Everyone who dares enter esports believes they’re a genius. But when a bunch of geniuses compete, the slightly less gifted are no different from ordinary players.

Unknowingly, Kazuma had been in the esports scene for nearly three years. The longer he stayed, the more he saw players come and go. Witnessing the despair on the faces of those he defeated, he began to understand just how cruel esports could be.

And he gradually understood why his father had so strongly opposed his career choice.

If he became a father someday, and his child looked at the countless trophies he’d won and said they wanted to pursue esports, Kazuma might also firmly oppose it.

Only after facing that harsh reality can a pro player maintain their edge while also gaining humility and composure.

Kazuma still radiated confidence—he was, after all, a double champion. There would always be pride in his heart. But alongside that pride, he stayed calm, learned to cooperate and support his teammates, and even after a loss, he would replay footage again and again to identify his mistakes.

Of course, what truly made him mature was the moment he took over as GMK’s team captain. The previous captain had to retire due to a hand injury, right after they won the world championship. Kazuma, fresh off leading them to victory, was the obvious choice to take the mantle.

During the captain handover ceremony, the former captain looked at him calmly. They stared at each other for a long time. Then the captain raised a fist and bumped it against Kazuma’s, saying firmly:

”Good luck!”

That simple gesture passed the torch. It was only then that Kazuma truly understood that from now on, his time at GMK wasn’t just his own journey—he carried the entire team with him.

After stepping down, the former captain became a streamer. His smooth gameplay and the occasional hilarious blunder made for great content. In just six months, he became a rising star on his platform, racking up two million followers.

His stream was always lighthearted and fun.

But during GMK’s latest world championship victory, when the former captain livestreamed himself watching the match and saw his old teammates once again hoist the Summoner’s Cup amid praise and applause...

He broke down in tears.

It was as if all the bitterness and sorrow he’d buried after his injury and early retirement had finally found release through those tears.

Back when the former captain cheered Kazuma on, there was one sentence he never got to say:

GMK’s future is in your hands!

Even if he didn’t say it out loud, Kazuma understood.

Thinking of this, Kazuma couldn’t help but say to Kotomi, ”I will definitely win this Spring Split. I have to go to Worlds again. Whether I become a three-time champion or not doesn’t matter. I’m not going just for myself—I’m going for the people in GMK who can no longer take the stage.”

Then he chuckled and added, ”Of course, if my skills hold up and luck is still on my side, maybe I really will become a triple crown winner. If that happens, I’ll pick Darius for the championship skin you love so much.”

”Hehehe, I want a ticket to Worlds too!”

”No problem. If you’re on break then, I’ll get you a ticket. But you’ll have to clear it with your parents.”

”Ah, speaking of which… Uncle, are you coming home for New Year’s this year?” Kotomi figured since they were already on the phone, she might as well ask. Her grandfather was stubborn—he always claimed he didn’t recognize Kazuma as his son, but in truth, he worried about him no less than Grandma did.

He just had a bad habit of being tsundere. Every time Grandma would say, ”Old man, do you want to give little Kazuma a call?”

Grandpa would coldly snort, ”Why would I call that unfilial brat? Let him die in front of the computer! He’s almost thirty and still wants to be a pro gamer. Not like his older brother who knows how to bring peace of mind.”

”You stubborn old man, you never change. So what if he’s almost thirty? Our little Kazuma still became a world champion, didn’t he? That’s it, I’m calling him.”

The moment Grandma picked up the phone, Grandpa would get up and leave. It looked like he was storming off in anger, but really, he was sneaking behind her to eavesdrop on the call. He’d focus all his attention just to hear his second son’s voice.

He always thought he hid it well, but Grandma had long since noticed. After all, they’d been married for a lifetime. Every time she called, she would pretend her hearing was bad and turn on speakerphone at max volume, so even if Grandpa was hiding nearby, he could still hear everything Kazuma said.

Once he heard Kazuma’s voice, Grandpa would finally feel at ease—though his expression would remain stern and serious, brow tightly furrowed.

”Coming home, huh...”

Kazuma scratched his head awkwardly. Every year, he would buy gifts, prepare New Year’s money for Kotomi and Aimi, visit his older brother’s house, then call his mom for a video chat, reassure her that everything was fine, and find time for a meal after the holidays.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go home. Kazuma just didn’t know how to face his father.

If he’d left home on a whim to become a pro gamer and failed miserably, maybe he’d still have the face to come back, take a beating, and get yelled at.

But no—he turned out to be a monster in the esports world. His mechanics, reaction speed, and awareness hadn’t declined with age; they only grew stronger.

