Is there any word as radiant as “youth”?
I’m not that old myself.
I’m in my early thirties—on the younger side, even.
But the friends from Jeju are five years younger than , sotis even more than ten years apart.
And those are the ones currently playing the biggest roles in New Seoul.
I haven’t asured the exact gap between Jeon Si-hoon and myself, but it’s probably about ten years.
Ten years is enough ti for the world to change completely, multiple tis over.
Among middle-aged folks, a ten-year difference doesn’t seem like much, but for younger groups, a single year can feel massive.
The foundational culture of what you played, saw, and heard in childhood is different, and peer interests shift drastically even between school years.
The generation that spent their youth in billiard halls can’t understand the generation that wasted theirs in PC cafés. And those who spent ti in PC cafés likewise can’t relate to the generation addicted to smartphones.
That these Jeju friends are from a different generation than is sothing I’ve co to feel acutely through carrying out missions with the ones who ca to Seoul first—like Moon Yang-gyeong or Kim Han-na.
Now, they’re at the center of the world.
Jeon Si-hoon’s hideout was unlike any other office or command center of power I’d seen before.
He had renovated a destroyed factory into his base of operations.
Exposed walls of scrap wood, old steel, and bare concrete. Tangled wires strewn about. A rugged, wide-ceilinged interior.
The so-called industrial aesthetic.
It wasn’t decorated intentionally—it was just barely patched up and made usable after the war—but it still exuded a sleek, modern atmosphere. That probably ca less from the interior itself and more from the fact that it was filled with handso young n and won in their early twenties.
The vibe was extrely casual and informal.
There were no forced titles like “Mr.” or “Sir” as in typical Korean companies, and you could feel the horizontal atmosphere in the way people acted, spoke, and carried themselves.
Jeon Si-hoon’s group had been ford mostly of people from the Kang Han-min faction who had little actual religious conviction but had stuck around out of necessity.
In short—they were free spirits.
Another thing I noticed at Jeon Si-hoon’s base: the proportion of foreigners was surprisingly high, and a significant number of Awakened were walking around ard with firearms or blades.
Regular Awakened usually carry only light pistols, but here, people openly carried rifles as standard, and shotguns, grenade launchers—even jungle knives and other cold weapons weren’t uncommon.
It was obvious at a glance that Jeon Si-hoon’s group was composed of combat-specialized Awakened.
It’s said there are about thirty Awakened under Jeon Si-hoon.
Considering Kang Han-min’s faction—both Korean and foreign mbers, new and veteran—numbers around 100 total, that ans nearly 30% broke off.
But still, this many foreigners?
More than half were from Southeast Asia. So even chattered away in Chinese.
I’d once heard a rumor that Korea had sent Old School Hunters to China in exchange for bringing in Chinese Awakened.
A mutually beneficial deal, I guess.
Old School Hunters and Awakened were both people their respective countries didn’t have use for.
“Welco.”
Jeon Si-hoon had a modest office set up in a prefab second-floor space overlooking the entire factory.
Maybe the construction had been shoddy—every ti I walked the hallway made of plywood and thin steel panels, it creaked and swayed uncomfortably.
It was technically a second floor, but the ceiling was fifteen ters high.
Anyone with even slight acrophobia would’ve turned back after a few steps.
Jeon Si-hoon’s room was sparse.
No bed—just a worn-out mattress. A lightweight, Scandinavian-style chair and table were the only furniture.
There was no desk, no computer, but a corner of the wall was lined with a tangle of electronic charging devices. It gave off a sense of generational difference.
“Thanks for coming all this way.”
Jeon Si-hoon greeted with a calm smile, his hair slicked back neatly.
“I wish I could receive you in a more proper location, but as you can see, our base barely has any private spaces. I don’t like staying here either, but my friends insisted I have at least one room of my own, so I’ve been stuck here. Well, it’s also a good place for confidential discussions.”
“Nice room,” I said.
I didn’t an it.
No way in hell I’d ever live in a creaky room like this.
Just going to the bathroom would require climbing down stairs that were basically a ladder.
I’d rather live sowhere with a toilet smack in the center than deal with that.
Anyway, I ca here today for one reason.
“You said you wanted to enter the Rupture?”
Jeon Si-hoon asked, still wearing that serene smile.
I nodded.
“Forgive , but can I ask what your purpose is? I know soone like doesn’t have the right to question Hunter Park Gyu, but this is a delicate issue. If Yoo Yang-seo asks, I need to have sothing to say.”
The stubble dotting Jeon Si-hoon’s pale face stood out more than usual.
His face wouldn’t objectively be called handso, but his facial hair had that bold, Western flair.
It wasn’t shaved completely clean—just neatly trimd, which gave him a more masculine impression.
“I’m going to et Kang Han-min.”
