T/N: Sorry, I could not resist this megane-hunk xD
Cute, chibi-style characters roam around a neatly decorated field, defeating monsters as they go. The game features a wide variety of skills, flashy effects, and vibrant animations. A middle-aged man, CEO Kang Geon, was calmly controlling all of it with an expressionless face—until he finally spoke up.
“It’s okay. So okay that it’s a problem. What should we do about this?”
The young man sitting across from him, Yoo Taeyeon, looked visibly downcast.
“Taeyeon. To be honest, I doubt this will yield good results in the Nexple publishing test. If Director Lee Taeyeong isn’t convinced, we’ll lose our investment.”
Nexple!
The top game company in Korea!
If Nexple were the sun, then Bless—the company Kang Geon ran—was only a torch by comparison. It was still a small company that needed external funding just to stay afloat. Yoo Taeyeon was one of the game developers there.
“We only have about two months left. We need to push the polish even further in that time, got it?”
“Yes!”
“Good. Keep up the hard work.”
With those words, Taeyeon left the office, shoulders sagging.
When Kang Geon was younger, he’d made a name for himself as a star developer. He then founded the game company Bless and produced the PC MMORPG Breakthrough.
Yoo Taeyeon served as the lead planner on that game. In practice, he was basically the director. The rest of the development team used titles like “director,” “PM,” or “PD” interchangeably when referring to him.
Fortunately, the game was a success—even overseas. With both men gaining recognition in the industry, they embarked on their next project to solidify their standing:
Pandemonium, a casual MMORPG.
Set in the “Demon Realm” and featuring the stories of a variety of demonic beings, Pandemonium was originally a personal project Taeyeon had begun developing on his own when he was just a rookie. Kang Geon had convinced him to turn that idea into an official project.
Even though Breakthrough had performed well, it wasn’t as though it raked in massive profits. They were merely recouping their investments bit by bit—so, as Kang Geon explained it, there wasn’t much extra money to go around.
Because of that, Taeyeon hadn’t received any special promises or incentives. The same went for the other developers. Kang Geon had said he’d reward everyone once he secured additional investment during Pandemonium’s development, but nothing had come of it. In the end, most of the proven, talented developers who’d worked on Breakthrough left the company.
Taeyeon felt the same sense of frustration, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon Pandemonium, his dream project, and walk away. So he stayed on, taking the hit financially and carrying on development until now.
Taeyeon really had poured his all into the game. He slept only three hours a day and gave up weekends and holidays. The test build he’d shown was the product of those sacrifices.
But today, the CEO’s reaction was lukewarm at best, leaving Taeyeon with nothing but a weary sigh.
I need some air.
The moment lunch break started, Taeyeon left the office alone.
My head’s still a mess.
Lunch break had ended long ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to return to work. So he kept wandering the streets. Eventually, he found himself on a pedestrian overpass without really knowing why.
Huh?
He noticed a small stall selling accessories, run by an elderly man.
Wow, a stall in a place like this… He’s bound to get chased away…
It was winter, bitterly cold. Lunchtime was over, and no one was passing by. It was no place to do business, yet the old man stood there, quietly manning his stall. Something about the scene tugged at Taeyeon’s heart.
My grandmother, who passed away, used to sell vegetables at a street stall too…
Feeling sympathetic, Taeyeon approached to look at the items.
This would look nice paired with a watch.
He spotted a black leather bracelet. Its price tag read fifty thousand won—far more expensive than he’d expected.
That’s… expensive.
He hesitated briefly but decided to buy it anyway, having come over in the first place intending to help the old man.
“I’ll come by again sometime.”
The old man only smiled softly without a word. Taeyeon placed the bracelet in his pocket and left. Checking his phone:
Time to head back…
He’d missed most of his lunch hour by then.
I really don’t want to go to the office.
Forcing his heavy feet to move, he headed back.
“Team Lead, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to take the afternoon off.”
It was Choi Sookyung, a scenario writer. She was already fully packed and ready to go, hardly looking sick at all.
“Sookyung, you just took a half day off two days ago.”
“I took medicine yesterday and powered through the day to work on the script. I tried to do the same today, but I just can’t push myself any further. I need to go home and rest.”
For reference, it was Friday—so there was a notable spike in supposedly “sick” employees.
“What about the afternoon scenario meeting?”
“Let’s postpone it to next week.”
The gall of it all. Taeyeon wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut.
Restraining himself, he finally answered, “Fine. Go ahead.”
She hurried out of the studio. Watching her leave, Taeyeon let out a sigh of resignation.
I’ll have to do it myself somehow.
That afternoon, Taeyeon conducted two interviews. As the only producer at the company overseeing both Breakthrough’s live service and the development of Pandemonium, final interviews and hiring decisions also fell to him.
This is exhausting.
By the time the interviews were done, it was already 5 p.m. The workday was effectively over, but there was still a mountain of tasks to handle. The sheer volume of work he was juggling would wear out anyone.
His head pounded, and irritation flared.
I just need a quick break… just a short one…
Taeyeon collapsed onto his desk and closed his eyes, hoping a brief rest might help.
However…
“PD, what should we do about the afternoon’s cutscene meeting? None of the planners seem to be here…”
An AD from the Pandemonium team was looking at him expectantly.
