Kang Geon said nothing while they walked back to his office; he did not even look at Yoo Taeyeon.
After he sat in his chair, he forced his voice to stay calm.
“Be honest. You got a head‑hunting offer, didn’t you?”
“I’m not leaving because of a job offer.”
“Then why?”
“Because the investment is set. I’m going to make my game.”
Kang flinched. Narrowing his eyes, he asked,
“From where?”
“A place you know well.”
“Nexple?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Taeyeon shrugged.
“I’d rather not say.”
Kang snorted, then slammed his fist on the desk, sprang up, and roared with a demon‑like glare.
“You bastard! That’s what you call an answer?!”
“Did you just curse at me?”
“How could I not? Is the company, is the project, some kid’s toy? Do you have no sense of responsibility?”
Responsibility? Taeyeon let out a short snort.
“Sir, I think you’ve forgotten—I’m just a salaried employee.”
The facts kept coming.
“When Breakthrough succeeded I never got a bonus or a single share. Back then and now, my whole income is my paycheck. Same at DreamSoft—I directed myself half to death, the game hit big, and all I took home was my salary.”
He made it plain.
“Ten years under you, several hits, and all I have is a savings book filled by wages.”
“…”
“I’m human. I have ambition. I want my own funding, to build the game I want, succeed, and make real money. Is that so wrong?”
Kang had no answer. Anything more would only make him look pathetic.
“I handed over producer and directing duties two months ago, so today will be my last day. Don’t forget my severance. If you skip it, I’ll sue.”
With that Taeyeon left the office. Kang stared after him, stunned.
“If he quits… the Pandemonium project…”
Back at his desk, Taeyeon wrote a mail to everyone on the live and new‑development teams.
**[Hello, this is Yoo Taeyeon.
It’s been a pleasure making great games with you all.
As of today I’m laying down all duties and leaving Bless.
I wish every one of you the best in the future.
Thank you.]**
Not long after he hit send, people crowded around him.
“We had a feeling, but… you’re really leaving?”
“I thought you’d at least warn us…”
“We’re going to miss you!”
Even staff from General Affairs showed up.
So they all sensed it. He had been quietly preparing to go; no one could miss the signs. After saying goodbye, he packed his bag and left the studio.
“PD!”
It was Baek Young‑hoon, now a scenario designer. With a determined face he said,
“Please take me with you. I want to work for you, not this company.”
Taeyeon had spent more time on Baek than anyone these past two months—Baek was talented but a beginner at scenario work, eager to learn. In Baek’s eyes Taeyeon saw his own younger self: admiration for a mentor.
“All right. I’ll contact you—wait for my call.”
“Thank you!”
After patting Baek’s shoulder, Taeyeon stepped out of the building. It was cold, but the sky was clear. Bathed in sunlight, he smiled.
Now the real beginning.
I need rest. He knew his condition: money had piled up, but so had fatigue from endless overtime.
Time to travel.
A solo trip he had only dreamed of. After weighing destinations he chose Japan—Tokyo, and especially Akihabara, the otaku’s mecca. Like many developers, Taeyeon was an unabashed otaku; he had even learned fluent Japanese through anime and games.
Two days later he boarded a flight to Narita.
“Wow!”
Rows upon rows of game titles filled an Akihabara shop.
“Buy them. Buy them all!”
Why else had he scraped together money? He grabbed imports never released in Korea and heaps of merch from old favorite series. Before he knew it, both hands were loaded with big shopping bags and night had fallen. He had spent a fair sum, but his smile was wide.
“Dinner time.”
He ducked into the first eatery he saw and ordered gyudon.
“Delicious!”
Still hungry, he added a ramen‑and‑gyoza set. Stuffed to bursting, he felt on top of the world.
I should have lived like this sooner. From childhood he preferred games, anime, and manga over hanging out. Right after high school he joined DreamSoft, spent his teens and twenties making games, and suddenly he was in his thirties.
I’ve given up a lot. While others dated girlfriends, he crafted female NPCs; while they vacationed, he built seaside fields and dungeons. He had poured his best years into development.
A little unfair, really. One day of leisure and fresh energy was already surging.
Rest is part of development. From now on I’ll pace myself.
The five‑day dream trip flew by.
Back to work.
With Nexple’s legal team, Taeyeon exercised his copyright to Pantheon. Kang called, incredulous.
“Hey! How could you bar us from using the Pandemonium title and setting? Are you trying to screw me?”
“You promised a contract and kept stalling. I told you then I’d ask a modest fee out of loyalty.”
“I—I was going to! Get over here now, we’ll sign!”
“No, I’ll use the title myself. Nexple’s signing the contract—two hundred million won each for Pandemonium and Pantheon, four hundred total. Can you match that?”
“…”
Kang was speechless. The novels had sold poorly, but Taeyeon had published them precisely to secure the rights—and now that paid off. A final notice:
“If you release a game with my titles or settings, I’ll see you in court, not on the phone.”
The link to Bless—and to Kang—was severed.
I’m a Nexple developer now. He opened the long‑stored design docs and began revisions.
When he sent his start date, Son Youngsang called.
“The Chairman wants to meet you soon. Is tomorrow okay?”
“Anytime. Just tell me when.”
“Tomorrow morning at HQ, then lunch together. Also, we’ll sign the copyright deal tomorrow—be ready.”
Taeyeon hung up, dazed.
Sign tomorrow and four hundred million hits my account…
Money aside, he was about to meet the head of Korea’s largest game company.
What will he say?
Next morning Taeyeon reached Nexple HQ in Pangyo. Minutes after signing, the advance hit his bank. Son clapped him on the shoulder.
“Congratulations. You owe me drinks.”
“Anytime you call, Director. I didn’t expect Nexple to wire billions instantly.”
“The Chairman asked us to look after you.”
Taeyeon nodded.
“He’s getting a briefing now, so let’s kill time. I’ll show you around.”
A personal tour from Nexple’s top developer—Taeyeon tried to decline.
“Isn’t this a bother?”
“Entertaining you is top priority. Coffee first?”
The cafeteria was larger than Bless’s whole dev floor. And that was nothing: gym, sauna, pool, tennis and basketball courts, PC café, pharmacy, nap room lined with massage chairs, cinema, auditorium, seminar halls. Motion‑capture and sound studios rivaled dedicated vendors.
They’re telling us to stay inside and just make games. Even the indoor day‑care center looked like a theme park.
No wonder people bad‑mouth Nexple yet secretly dream of working here. Salaries were the industry’s best.
And I’m a producer here… Seeing it in person made it real: he was now Nexple’s fifth producer.
If I fail after all this, I’m done. The bigger the support, the heavier the burden. A hundred‑billion‑won project—and that was just the start. He had to deliver more than the interest Nexple showed, or the dream would end.
I must succeed.
A message came: the briefing was over. Heart pounding, Taeyeon followed Son.
At last—
“Nice to meet you.”
He faced the giant who had built the Nexple legend with his bare hands.
“Hello, I’m Yoo Taeyeon.”
Bowing with deep respect, he heard Chairman Yoo Jinseong, hair slicked back, answer with a warm smile.
“I’ve been eager to meet you. Please, sit.”
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