Ale complains that newcomers are all becoming companions to play with, which is easier than professional gaming, and the pay is even higher than LPL.

Ale complained that new players are all going to become companions instead of playing professionally—it’s easier than playing pro, and the pay is even higher than the LPL. In a recent event interaction, a conversation between Ale and Uzi resonated strongly with many players. It looks like casual chatting, but in fact it puts LPL’s most sensitive issues right out in the open: Why are there fewer and fewer newcomers? Why is the region’s competitiveness gradually declining?

The core contradiction Ale pointed out is actually very real: the imbalance between talent and returns. In the past, the pro arena was the only stage for top players. To prove yourself and win championships, you had to enter the professional system. But now the environment has changed. Live streaming, coaching-for-hire, content creation, and other routes mean that “people with skills” no longer have only one path. Especially in terms of income, some high-level players can earn far more than ordinary pros even without playing professionally—and with less pressure and more flexible time.

He singled out Able as an example—more like a symbol. Players with top-tier mechanics don’t necessarily choose the professional route. For them, a pro career means high-intensity training, long-term closed-off living, and an extreme public-opinion environment. If results aren’t good, criticism is easy to magnify, and they can even fall into a whirlpool of public scrutiny. But staying on a non-pro track allows their “ability” to be directly converted into income, with lower risk.

This kind of choice is understandable from an individual perspective, but it’s a hidden concern for the region’s development. What the professional system relies on most is a steady stream of “high-talent + high-investment” newcomers. Once that group is diverted to other industries, the youth training pipeline will develop a gap. Veteran players will gradually retire, and new players won’t be able to fill the gap—so overall competitiveness naturally drops.

Compared with the LCK, the gap is even more obvious. The LCK has long maintained a relatively strong youth system and a career-honor-oriented direction. Newcomers are more willing to invest time and energy for results and a pro career. But when a region’s mainstream values shift from “fighting for championships” to “seeking monetization,” a decline at the competitive level is almost inevitable.

Of course, it’s not fair to reduce the problem simply to “players not working hard enough.” The deeper cause lies in the ecosystem: whether pro players’ support systems, salary structure, and public-opinion environment are healthy will all directly affect young people’s choices. If the pro path is both exhausting and unstable, while other routes are easier and more profitable, then talent drain is a rational outcome.

Why Ale’s remarks resonated is because they peel away a layer of illusion. In esports, it’s not only about adrenaline and dreams—it’s also reality and choices. When “playing pro” is no longer the best solution, the region must rethink how to make truly talented people willing to stay and keep going. What do you have to say about that?