Yeonjun tapped the keyboard while thumping his aching head with a fist as a crude massage.
[Responder] GM Clara
[You think you’re the only one whose life is hell?]
When it came to hardship, he was no lightweight either.
Why is the world such utter shit only to me?
No. Yeonjun shook his head at once.
The world is equally shitty to everyone. The timing of each person’s shitstorm just differs.
Right now, he was barely past the worst shitstorm of his life and enduring a daily grind that stung like a constant DoT (Damage over Time, an attack that deals continuous damage in fixed ticks).
Ten years ago, an event rocked the life of fearless young Yeonjun.
His father, who had always seemed unbreakably strong, received severe disciplinary action at his company and resigned.
Details were hazy, but it was vaguely said to be corporate politics. Everyone thought he would land another position quickly, yet in less than a month he collapsed—cerebral infarction. Overwork, drinking, and stress were the suspected causes.
Though he underwent major surgery at once, his condition showed no improvement. As soon as Father managed to open his eyes, what awaited the family was a long struggle against complications.
The luxuries they had taken for granted vanished, and even daily living became precarious. They sold the apartment in a prime subway district, and Yeonjun enlisted immediately.
Each time he came home on leave, the outlook grew darker.
The first to hit her limit was Mother. Having depended solely on Father, she could not escape deep depression.
While Yeonjun served in the army, his sister gave up studying abroad and became an instructor at a children’s classical-music studio, acting as head of the household.
It took only three years for the whole family to feel like a house of mourning. There was no time to care about games.
If this had been after 2020, he might have leveraged his gaming skill to earn big money as a streamer, but back then such revenue models had yet to take root. In the dead of night, when even his night-owl guildmates logged off, he sneaked on to liquidate in-game assets. Every bit of gold he converted to cash went straight to living expenses.
At home, Mother waited with eyes swollen from crying all day. A father who could not move a finger and a weeping mother: thus, vanished Yeonjun’s twenties.
The moment he graduated university, he felt suffocated by the need to earn money fast. Juggling part-time jobs and classes, he barely finished school and dove into the job market.
He clenched his teeth and, sooner than expected, his job-hunt ended: he was hired by OpenGames, developer of the beloved Eraha Online.
Surely the downhill stretch was over, and life would finally open up. During the new-hire training, he earned favorable reviews, and when he was assigned to the Eraha Online development studio, Cloud, he was over the moon.
Afraid any influence, good or bad, might leak, he kept quiet about being the famous named player Ignis—a name the company would once have greeted with open arms.
Only after joining did he learn that even a game company, bound by privacy law, could not cross-check an employee’s personal info with its user database without internal procedure.
He felt relieved. Spring was coming back to his life. Though now a GM rather than a user, he was happy simply to relive that most brilliant era.
Maybe he also just wanted to get as far away as possible from a home that felt suffocating enough to kill, but it was fine.
Setting aside a little for pocket money and savings, he paid most of his salary into household expenses. Every day was a life of excuses that he had done enough.
Hiding his identity and throwing himself into work was nothing but a struggle to survive.
Perhaps thanks to that devotion, he was the first among his intake to pin on the assistant-manager rank.
Just when it seemed life might shine again despite the wobble, a second catastrophe appeared.
“Mr. Seong Yeonjun? Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot from Chief Woo. Let’s have a meal together sometime.”
Handsome enough, yet with eyes strangely devoid of focus. Tthat should have been a warning. He would soon drag Yeonjun’s life back into the gutter.
“Do you work out? Your body’s pretty good. Mind if I feel it?”
It was clearly a sticky touch, nothing like an ordinary middle-aged man’s. A chill ran up Yeonjun’s back as he tried to avoid contact with Chief Joo, but with the man as his superior he could not fully ignore him.
“Aren’t you being too sensitive? People might think I’m actually interested in you.”
The moment Chief Joo sensed the indirect rejection, his attitude flipped. Reporting him? No clear evidence, no outright incident.
After half a year of internal torment, Yeonjun received a personnel notice he had never imagined.
[Regular Personnel Transfer Notice]
[Issuer] Human Resources Department
Body:
We announce the following changes for the Q1 personnel transfer of 20XX.
Before change
[Assistant Manager] [Seong Yeonjun] [Studio Cloud]
After change
[Deputy Manager] [Seong Yeonjun] [Studio Snow]
“…Ha. Damn it.”
It was a department he’d never even heard of. His eyes couldn’t believe it.
Rank went up, but every colleague who knew what Studio Snow was recoiled and came to console him.
What did you do? Slap the CEO?
The reason was solely Chief Joo, yet on paper it was a promotion.
“Why the long face, Yeonjun? You said working with me made you uncomfortable. I recommended this so you could spread your wings in a new environment.”
Bastard. If he could, he’d stick something sharp right in the chief’s gut. But he couldn’t lose his hard-won job at a major company over this psycho.
Just wait. The chief’s head will roll before I resign.
Grinding his teeth, he arrived at Studio Snow, a two-person exile barely worthy of being called a team, himself and the team lead.
“Nice to have you, Mr. Yeonjun… I know you’re upset, but… let’s endure together.”
Team Lead Ahn Mi-jin, who had survived a year in Studio Snow, was the textbook victim of retaliatory reassignment.
She’d been climbing fast, but a sudden health break robbed her of her original post. When she returned, her seat was gone.
She was labeled team lead yet deprived of departmental incentives. Her salary had even dropped.
Still, like Yeonjun, she couldn’t leave. If they swallowed their humiliation and did the assigned work, the company’s pay pool kept the wages coming, and when hits like Eraha Online printed money, the company-wide bonus reached them too.
Money was the only reason to endure it all. Two years have passed since the awkward start: Chief Joo still clings to the main director’s chair on Eraha, and Mi-jin and Yeonjun have neither been fired nor seen any improvement, slogging through each day.
So damn shitty.
He suppressed the urge to hit Enter on what he had just typed and pressed Backspace.
[Responder] GM Clara
[Hello, Player!
This is GM Clara of Snowy Racing, always cheering on your dazzling runs! It sounds like something upset you today ㅠㅠ GM Clara hopes your spirits lift soon!
Thank you for spending another day with Snowy Racing!
This was GM Clara!]
Only after finishing that reply with the last of his patience did his head ring dully.
Father could finally sit up in bed, and the household had regained rough stability, yet Yeonjun felt as if he walked on thin ice.
Everything seemed poised to collapse again in an instant—the precarious job, the newly calm home.
The scars from ten years ago chased him without end.
This can’t go on.
He had to vent the stress that might explode like a time bomb.
But how? It was past eight by the time he left work after yet another patch-day chore and crossing the bridge, he spotted a flashy protest truck parked in front of a rival company.
Whew, they’ve got their own drama too.
“Director Kim, who ruins the players’ memories, resign!”
The neon-bright slogan made his eyes flash.
That’s it.
If Chief Joo wouldn’t step down of his own accord, there was a way to make him do so against his will.
Whether such a protest could actually strip him of his seat was uncertain, but Chief Joo was already a hot potato among players for ruthless random gacha and monetization.
If I dig deep enough, I’m sure there’s something that can blow Chief Joo’s head off.
To find it… Yeonjun would have to step once more into the world of Eraha Online.
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