Chapter 2

A cheerful, rhythmic tapping echoed from the desk. Long, slender fingers drummed in sequence—thump, thump, thump. Euishin, who had been staring down at the pristine white contract, reached out and opened the lid of the red ink pad.

“It’s an augmented virtual reality cultural content, a blend of VR and MR. The setting is a fictional Joseon era, roughly analogous to the reigns of King Yeongjo or King Jeongjo[1]. In the game, there’s a king, naturally, and he has a crown prince and three other princes. Your mission is to ensure the fourth prince successfully ascends to the throne. That’s the brief summary of the game you’ll be entering.”

As she spoke, she quietly stamped her seal on the contract. After leaving the red mark next to her printed name, Euishin spun the document around. Once again, it lay perfectly aligned in front of Jinwoo. The three characters of her name, stamped neatly within the lines, were flawless.

“I designed the game to be straightforward. Just like in a typical simulation game, you need to build up high favorability and help the fourth prince grow and become king. In short, the user’s role is to raise a young prince, one who can’t even participate in power struggles, into a wise and virtuous monarch.”

He felt her unwavering gaze on him. Jinwoo lifted his head and stared straight back. Their eyes met in midair, striking like flint and steel, igniting an invisible spark.

“And you’re jumping in to conduct the alpha test.”

“Excuse me?”

And there it was, the final nail in the coffin. Kim Euishin’s words were nothing short of a bombshell. Jinwoo let the weight he’d been holding drop, his face instantly crumpling. Here I was, trying my best to act uncharacteristically serious, and she just won’t play along. He pulled his chair closer to the desk and lowered his voice significantly.

“Noona, you know that every single thing you just said is completely absurd, right?”

“Why? All I did was explain the setting.”

“How can you ask me ‘why’ right now? Just hearing the setting, I can already see a dozen ways it completely ignores market viability in popular culture.”

A torrent of words burst from Jinwoo like a broken dam. This woman has absolutely no common sense or basic knowledge about content creation. Feeling a surge of pride at finally being in his element, Jinwoo cleared his throat. “Okay, look here, Noona,” before continuing, “You’ve overlooked a very crucial fact.”

“And what’s that?”

“Fusion historical dramas just don’t sell in today’s content market.”

Euishin, who had been leaning on the desk with her chin resting on her folded arms, gave a slight nod. It was a non-verbal cue for him to continue.

“Right now, the trend in popular culture is authentic historical dramas, not fusion. The public’s desire for originality is stronger in this genre than any other. In fact, while fusion historical dramas are pulling in mediocre ratings, the fifty-episode epic historical dramas on public broadcast channels are recording the highest viewership ratings in their time slots.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. So think about it. If I, a modern person, enter the game, the genre automatically becomes fusion. Sure, it might be similar to popular webnovel concepts like regression, reincarnation, or possession, but the risk of a fusion historical drama is just too great. On top of that, do you really think you, someone who’s spent her entire life in R&D, can handle all the historical details and accuracy?”

“Hmm.”

“No matter how smart you are, that’s going to be difficult. Just getting expert consultation will cost a significant amount of time and money.”

It’s not too late. It doesn’t have to be a historical drama. Keep the story and characters, just change the setting slightly. Like an underground rapper in the finals of Show Me the Money,[2] Jinwoo delivered his passionate argument. He couldn’t let a self-proclaimed genius, even one as brilliant as her, produce content without doing any market research. Especially now that Kim Euishin was a private business owner running her own research institute. At a time when she should be raking in money, why would she insist on doing something that wasn’t profitable? Jinwoo summoned what little remained of his undergraduate knowledge and spoke with conviction.

“You’d be much better off setting a dungeon break in the middle of Seoul or creating a fantasy empire…”

“No.”

Euishin straightened up and crossed her arms. Her face was an unreadable, dry mask as she stared silently at him. So much for her listening quietly for once. Jinwoo was about to open his mouth to retort when she moved faster, slamming her hand on the desk and surging to her feet.

“There’s one fact that you’re overlooking, too.”

The LED lamp on the desk trembled. Every object on its surface shifted back a centimeter from the physical force. Seo Jinwoo was no exception. His body reflexively recoiled like a receding tide pulled by a powerful gravity.

The distance he retreated was instantly closed. Using her tall frame to her advantage, Euishin leaned over him in a single motion, her eyes sharp and menacing.

Jinwoo’s face was cast in shadow. ‘Isn’t it against the rules of negotiation to just use your physical presence to intimidate someone?’ Genuinely scared, he held his breath and stared blankly into her vast, universe-like eyes.

“…What is it?”

“You underestimate your own abilities far too much.”

The moment she finished speaking, his vision cleared. Thump. Euishin sat back down heavily in her chair and shrugged. I don’t see you that way, so what gives you the right to judge yourself like that? Whether her intention was simply to cut him off, she immediately returned to her usual demeanor. His heart pounded like he had just run a hundred-meter dash. He had just experienced a reality more terrifying than any horror movie. Jinwoo let out the breath he’d been holding and ground his teeth internally.

So, she actually took my advice to persuade me by any means necessary and decided to use a compliment. Jinwoo fought to suppress the corners of his mouth, which were twitching upwards despite the situation, and cleared his throat.

“You’ve always been the type to do well wherever you’re thrown. I heard all about how you ran around—no, how you excelled in every campus event during your undergraduate years, from festivals to plays.”

“You were about to say I ran around, weren’t you.”