As always, I had no qualms sharing classified information if it helped achieve my goal.
Maybe it’s because I’m too good at detecting lies.
Anyone can tell a lie, but actually deceiving soone with it? That’s hard.
To succeed in lying to soone who’s suspicious and on guard—without having a burning body, a blank mind, or a dumb face to help you—that’s harder than killing a monster with a spoon.
“Kang Han-min?”
I knew Jeon Si-hoon would react negatively.
He doesn’t like Kang Han-min.
Even when they t again in Sejong, he had a prickly attitude.
I brought it up anyway.
“There’s sothing I want to confirm with him.”
“What exactly do you want to confirm?”
“Whether that guy—whether my cohort—has any will to protect Seoul, or even humanity at all.”
A cold gaze settled on .
Jeon Si-hoon said flatly, without blinking:
“Let’s set aside whether that’s even a aningful question. What if he says he does want to protect Seoul—what then?”
“I’ll stay in Seoul.”
Jeon Si-hoon’s smile vanished.
For a brief mont, I felt a ripple in the air, as if the entire space had distorted slightly.
A wave of intense displeasure.
“And if he doesn’t?”
Jeon Si-hoon asked.
He knew too.
The power dynamic in this space.
The person in charge here was ten years younger than .
No need to deny it.
It’s just a fact.
“I’ll leave Seoul.”
“Why?”
Jeon Si-hoon asked again.
But this ti, a different kind of suspicion laced the question.
I silently withstood the sharp gaze of the younger man.
For a mont, I felt a flicker of regret.
If I hadn’t co at this so bluntly—if I’d lied with the usual honeyed words—maybe this conversation could’ve gone more smoothly.
But—
“......”
Just because I’m lower doesn’t an I have to be a coward.
I stared him down and answered.
“Because you don’t hate the monsters as much as we do.”
Jeon Si-hoon’s face hardened terrifyingly.
But only for a mont.
The man who would beco king of Seoul let out a soft chuckle.
“...That’s the sa thing he said.”
His gaze drifted to the past, but it didn’t turn into a recollection.
He looked back at .
“Alright.”
He nodded.
“We’ll definitely get you into the Rupture, Hunter Park Gyu. I owe you one anyway.”
Jeon Si-hoon excused himself and took out his phone to make a call.
“Yeah, it’s . Mm. The Rupture. How is it lately? Still holding position? Mm. That woman, really... Try to make up a pretext. Huh? Yeah. There’s soone I absolutely have to get inside.”
He t my eyes and nodded.
“......”
I admit—it’s not a good look.
But I care more about the result than the process.
I got what I wanted.
The Rupture, which had been firmly shut, would now open once more for .
Kang Han-min had stepped into view.
Even though things had gone well, I couldn’t deny that I felt sour.
I—a prestigious Hunter with the Golden Fleece—had to grovel for crumbs of favor from so scrappy no-na punk. That wounded my pride in subtle ways.
“......”
I needed a psychological reward.
Surprisingly, I still had one way to get it.
Stel.
Skeleton Monster Battle.
Unlike Seoulgrad, whose ratings were tanking by the day, Stel was steadily trending upward.
According to an anonymous source, the daily average user count had already surpassed Seoulgrad.
And now, Stel stood at a critical crossroads.
“How’s it looking? Think it’ll go well?”
On a remote video call, my business partner—Foxgas—asked.
He knew today was important too.
What he wanted to achieve through the ga—
Was it profitable?
That question would now be tested.
According to earlier announcents, Stel would open its main content, “Monster Battle,” today, and launch its first unique character—its mascot—Skeleton.
Skeleton’s appearance was a hybrid: a sleeveless combat outfit like before, but with the head of a celebrity collab character photoshopped on per my request.
Hong Da-jeong had a fit, said it looked grotesque, but personally I thought it resembled .
On the forums, most reactions were surprised at how much Skeleton resembled a certain celebrity—or they said he looked good.
Anyway, Skeleton was about to officially launch.
Ti: 8 PM.
Countless users stared at the paid shop window.
When the padlock icon finally opened and the store beca accessible—
Foxgas broke into a triumphant grin.
“Watch closely, Skeleton. I’m gonna show you exactly what a money-making ga looks like.”
Ding~
A ssage popped up on a laptop in the corner.
An in-ga ssage.
Foxgas had sent a gift using his admin account.
It was a character gift.
Skeleton, no less.
I selected the avatar that resembled —modeled after .
The crudely rendered character nodded its head and muttered sothing.
“You know what? I like you...”
A baritone voice.
Not my voice.
But the voice actor’s performance was good. Deep and pleasant.
I didn’t quite get the line, but it sounded nice.
Now I checked the forums.
There’s no better place to gauge Stel’s success and raise my na.
But—
“......”
