Episode 26
Wham!
A blue boxing glove slammed into Lee Dong-soo's face.
Bam bam!
A rapid flurry of punches buried themselves into his abdomen.
"Ugh!"
Dong-soo hunched over, clutching his waist as he staggered before straightening up and raising his guard.
Though the crowd watched his beating with morbid fascination, his world had narrowed to the opponent before him.
"Manager-nim, are you sure this kid's training to be a fighter? He’s a total ragdoll!"
Opening!
Seo-jun, standing in front of him, tilted his head toward the manager.
Attacking now would’ve been unsportsmanlike under normal circumstances—
but Dong-soo had already been pummeled into submission by Seo-jun the day before.
Train as you fight!
"Hyahhh!"
A straight punch.
Though crude, Dong-soo’s form was textbook-perfect.
Precise timing. Flawless posture. An opponent lowering his guard—
it should’ve connected...
had that opponent not been Seo-jun.
Even while glancing sideways, he evaded effortlessly before retaliating with a one-two combo.
Oooh!
The spectators erupted in awe.
"Gaaah! Damn it!"
Dong-soo crumpled to the mat, arms wrapped around his stomach.
"Hey! You nettle-brained punk! I said go easy! And he’s not even a trainee! Get your ass here!"
The manager barked, storming toward the ring.
He gripped the ropes and hauled himself over to corner Seo-jun,
who sensed the threat and slid to the opposite side, poised to escape.
"Oh? But the kid’s got potential."
Seeing Seo-jun ready to bolt, the manager—halfway over the ropes—abandoned the chase.
"Argh. If I’d just— Ow. My damn back..."
"So he’s just some high school thug?"
Seo-jun demoted Dong-soo from "aspiring fighter" to "street brawler."
Despite the misconception, the manager kept Dong-soo’s secret—
per the boy’s own pleading,
too mortified to reveal his true identity to Seo-jun.
If I’d at least beaten him in-game first, I could’ve announced it proudly.
After yesterday’s humiliation, Dong-soo had slunk back to headquarters,
cutting his stream short to grind through Assassin’s Dawn.
Fifteen attempts. Fifteen brutal losses before he finally toppled Ettore, the tutorial boss—and reeled in disbelief.
Losing in real life was tolerable. Losing in games? Heresy.
Who was he?
A core member of the world’s second-ranked esports team!
"Shouldn’t you be studying instead of brawling?"
"Sure. And you’re some genius, hyung?"
"Yep."
"What kind of confidence lets you answer that straight-faced?!"
Dong-soo grumbled, rising to his feet before arching his back with hands on his hips.
"Dong-soo. Kid’s at Korea University."
The manager’s voice drifted from the sidelines.
"Ugh! Quit lying! Life’s so unfair."
"Hard work pays off."
Seo-jun shrugged.
"Tch. I don’t need school—I’ve got games."
Dong-soo flicked his wrist dismissively and snapped his guard up.
"Oh?"
Seo-jun’s fist shot forward in the same breath.
Now accustomed to these ambushes, Dong-soo had braced himself early.
A pro’s adaptability, indeed.
"Yeah. I took down Ettore, Drake, and Richard yesterday too. Thanks to you."
Never mind that wielding a pipe like Seo-jun got him killed six times by Drake.
Four times by Richard Neville.
The ordeal had forced Dong-soo to acknowledge Seo-jun’s skill.
This guy’s different.
But admitting it only sharpened his competitive edge.
Whoosh!
He dodged by a hair’s breadth.
"Huh. Maybe you should try going pro."
Seo-jun’s offhand remark drew a sigh from Dong-soo.
I’m already pro.
Tonight, he’d challenge the Lightning Matriarch.
No clue how to split thunder or manipulate soundwaves, but he’d crash against her anyway.
Shadowing Seo-jun was making him stronger—he could feel it.
In sparring. In everything.
Is this why Hayeon noona keeps challenging Unknown at the dojo?
The hunger to improve burned hotter.
"Hyung."
"Yeah?"
"You’re taking down the Queen on stream today, right?"
The Queen—the final ruler clinging to Assassin’s Dawn’s throne.
"Why?"
"There's something like that."
"Maybe?"
After that, there was no small talk.
Lee Dong-soo focused intensely, trying to land at least one hit.
Seo-jun casually chatted with people nearby while returning the shots.
Whack!
Yet Dong-soo couldn’t stop imagining Seo-jun overlapping with some entity.
A being who fought while leisurely conversing with others.
The very one rumored to be Surface’s new AI prototype.
‘Ah, no way… This hyung isn’t a level 10 Unknown, is he? Nah, that’s pushing it too far.’
Even Shin Ha-yeon kept challenging him.
Seo-jun sat in the café waiting for Team Leader Kim Yoon-chan while streaming Alpaca’s broadcast.
[Ugh. Please, I’m so sick of seeing Drake. Bleh!]
LOLOLOL
It’s barely been 22 hours since the stream started, Paka. Stop being dramatic ㄴㄴ
ㅡㅅㅡ
Hang in there!
[You guys aren’t enjoying this either. It’s exhausting to watch, right?]
I just woke up, so I’m fine? LOLOL
This is the New Year’s waiting room
Wasn’t it the World Cup waiting room?
“Can’t quit streaming until the apocalypse” – y’all are wild LOL
Don’t even think about quitting. You chose to be the stream king. Grit your teeth and power through.
[What “power through”? I never chose this.]
[‘Some Idiot’ donated 1,000 won!]