He officially became a pro at the same age most players were retiring, win or lose.

When Kazuma joined GMK in his first year, no one believed in him. Everyone thought the team was out of their minds—why else would they let the Izumi family’s second son take a starter position in LJL?

In that first year, he was doubted by all, with many questioning how much money the Izumi family had funneled into GMK. But under the name ”Secretive,” Kazuma breathed new life into the LJL region, took them to Worlds, and hoisted the Summoner’s Cup.

With pure skill, he declared his overwhelming debut to the world.

Kazuma was undoubtedly successful in esports. To put it bluntly, if he won one more world championship and became a triple crown winner, he would become a legend—a dynasty-builder for GMK.

That’s why he didn’t know how to go home. He was afraid that once he did, he’d have to face his father’s disapproval again. Or worse, after seeing how much older his parents looked, he wouldn’t have the heart to keep playing out of defiance.

”Everyone at home has been hoping you’d come back this year, Uncle~” Kotomi said softly.

Her tone made Kazuma’s nose tingle. He really was getting older—just a few years away from thirty. The closer he got to the age of settling down, the more intense his attachment to family became.

”Ahem. The team gets time off around the New Year. If nothing unexpected happens, I... should be coming home this year,” Kazuma finally said after hesitating.

”Everyone will be so happy to hear that. Even Grandpa will be glad.”

”Dad, well... haha, sometimes he’s just stubborn,” Kazuma chuckled, loosening up a bit as he griped about Yakken Izumi.

”Aren’t you just as stubborn, Uncle?”

Kotomi slipped in a jab that made Kazuma burst into louder laughter.

”Jeez, Kotomi, with that kind of sniping, you’re a top laner for sure.”

”Uncle, I’m hanging up now. Good luck in the games! I’m counting on that Darius championship skin!”

”Worlds isn’t until next year at the earliest. You better focus on your studies, okay? Don’t just think about gaming. I was too obsessed with games back then and didn’t get into a good university. You shouldn’t follow my example.”

Kazuma tried to act the part of a proper elder and give a lecture, but quickly realized it didn’t suit him. He laughed and added:

”Kotomi, I’ve read your novel and manga—they’re really good. I never thought our Izumi family would have a novelist and a mangaka!”

Kotomi already knew Kazuma was reading her work. Back when Volume 1 of Sword Art Online was about to launch, Kazuma had even retweeted the announcement on his Twitter account.

Now that Volume 1 of Chainsaw Man was about to be released, Kazuma was once again helping promote it.

This left Dengeki Bunko and Shueisha both quite baffled. They couldn’t understand how Kotomi managed to get Secretive himself to retweet her promos.

During promotion, Kazuma had purposely avoided mentioning that Kotomi was his niece. He wanted to protect her privacy and prevent her Twitter account from being hounded by esports gossip accounts.

After hanging up the phone, Kazuma stood by the window, gazing at the night skyline and letting out a long breath. He had been grinding ranked games on a Korean Challenger smurf account since 8 a.m. today. The rank didn’t matter; he was sharpening his mechanics.

His main account had already reached high Challenger rank in KR long ago, so the coach had him create a smurf. Every pro has at least one or two alts besides their main.

Unknowingly, Kazuma had climbed that smurf into Grandmaster.

Aside from a lunch break and a two-hour nap, he had spent the entire day grinding in front of his computer. If Kotomi hadn’t called, he probably would’ve kept playing into the night. Thankfully, her call brought him back to reality and helped him relax.

Putting away his phone and returning to his seat, he saw a sweet-looking girl sitting in front of his PC, fully focused as she controlled Irelia on screen.

Her name was Miharu Yanano, a newly recruited solo lane substitute this year.

Female pro players were even rarer than endangered species. You almost never saw women playing as professionals in major tournaments.

Miharu Yanano was a rare exception.

Miharu Yanano joined the team mainly because her father was the president of ROG Japan, GMK’s new sponsor. Starting next year, GMK would likely be using ROG peripherals—keyboards, mice, and headsets.

When negotiating the sponsorship, Daisuke Yanano said:

”I’ll invest another round of funding if you let my daughter join GMK. She doesn’t need to play—just let her warm the bench. I don’t know how good she actually is, but probably not very. Ever since she graduated high school this year, she’s been obsessed with League of Legends. I figured if she experienced how brutal and difficult pro play really is, she might lose interest.”

And so, Miharu became GMK’s sub for solo lane—the very role Kazuma Izumi often played. Her champion pool was narrow, focused on top and mid.