“Of course not. Let’s move past the unimportant details. The most crucial point of this conversation is that you, Seo Jinwoo, are what Pokémon would call a battle-tested monster with top-tier base stats: maxed-out adaptability, maxed-out social skills, and maxed-out rhetoric.”

“I, uh, am?”

“Yes. You are,” Euishin affirmed with the most serious expression he had ever seen on her face.

“So, as long as you act like a Joseon person, there won’t be any problem. You know method acting, right? Do that. Method act. Then it becomes an authentic historical drama.”

He felt the tension drain from deep within his body. His shoulders, which had been drawn up in a tight knot, relaxed. All this buildup just to say something so ridiculous? There’s a limit to how much nonsense one can spew and still be charming. Is she messing with me? The delayed-action rage began to bubble up, leaving Jinwoo utterly dumbfounded.

“How is that even possible? If I had any talent for acting, I’d be in Daehangno[3] or Chungmuro right now, not looking for a job. Do you think you can just say whatever you want, Noona?”

The only people in South Korea capable of method acting in a period drama are veteran actors with over thirty years of experience. How could she ask a mere job seeker to do something that would require casting someone like Go Hyun-jung or Choi Soo-jong?[4] Acting certainly wasn’t a required skill in today’s job market.

“Why not? You should be prepared for that much. Did you think making someone a king would be easy?”

“What about you, then? Can you handle it? Could you step into the Joseon era and start filming Deep Rooted Tree or Immortal Admiral Yi Sun-sin without a single acting controversy?”

“No, I can’t. That’s why I’m hiring you as a contractor.”

Jinwoo was speechless. The sheer, unadulterated nonsense of her argument, evergreen and unyielding, had worn him out. Not caring if he messed up the hair he’d set with spray, he repeatedly washed his face with dry hands.

“…Forget it. I’m tired. Let’s change the subject. No matter what we talk about, it seems we’ll only end up with the conclusion that me, Seo Jinwoo, going to enter the Joseon era and method act.”

He hadn’t been here long, but Jinwoo felt like he’d used up all his energy. Despite being on the outskirts of a satellite city with supposedly clean air, he felt more suffocated than if he’d been breathing in acrid exhaust fumes.

“Since it’s come to this, let’s just get to the purpose. What is it you want to achieve with this game?”

She must at least have some grand, ultimate goal. Feeling like a job interviewer tossing a lifeline to a candidate, Jinwoo offered her an out. If that goal is at least compelling, this might still be worth it.

“Don’t really have one.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’d be nice if the final product is good enough to be featured in the historical and cultural exhibition halls at Gyeongbokgung Palace or Gyeonggijeon Shrine,[5] but it doesn’t matter if it’s not.”

The sentences followed one another, devoid of any hidden meaning. Her tone revealed no boredom or longing, no tediousness or excitement.

“Noona. Did you win a bid for a local government’s cultural project?”

“I will in the future.”

“Or are you getting a grant from something like the Content Convergence Promotion Agency?”

“I’m going to get one in the future.”

Her face, a face that had never known a downhill path in life, was serene. Like a jellyfish drifting on the risen sea, she floated freely through every part of this research institute. So this woman really did just get fixated on a game all of a sudden and decided to do this. Unable to keep up with the thought process of a genius, Jinwoo felt his soul steadily departing from his body.

“Eight hundred, after taxes.”

If it hadn’t been for those words, Jinwoo would have carved a bamboo spear and laid waste to the entire research institute.

“…Excuse me? How much?”

“I’ll take care of performance bonuses, incentives, welfare benefits, and meal allowances separately. I’ll try my best not to have you work overtime, but if you do, you’ll get paid extra for that too.”

“Wait, hold on. What did you say?”

“Why? Need transportation expenses too? I’ll give them to you.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Euishin tore the contract into four pieces.

“Just as you said, I’m the type who has to execute something immediately once I’m fixated on it. Arguing with you for the first time in a while was fun, but I’m getting a little bored of it now.”

In just three steps, she was in front of her monitor, typing rapidly. The screen scrolled down as various figures changed. The modern all-in-one printer whirred to life, its operation chime sounded, and a new sheet of paper was printed, all in the blink of an eye.

“I have no thoughts other than to finish this game quickly. And to do that, I need to put you into this story as soon as possible.”

It’s just a shame that you’re the only unemployed person who fits my criteria. Just as Seo Jinwoo had pointed out, Kim Euishin, impatient and inept at sourcing or befriending new people, stood up. Flutter. The light sound of rustling paper mixed with the click of her heels.

“I’ve never offered terms like this before. You keep putting me in a position where I’m the one who needs something.”

“…”

“If you need anything while you’re living here, just let me know. Whether it’s tangible or intangible, I’ll provide it for you immediately.”

“Whoa…”

“So? Care to give it a positive review?”

A top 1% genius of South Korea, practically begging. A salary that cut straight through any unnecessary emotional wrangling. A stunning beauty who commanded attention even if you weren’t interested. The trifecta landed a perfect combination. And because of it, Seo Jinwoo was reeled in before he could stop himself. Wait. Is this woman really a content-creation novice? How does she know all the dopamine triggers so well? No matter how he looked at it, her offer was a setup packed with every element the public loves. So Seo Jinwoo, a man more average than most, could only give one answer.

“Fucking thank you.”

His cheeks grew warm, like the rising temperature of the Earth. Who would pass up an opportunity like this? Suppressing a grin that threatened to split his face, Jinwoo uncapped the pen and swiftly signed his name.