Sothing felt off.
Miljy323: What the fuck is this gacha? I went in thinking 50 credits was decent, but I rolled 100 tis and still didn’t get it?
FlourAddict: Are you kidding ? Why make it a gacha? Can’t you just let us buy it outright?
SixRaisins: So greedy. You make a trash dog-at ga and now you’re blatantly trying to cash-grab?
DaechiMom: Yum yum... lol
YeonwooDad: Haha, got shafted on the rolls, I’m out~
DuckStirFry: What the fuck. After all that effort, it’s ti-limited?
...
...
Most of the reactions were terrible.
The first problem was how the character was sold.
Foxgas had made the OP character Skeleton obtainable only through a probability-based gacha system—and on top of that, it was ti-limited. A nightmare for paying users.
Public opinion was awful, but Foxgas stayed calm.
“It’s an OP character, right? Why would you get to keep it forever? Of course it’s ti-limited. And expensive? If you want to use a broken character, you should pay for it, no?”
The mont I saw his shaless face, I rembered sothing I’d forgotten.
Right—this bastard.
He was always a goddamn scumbag.
But that wasn’t the only complaint.
To make it clearer, here are more forum posts:
Diablo323: What the hell is Monster Battle? They hyped it up as the core feature, but it’s half-assed trash.
NachoNo.1: Absolute garbage. They advertised it like it was the main dish, and this is what we get?
Simpo: The monsters are just pale-painted goblin and orc models I’ve seen before...
MorningOfAngels: Fucked. Dead. Ga.
KorosEyeglassCleaner: If you don’t pull Skeleton, you literally can’t play. What kind of ga is that?
Eclipse: Straight-up dog at ga.
...
...
I don’t know much about gas, but I do know how to read a room.
This... wasn’t it.
This really wasn’t it.
It didn’t take long for our ga to crash and burn.
Two fatal issues hit at the sa ti.
One was user backlash over the dog-at monetization and slapdash ga content.
The other was Seoulgrad’s shockingly fast improvent patch.
Either one would’ve sunk the ga alone, but both happened at once.
Stel had only risen because of a balloon effect—people fleeing Seoulgrad’s bugs.
If you lack ability, you return to your place. That’s just how it goes.
“...Haa.”
In our final video call, Foxgas appeared, clearly drunk.
“I’m sorry, Skeleton. I even borrowed your na... and it flopped.”
In the past, I would’ve ignored him or cursed him out.
But I didn’t even have the energy for that now.
I was headed into the Rupture anyway.
The success or failure of the ga was just a way to soothe my bruised pride.
How should I put it?
I think I always knew this would happen.
A premonition, or resignation.
Like it was bound to happen.
“To be honest...”
Foxgas let out a long sigh.
“We’re just has-beens. You and both.”
“......”
I didn’t argue.
I felt sothing stir inside, but it wasn’t strong enough to move .
Maybe I really was a has-been.
That’s one way to think of it.
But what does being a has-been even an?
A person’s role changes over ti.
Just because soone can’t do what they once could doesn’t an they’re worthless.
So—
“...I think your worth is sothing you define yourself.”
That’s the answer I arrived at after all this.
Foxgas, who had been staring blankly into space, looked at the screen.
And said:
“If soone who’s been pushed out of a field finds a new path of their own... can you still call them a has-been?”
It’s the sa for pro soccer players.
Just because a forr star leaves the pitch—does that make them a has-been?
There are plenty of other ways to succeed.
That’s what I wanted to say.
“Let’s do well.”
I never thought I’d give this guy a pep talk.
But I guess I was saying it to myself too.
Foxgas looked at the screen, chuckled softly, and rubbed his eyes with one palm.
“Hah. Took a hit from this guy. Tch.”
He lowered his hand.
And for just a mont, I saw the face of a young developer—one who hadn’t yet lost his old passion.
“Yeah. I’ll do it again.”
“Do what?”
“In the end, I’ve got nothing but gas.”
“Again?”
“There’s all kinds of gas. RPGs, action, puzzles... There are still plenty of genres I haven’t tried. Which ans I haven’t fully discovered my own talents yet.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
It was a good thought.
I’m about ready to put ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) down the axe, but... who knows.
Maybe there’s still a path I haven’t found. One that’s mine alone.
The Rupture is—as always—impossible to understand or explain. Within that incomprehensible infinity, maybe there’s sothing that only I, Skeleton, can do.
At the very least, I want to believe there is.
“Hey.”
Our conversation had ended—but one question remained.
“Can I ask you sothing?”
“What?”
“That Skeleton character. He says, ‘You know, I like you.’”
“Yeah, right. That’s Steamray’s line.”
“What did he like?”
Foxgas rolled his eyes, then let out a dry laugh and answered:
“No one knows.”
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