T/N: I promise to update this more during Thanksgiving break!
[Party/BananaCook: Because it’s fun?]
Fun in what way? Molar couldn’t make sense of it. Why was PleasePunishThem here again? Normally, the moment he saw they were on at the same time, he’d go 1v1? and rush in, but for once he was meekly stuck to the guild master’s side, doing nothing, just trailing after the group.
[Party/Molar: Where exactly are we going?]
He didn’t know what was going on, only that the guild’s core members had all slipped into some unexpected region side by side, so he came to see if they were doing anything there.
But it wasn’t fun at all. They were shadowing some unfamiliar player from a distance and moving along in tow, so he had no idea what the point was.
And on top of that, why tell me not to bring my main?
Had they launched some kind of spy op? With a thumping, excited heart, Molar arrived only to find the guild master silently stalking an old-timer named player, the vice master silently stalking the guild master, and—even though he always shuddered at the guild master—his duo partner stuck to his side for once despite this not being a battle instance.
They were people who would normally fly around in combat, yet here they were lying in ambush on alts they barely ever logged into.
[Party/BananaCook: That guy never cares about anyone else]
[Party/BananaCook: There’s no way watching him fuss and chase one person around wouldn’t be fun]
Molar paused, then nodded. Fair point.
Who was Dohaesal again? The weirdo of weirdos who spent a whole year solo-climbing the Tower of Agony with Storm Haste, a feat everyone mocked as insane.
With an achievement like that, most people would have put out videos titled [How to Climb the Tower of Agony with Storm Haste], [Officially Unsoloable Class Clears Floor 50 of Tower of Agony Alone], milked the views, posted guides, and basked like clout-chasers in the flood of praise and comments.
But after grinding that hard and finally getting the achievement, Dohaesal did exactly one thing: posted a single screenshot on his open messenger feed. He even locked comments so only mutuals could react, which made the view count skyrocket for nothing.
Same when he took a castle. With only three castles on the whole server, you’d think he’d brag loudly, but he didn’t. He just dropped another screenshot on his open messenger, and that was it.
From the way he acted, he seemed like a clout-chaser, yet once he hit his personal goal he flatly ignored people’s eyes or judgments as if they meant nothing. In many ways, he was a strange one.
Well, better a content freak than a clout freak as a guild master, I guess.
They had gathered around Dohaesal out of curiosity, but everyone agreed the guild master was a bit eccentric. The oddest of his habits was how he revered an outdated named player to a borderline excessive degree.
[Guild/Fang: But if we’re thinking about our defense-war efficiency]
[Guild/Fang: Shouldn’t PleasePunishThem go Battlemage instead of Playmer?]
As the guild’s sub-tank, Fang still hadn’t forgotten how, not long after he joined, he let that careless remark slip and then had to endure brutal ideological training.
[Guild/PleasePunishThem: dddddddddd;;;;]
[Guild/Seol Heewon: Oof;]
[Guild/MintTrotters: Guys, we might be about to lose our sub-tank]
Was there some grand reason? Fang wondered what could be so important for everyone to react like that, but only for a moment. Without a word, Dohaesal quietly sent Fang a screen-share call request.
‘?’
[Guild/Seol Heewon: No way, Guild Master]
[Guild/Seol Heewon: Did you start a screen-share?]
[Guild/PleasePunishThem: Looks like it ddd;;;]
[System: Seol Heewon cheers for Fang.]
[System: Seol Heewon comforts Fang.]
[System: PleasePunishThem cheers for Fang.]
[System: Seol Heewon cheers for Fang.]
[System: PamatChex cheers for Fang.]
[System: MidlifeHunter cheers for Fang.]
Staring at the flood of cheer emotes, Fang tilted his head and accepted Dohaesal’s screen-share call, after which he had to endure a long, one-hour ideological lecture.
All the Playmers in the world split neatly into two: one is Mr. Ignis, and the other is everyone else.
Across every generation, the only person who truly absorbed the Playmer’s mechanics and mastered them perfectly was Ignis, and though countless imitators have tried to copy his style, the fact is that nobody other than Ignis can maintain stacks from start to finish in a raid without a single drop unless there’s a Storm Haste with them.