[???: If you succeed, I’ll take them as my master, learn their ways, and become invincible…]
Alpaca swiftly closed donations and banned the viewer.
[Didn’t I say one more donation like this would get you banned?]
LMAOOOO
Instant ban hammer
Speedrun world record right there ㄷㄷ
Use that speed to beat Drake, Paka
[Oh! Hit the 9-hour capsule limit. Hehehe.]
The capsules had playtime restrictions – a measure by Surface to prevent players from neglecting their real-world health.
Users exceeding 3 hours couldn’t reconnect for half their playtime duration. At 9+ hours, the capsule forcibly disconnected.
Alpaca had fought Drake for 18 total hours since yesterday noon (minus a 4.5-hour break).
‘Kinda feel bad now.’
Seo-jun checked his watch: 10:30 AM. Nearly meeting time.
[Gonna run one ad before leaving. First one in 9 hours, by the way.]
An ad popped up on Seo-jun’s Travel screen.
Ads.
Affiliated streamers gained multiple revenue streams, including ads distinct from in-game promotions. These paid per viewer during stream start-ups or mid-breaks. Streamers controlled ad frequency, but overuse drove viewers away. Most preferred Alpaca’s method – timing ads during natural breaks or transitions.
“The affiliate requirements are lower than I expected…”
To qualify: 700 total live minutes, 7 stream days, 10 average viewers, and 30+ followers within 30 days. He’d met three criteria – only the stream days remained.
“Can’t rush this one.”
Hiring an editor would increase expenses, making every revenue source critical.
[After a nap… assassination stream king time. Guess I’m getting old. So sleepy. Sigh. Just once. Let me off just this once.]
Alpaca mumbled through half-lidded eyes before ending the stream. Viewers nodded in understanding.
“Hello. I’m Kim Yoon-chan, the one who contacted you about streaming opportunities.”
“Streamer Jin Seo-jun.”
Seo-jun stood and shook hands with Yoon-chan, who wore polished yet comfortable attire fitting Movie Soft’s foreign corporate culture.
“Apologies for the abrupt contact – this was urgent.”
“No worries.”
“We must apologize again. If we’d failed to reach you, we’d have been in serious trouble. We… may have overdone the outreach.” He chuckled.
Overdone? They’d spammed every contact method imaginable.
“Just caught me off guard. But what’s so urgent?”
Seo-jun’s stomach dropped.
Please don’t say I messed up and owe damages…
Let me see… Among my father’s acquaintances, there’s a lawyer…
“Hahaha, well, you see… We came to see you because of the Fragments of Order you’re currently working on, Seojun.”
“Fragments of Order?”
“Yes. If you collect all the Fragments of Order, an Easter egg related to our next project will appear. But the teaser trailer we’re supposed to release at that time… isn’t ready yet.”
Ah.
I see.
“So you’re asking me to delay capturing the Ruler by a bit?”
Seojun smiled leisurely. This situation undeniably favored him.
“Yes, exactly. Of course, we’ll show our sincerity so you won’t feel slighted. It should take about six more days to prepare.”
Kim Yoon-chan grinned slyly.
Jeez, calling it “sincerity” makes it sound like we’re committing a crime, this guy.
“Hmm…”
Regardless, the game company couldn’t force him. Seojun began thinking carefully.
A teaser trailer usually…
It’s a promotional video designed to spark curiosity by deliberately withholding information.
My cooperation isn’t strictly necessary.
Currently, there were about 3,000 players—even if hints leaked in Korea, it likely wouldn’t impact Movie Soft’s global operations. In fact, refusing to cooperate might let them turn this into a bigger marketing opportunity than a mere teaser. They were a corporation, after all.
But it might still matter unexpectedly. He needed to hear their offer to gauge it properly. Not too much, not too little—just right. Seojun was happy to cooperate.
“So, what exactly is this ‘sincerity’ you mentioned?”
“Ahem, well… If you delay capturing the Queen by six days, we’ll grant you exclusive beta-testing rights for our next project. The beta phase won’t exceed a year.”
What?
“We’ll also create an event item bundle tied to you for the DLC and our next project.”
Wait, seriously? They’re offering this much?
If this were the past, maybe not—but for Seojun, now serious about streaming, these terms were incredibly favorable.
“And the cost?”
“Simply delay capturing the Ruler by six days. That’s all.”
Seojun stared at Kim Yoon-chan in disbelief.
Is this guy a con artist?
“Uh…”
The terms weren’t urgent for him, but refusing such a risk-free offer would be odd.
“You’ll accept, right?”
Seojun hesitated. Suspicion prickled at him.
“Hahaha. See? I told you the terms were off.”
A slightly accented Korean voice interrupted. A middle-aged foreigner who had entered the café with Kim Yoon-chan but sat separately now approached, offering Seojun a handshake.
“Pleasure to meet you, Seojun. I’m Eve Faimo from Movie Soft Korea.”
Kim Yoon-chan’s superior. Of course.
They were here to renegotiate. Likely adding counteroffers. As long as it wasn’t excessive, Seojun was open. In fact, he felt relieved—if they wanted something, this made more sense.
“We’ll also handle advertising.”
Eve Faimo’s words left Seojun baffled again.
“Huh?”
Oh. I hadn’t even considered ads.
“You mean in-game ads?”
“Yes. Any preferred titles from our catalog? We’ll accommodate you. Just play them as usual.”
A contract slid toward Seojun.
Eve Faimo smirked. “The fee starts at a thousand—dollars, naturally.”
Am I being scammed here? What even is this?