But narrow didn’t mean weak. After a sparring match, Kazuma started to suspect this girl was hiding her true power. In one game, she used Katarina to reverse-kill his Yasuo, despite being at critically low health.

After some roundabout questioning, he finally got her to reveal her true rank. The account she was currently using was a smurf—her main was ranked Grandmaster on Korean servers.

While her mechanics, awareness, and rank were still far below Kazuma’s, solo-climbing to Korean Grandmaster was already an astonishing feat.

Earlier, when Kotomi called, Kazuma was laning mid, so he had asked Miharu to sub in for him for a bit.

Looking at the current score on screen: 11-2-1.

Before the call, he was 7-0-0.

That meant during Miharu’s time playing, she died twice, got four kills, and one assist.

Not bad.

Kazuma walked over, leaned down, and said, ”Move your hands for a sec.”

”Ah, okay! Kazuma-san, you’re done with your call?” Miharu blushed the moment she sensed Kazuma’s presence. Normally reserved and graceful, she suddenly fumbled with flustered nerves.

Kazuma didn’t notice her reaction. His eyes were glued to the screen—Irelia had a perfect kill opportunity. No time to wait. He swiftly took over.

He dashed forward and dropped Ignite, burning Akshan’s last sliver of health.

When the scoreboard ticked to 12 kills, Kazuma let go of the mouse and commented, ”Use Ignite when it’s time to use it. Don’t treat it like some precious treasure. If you’d gotten reversed there, it would’ve been a disaster.”

Miharu nodded earnestly. Every time she looked at Kazuma, she couldn’t help but blush. This girl was in love—she’d been secretly crushing on Kazuma for a while.

At 19, fresh out of high school, it wouldn’t be wrong to call him ”uncle.”

In fact, when they first met, she called him, ”Izumi-ojisan.”

Kazuma nearly spat out blood and repeatedly emphasized, ”I’m only in my twenties! Call me ’onii-san’!”

Girls in love always have little thoughts swirling in their hearts. Earlier, during Kazuma’s phone call, Miharu hadn’t heard everything clearly, but she had heard a girl’s voice on the other end.

She instantly became alert.

But she was too shy to ask about it.

Just as Miharu was working up the nerve to ask who he’d been talking to, Kazuma grabbed his jacket from the chair back and said:

”Play for me a bit longer. I’m going to grab dinner. What do you want? I’ll bring it back up for you.”

”Eh? Then... okay, I’d like grilled squid yakisoba, extra onions.”

”Got it.”

Kazuma turned and left. As he reached the door of the training room, he passed by Risako Sadomi, the team coach who looked more like a friendly big sister than a typical coach. Carrying a plastic bag, she teased him:

”Kazuma, I overheard you on the phone with a girl just now. Who was that?” asked Risako Sadomi.

”My niece. Why?”

”Oh, nothing. Just curious. By the way, I bought some apples—they’re already washed. I’ll leave them on the table. Make sure you and the others eat them, okay?”

”Thanks.”

Kazuma nodded and left the training room.

Risako, carrying the bag of apples, went around distributing them. When she reached Miharu Yanano’s desk, she winked and whispered, ”Kazuma was on the phone with his niece just now. Feel better now?”

”Phew... so that’s how it is. Thanks, Risako-neesan—wait, how did you know—” Miharu stammered, blushing furiously.

”Girls in love are the easiest to read. Their feelings always show on their faces. Keep at it! As far as I know, Kazuma’s never had a girlfriend.”

With that, Risako moved on.

Miharu’s face flushed bright red. But maybe it fired her up, because moments later, she pulled off a triple kill.

Neither Miharu nor anyone else in GMK knew that Kazuma already had someone in his heart.

Her name was Tsukika Kujou.

He met her in junior high. Every time he saw her, he couldn’t resist tugging on her braids. He seemed to enjoy being chased and scolded by a flustered Tsukika.

Once the two-day break ended, Kotomi caught up to Shizuka Hiratsuka right after Japanese class.

She wanted to ask Hiratsuka for tickets to the school culture festival. She had promised Iroha Isshiki that she’d invite her to Sobu High School’s event. Since the festival didn’t sell tickets to the public, students had to request them from teachers if they wanted to bring guests.

Because in November, Kotomi was supposed to pretend to be Hiratsuka’s girlfriend to meet her mother, she figured they were now comrades in arms facing the same challenge.

With that shared bond, surely Hiratsuka would hand over two tickets without hesitation~

But what Kotomi didn’t realize was that by approaching Shizuka like this, she was walking right into the lion’s den.

And the lion?

Naturally, Shizuka Hiratsuka.

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