There has never been, and never will be, a Playmer who can catch up to Mr. Ignis.
If he’d kept listening, he might have believed Ignis could turn the moon into the sun and cross the Han River on a leaf, that was the level of one-on-one proselytizing
Fang was finally released, exhausted—not because Dohaesal chose to let him go, but because the defense war was about to start and he got lucky.
In short, ‘if you’re a Playmer who isn’t Ignis, you won’t be accepted, and you won’t be in my party.’
But even thinking it over again…
No matter how someone was a childhood superstar gamer, a kid-president-tier named player, isn’t worshiping them this much a little strange?
It defied common sense. As everyone settled on the conclusion: The guild master is half-crazy for Mr. Ignis, so just accept it; there’s no need to understand.
Hae-in didn’t care what anyone said.
Ignis wasn’t just a named player to Hae-in. After an accident in the spring when he had just turned nine, Hae-in couldn’t leave the hospital room for a long time. It had been a peaceful day: Hae-in slept in late in his room as usual, and his parents went to work early. A short circuit set the rug on the sofa on fire, and when Hae-in ran out, startled by a heat he couldn’t comprehend, the blaze had already spread through the living room. On the verge of collapsing from toxic smoke inhalation, Hae-in fell, and when he awoke, he had severe burns across his back.
Everyone said he should be grateful his face was spared, but the Hae-in who had been the focus of every casting agent’s hopes, someone they said they couldn’t wait to see grow up, no longer existed.
A handicap that meant he couldn’t go shirtless, couldn’t even wear sleeveless or any outfit that revealed his back in the slightest had everyone shaking their heads and turning away.
So I’m defective, and no one wants me.
With the adults’ changed attitude and their mercenary consolations, nothing was enjoyable. His days were a blur of sleeping and waking.
People called him “that pitiful kid,” and the wounds festered every day, making even normal outings a torment. During dressing changes, it hurt so much he would sob and sob, wondering why this happened to him and wanting to throw his whole body away just to escape the pain.
To help Hae-in pass the time as he waited empty and numb for discharge, his dad looked for things they could do together. On weekends, his dad was a light gamer who played arcade games with him. After some thought, his dad showed him the video that was the talk of the gaming community: Ignis soloing a raid.
Once you’re all healed and you’re older like the big kids, you can play something this cool too.
On screen, the character ran straight into the raging flames that had frozen Hae-in’s legs the moment he saw them and effortlessly slipped every attack, bringing the boss’s HP to zero in a flash. Of course, it was his own flaming sword wave.
His dad then showed other named players in sequence, but none excited Hae-in like Ignis.
With that heart-thrilling promise that you could become like this hyung too, he endured the long treatment, dreaming of the day he’d meet this person in the game for real. Even a match flame used to make him jump, but by the time he was discharged, he no longer feared fire.
What had once been the most terrifying memory of his childhood, when he’d feared he might truly die, faded, and he could hurry back to daily life, entirely thanks to Mr. Ignis. Ignis himself probably wouldn’t even remember, and it wasn’t the only help he’d given, but that one reason alone was enough to make Ignis special to Hae-in.
Watching his videos several times a day, down to the second, memorizing even the damage numbers, Hae-in kept dreaming of the day he could stand back to back by his side.
To idolize a named player who vanished in an instant one day and remained perfectly a legend was irresistible. Ignis was Hae-in’s one-sided friend, family, teammate, and first love. No one in this world, no matter who Hae-in met, could be as perfect as Ignis.
Some said it was an illusion born because he’d never truly interacted with the real person. But honestly, isn’t that normal even for a lover standing right beside you in reality?
Everyone judges others by their outward actions and words. Whatever Ignis’s true character and intentions were, everyone had experienced how he enacted the justice he believed in, even if only within the shallow, flat world of a game.
He himself said it was only natural, and many claimed he simply pandered to players to avoid getting flamed as he got famous. But even pandering to others’ eyes and choosing the common good is rarer than you’d think, rarer than people who are openly awful.
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