Chapter 1
<Bad Ending Maker Episode 1>
“Submit your resignation, Mincheol.”
At the sudden demand, Mincheol’s puffy eyes flew open wide.
“……What?”
“You heard me. Don’t make me repeat myself—write your resignation.”
Still struggling to process the situation, Mincheol removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then put them back on and stared ahead.
The company nap room.
He’d collapsed here after an all-nighter, only to be abruptly awakened and confronted with this madness.
The speaker was Lee Kyunghee, head of the management team.
She stood with arms crossed as always, glaring at him through her signature self-assured gaze.
The management and development teams had never been friendly. But they were both team leaders of equal rank.
To barge in first thing in the morning demanding his resignation?
He wondered if exhaustion from last night’s crunch had made him hallucinate, but reality refused to fade.
Mincheol pointed trembling fingers at himself.
“Resignation…? Why me?”
“Stop playing dumb. It’s Wings Online’s performance.” Kyunghee’s voice dripped frost.
“You promised the board you’d step down if sales didn’t improve this quarter.”
“Well, I said that but—”
“Sales dropped compared to last year’s same quarter. Concurrent users nosedived. Community sentiment’s in the gutter.”
“That’s… There are circumstances—”
The relentless facts left Mincheol chewing empty air.
Kyunghee exhaled sharply.
“The board decided this morning. Wings Online’s monetization changes with this update… along with its director.”
“…”
“You’ve worked hard, Mincheol. Don’t embarrass yourself clinging on. Take the generous severance and leave gracefully—the directors’ exact words.”
“Wait! Hold on!” Mincheol scrambled upright.
“Season 6 launches soon! You know it’s our biggest update yet! Players will return! Revenue will spike!”
“…”
“I built this game from nothing! It’s my child! I’ve devoted years—you can’t discard me over temporary numbers!”
“Mincheol.”
Kyunghee’s measured tone carried razor-edged finality.
“This isn’t your personal art project. It’s a product created by our company and全体员工. A product losing value because of you.”
“…”
“Your outdated development philosophy has reached its expiration date.”
She jerked her chin toward the door.
“Your belongings are packed.”
A box sat at the nap room entrance, filled with Mincheol’s office supplies.
As he stood gaping, Kyunghee delivered the coup de grâce:
“We’ll process your resignation online. Farewell.”
Mincheol stood dumbfounded, lifting his box just as two security guards appeared. They nodded toward the exit.
Thus did he walk out of Napeum—Korea’s largest game company and publisher—on his 15th anniversary.
Mincheol, Team Lead of Development Team 2 and director of Wings Online, had been fired.
Exiled from the company where he’d poured his youth and dreams.
“…….”
Clutching his box outside the corporate tower, Mincheol finally muttered:
“Fucking hell.”
An era where half the global population enjoyed VR games through capsule PCs and neural connectors.
The official site of Wings Online—the VR MMORPG entering its fifth service year—posted a notice:
[GM Anchovy steps down. Welcoming new director GM Milkyway.]
GM Anchovy had been Mincheol’s handle.
He read the announcement through bloodshot eyes—Milkyway’s lengthy manifesto about future changes ended with a comment section overflowing with vitriol:
– LOL Anchovy bastard finally got axed!
– Took you long enough to replace that clueless director!
– Anchovy’s the cancer killing Wings! Should’ve fired him ages ago!
– Bye Anchovy! Don’t come back!
– Called this since Season 3! Where’s your white knights now?
– Needs complete overhaul. No wonder Napeum cut the dead weight.
“….”
Each comment stabbed his chest. Scrolling further revealed zero nostalgia for his departure—just players squabbling:
– Changing directors won’t save your trash game~
– Still #1 in users, idiots!
– Barely ahead of #2! Embarrassing!
– MMOs are dead! Come play RTS God-game Battlecraft!
– Temporal Storm awaits!
– Join rising star Aurora Round!
Nothing. Not one player mourned him.
After ten years as director—including development—no one cared. Had he overstayed until even hatred faded?
“Tch…”
His sigh was interrupted by the doorbell. 11 PM.
“Who’s there?”
“Anchovy! Open up! It’s us!”
Reluctantly, Mincheol unlatched the door to find:
– A bespectacled woman with long hair
– A bear-like man with round frame
Both clutching their mouths, shoulders shaking.
“Pfft—”
“Hrk—”
They exploded:
“BAHAHAHA! FIRED! YOU ACTUALLY GOT FIRED!”
“Khek! Mr.’I’ll-quit-when-I-want’ got canned! Should’ve played office politics!”
Collapsing in laughter, the intruders were:
– Seong Shinji (GM Longhair), Graphics Team Lead
– Lee Dongha (GM Bulk), QA Team Lead
Mincheol, Shinji, Dongha—high school classmates turned game dev trio.
Their amateur RPG Wings caught Napeum’s attention, launching careers. After decade-long development, Wings Online became the VR world’s #1 game—until today.
“Goddamn Napeum bastards!” Mincheol roared, fourth beer in hand.
Shinji grinned, offering grilled squid. “There’s the real you, ex-director!”
“Fifteen years! I made Wings! Built VR’s top game! And they fire ME?”
Dongha gulped soju from a 1L cup. “You were outdated. Monthly subscriptions? That’s ancient history.”
“Cash shop only has cosmetics!” Shinji added. “No gacha = dying revenue = bye-bye director!”
“Stop saying ‘director’!”
“Your head goes rolling~” Shinji rolled a beer can, toppling empties like bowling pins.
Mincheol massaged his throbbing temples. His principles—no pay-to-win items—once earned praise. But without monetization, Wings faltered despite player numbers. Now rival Aurora Round closed the gap.
“What’s Milkyway planning?” Mincheol demanded.
The room chilled.
GM Milkyway—Napeum chairman’s nepo-baby son. Competent profit-extractor, nothing else.
“Season 6 goes F2P,” Dongha listed. “Massive cash shop update…”
Shinji blurted: “100% success enhancement scrolls. Limited-time. Exorbitant price.”
“Bullshit!” Mincheol shot up, knocking over cans. “That destroys game balance!”
“Company needs quick cash,” Dongha muttered.
“They’re killing Wings!”
“It’s a product, not art,” Shinji said bitterly. “Profit trumps everything.”
Mincheol ground his teeth. “You think I’ll take this lying down?”
“What’ll you do?”
He raised battle-scarred hands—carpal tunnel surgeries, calluses from endless work.
“I’ll destroy it.”
“How?”
“Bugs. Cheats. Hidden bosses. GM privileges. Everything.” His eyes blazed.
“I’ll become the final boss myself!”
As his friends tucked him into bed, Mincheol whispered:
“I’m serious, bastards…”
His unfocused eyes sharpened with deadly resolve.
