The wind howls. In a corner of Seo-Cho-Gu, Seoul, a solitary window lies lit against the night sky. Inside, a 19 year old sits, eyes glued to the glow of a computer monitor in front of him. The soft click of keys coupled with the dull hum of an exhaust fan provide the only ambient noise, and to the untrained eye, this is just another teenager, wasting the night away.

A plump, bespectacled figure appears in the doorway.

"Still practising?" The boy does not answer.

"Son, get to bed, it's past three."

"The timing is almost perfect on this build. Sometimes I'm off by a second or two but... "

"You've practiced enough for today, get some sleep."

The silence that follows is only broken by the rapid click of keys.

"Enough, let's go..."

"Just a few more times, I got this."

The man sighs, and puts a hand on the kid's shoulder. "I just don't want you to burn out."

"I won't."

"You are overworking, and it's been showing, Jaedong. Just look at GOM..."

The words spill out before he can stop them and the man bites his tongue and watches the hairs on the back of the boy's neck stand up. The kid spins around, his left hand still tapping at the keys, and the man looks at the screen dancing behind him. The kid isn't even looking, he thinks. The kid isn't even looking and yet the symphony goes on.

"GOM?" he hisses, almost like a cat. A wildcat. "GOM?"

The man swallows hard, and backs away towards the door. He could swear he saw the kid's fingernails grow as he turned around again.

"Jaedong, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

The boy is standing now, facing away from him, looking towards the far wall with its solitary window. The man watches as he crushes his mouse, the sound of dying plastic filling the tiny space.

"GOM."

The little electronic device falls from the boy's hand, and sparks softly as it hits the floor.

"Kim Jung Woo." The man shivers.

"KIM JUNG WOO." A keyboard hits the wall, twisting itself out of shape, keys scattering everywhere.

"You think Kim Jung Woo is an opponent?" He spits the word out, as if it were filth, and the man sees him shake.


"You think he is worthy of facing me?"

"I will be the greatest Zerg that has ever lived," he growls. "I will crush him. Destroy him."

"Yes, yes you will, I have always said..."

In an instant he is across the room and they are face to face, the boy's eyes glowing crimson in the dim light. He opens his mouth, and for a moment the man thinks he sees fangs.

"Kim Jung Woo," he snarls, smiling.

"I will end him. They will not remember his name."


A few minutes away in Bang-Bae Block 4, another Zerg is up. Only, in this room, there is no sound of clicking keys, or the hum of a fan. The boy sits in the middle, wide eyed, and at first glance it looks like he is alone. Yet, in the far corner, a shadow breaths, and old, wise words slowly spill forth. The voice is neither hurried or sluggish, erratic, or monotonous. One could only describe the tone as regal, refined and confident. The voice of a king.

"You must not get caught up in the details, my son. You are technically proficient, but your opponent is as well. You are fast, but so is he. You are capable, but he is as capable."

"Yes, master, but tell me, who are you?" The boy looks around, and tries to get up.

The king smiles, and the boy can hear it in his voice. "Sit down, Kim Jung Woo, sit down. You will look for me in this room and you will not find me, and yet, you know me well.."

"I do? How do I know you?"

"Sit." The boy obeys.

"You must not focus on winning."

"But master, I.."

"Winning is for the common. Anyone can win a game. You watched last weekend while players won and lost, did you not?"

"I did, master."

"Then tell me, Kim Jung Woo, will they, will those who took wins be remembered?"

"I... I don't know."

The voice is closer to the boy now, but even in the glow of an overhead lamp the figure that is behind him is at best a wisp of smoke.

"Their names mean nothing, my son. It is better that they never battled."

The boy's breathing punctuates the silence.

"Your opponent is good, Kim Jung Woo, but you have something he does not."

"Master?"

"Look."

The palm of the master's hand is outstretched, and in it shine four tiny pieces of metal. He picks them up, and it feels as if he is taking them out of air.

"You have a legacy, my son. This is your time."

He holds them, and they glitter with the glory of an era he will always remember. The era of The Maestro, when none could match him.

"The day of the Zerg has come again," the voice says, and the boy thinks he hears a hint of happiness, even joy. "The season of the swarm."

The morning sun breaks over the rooftops and the room lights up as if on fire. The boy looks toward the voice, and yet sees nothing.

He has so much to ask him.

When? How? Who? He must know, he must know more.

The room itself speaks.

"You are of royal blood, and it is not winning that is your destiny, but destruction. The men you will face this weekend will know this better than any other."

There is silence once more and the kid runs to a window, throwing it open.

He looks across the street, and for a second, at the corner, sees a glint of metal. Then, the very wind itself speaks in the voice of a king.


"You are the heir of Ma Jae Yoon. You are the son of the swarm. None shall stand in your way."