“We wanted to finish it today and assign tasks so we could start working on it Monday.”
They needed a decision right away, but with the key staff members gone, there was only one obvious solution.
“Let’s just do it together—just the two of us.”
Moving like a half-dead zombie, Taeyeon dragged himself to the meeting room.
Normally, Taeyeon wasn’t much of a drinker. He’d never once gone to a hostess bar or any such nightlife spot.
But tonight… I need a drink.
He needed something to cope with the stress about to explode inside his head. He found a local pub via an online search and headed straight there, ordering booze and snacks and downing them in a rush.
How did my life turn out like this?
When he was a junior planner, he assumed that becoming a team lead would change his life for the better. But that was an illusion. Nothing really changed.
He’d even become a producer—something most people would be thrilled to achieve—yet he felt miserable.
Maybe I shouldn’t have followed CEO Kang back then. If I’d known this would happen, I would have taken Director Son’s offer at Nexple…
Right before he’d quit his old company, Director Son—who oversaw development at Nexple—had approached him with a proposal. They’d secured the rights to a famous Japanese IP and wanted Taeyeon to produce the mobile game. Taeyeon had turned that down out of loyalty to Kang Geon.
Instead, he introduced Son to his colleague, System Lead Choi Jong-hak, who ended up joining Nexple in his stead. Two years prior, that game launched—and raked in a jaw-dropping 600 billion won (about 600 million USD) in its first year.
Honestly, Taeyeon wasn’t just a little envious—he was very envious.
I shouldn’t have turned that offer down… But what’s the use of regretting it now?
He knew his current predicament was a direct result of his own decisions. All he could do was sigh and drink away the bitterness in his chest.
It’s getting loud in here…
He wanted to get thoroughly drunk, but by 9 p.m. the pub was packed and rowdy. The conversation at the table next to him was especially grating:
“That PD’s a bastard. He doesn’t know a damn thing about development, but he wormed his way into that PD spot through office politics and is single-handedly ruining our project.”
“I could do a better job as PD right now. Since he’s the CEO’s buddy, he got the job through connections, so of course he’s clueless.”
It was pure coincidence, but it felt like they were talking about him. He glanced over at the strangers. Usually, he would have shrugged it off, but in his current foul mood, their chatter struck a nerve.
I’ll just get up and go.
He started to settle his bill, reaching into his pocket—then felt something odd.
Oh, right. The bracelet I bought yesterday.
He hadn’t even unwrapped it or taken a proper look at it. Pulling it out now, he saw that it was covered in all sorts of unusual symbols, including what looked like an eye. It gave him a strange feeling.
Might as well wear it once, since I paid so much.
No point leaving an expensive purchase unused. Taeyeon slipped it onto his right wrist.
Flash!
Suddenly, the eye symbol lit up and a beam shot straight into Taeyeon’s forehead.
“Ugh!”
He tumbled backward in surprise, knocking over chairs. The noisy pub fell silent as all eyes turned to him.
“S-Sorry.”
He quickly apologized and sat back down. Slowly, the patrons returned to their own conversations. Taeyeon felt his heart hammering as he checked the bracelet again.
Just like an artifact from a fantasy movie, the eye symbol glowed with a faint light. Panicking, Taeyeon yanked the bracelet off. The glow vanished, and it returned to looking like an ordinary leather band.
What the heck was that? Am I drunk?
Still shaken, he hesitated for a moment before carefully putting it back on. Once his eyes met the engraved eye symbol, it flared with light again, piercing Taeyeon’s forehead. He jolted in surprise, but at least he didn’t fall over this time.
One by one, every symbol on the bracelet began to shine, starting from the eye. Though fear gripped him, Taeyeon forced himself to keep watching.
Finally, when all the markings were illuminated—
Flash!
A brilliant light flooded the entire pub.
Startled, Taeyeon squeezed his eyes shut. When the light subsided, he opened them again.
“…”
The pub was just as rowdy as before. Nobody else seemed to have noticed what had happened.
That’s bizarre, but…
He realized there was a bigger issue at hand:
‘What are these windows that look like status screens?’
Whenever he looked at someone, a translucent window appeared, displaying their name, job, and certain stats. Taeyeon turned to the loudest person next to him—a young man who was complaining about his own PD—and focused on him.
A status window popped up:
[Choi Hojun]
Game Designer (Level)
System 2/10
Content 3/10
Level Design 3/10
Scenario 2/10
Affinity: 0/10
He did say he was a game developer… So it’s showing each part of game design as a “stat”?
Looking at the man’s friend, Taeyeon confirmed he too had a window, similarly listing abilities and skills. It was like a game’s status interface come to life.
Out of reflex, Taeyeon glanced at his own bracelet and gasped.
It’s gone!
The bracelet had disappeared. Instead, his wrist now bore a tattoo of that same eye symbol. No matter how much he rubbed at it, it wouldn’t come off.
What on earth is happening to me?
Confusion and fear swirled inside him. Taeyeon couldn’t stay there any longer. He rushed out of the pub. As people brushed past him on the street, status windows popped up and then vanished one after another. Keeping his gaze low, Taeyeon hurried on, heart pounding.
Leave a Reply