Shinnara PC Bang.
Even now, but especially back then, there wasn’t a better part-time job for someone like me with Over-Immersion Syndrome. That’s why I’ve been working here three months straight.
Anywhere noisy, or anywhere that required much physical work—I had to rule those out completely.
At least inside a VRS (Virtual Reality System), people just go limp like corpses and focus solely on their game. No moving around, no shouting.
And a while back, the boss asked me to put my finger over his while he clicked to “pray for luck” when upgrading an item. That turned out to be a jackpot.
Thanks to that, this place now feels almost like home.
“Boss, you’re here?”
Our portly boss strolls in with a goofy grin, waving his hands.
“Oho, my lucky charm. Sit, sit. No need to stand up.”
At first, the way he treated me after that incident felt awkward, but now it feels strange when he doesn’t act that way. We’ve gone from boss and part-timer to almost close friends. He’d probably give me his liver if I asked.
It’s at the point where I can just help myself to the snacks stocked in the store without a problem. He doesn’t even check if I’ve done the cleaning anymore.
“Crowded today?”
“Yes, sir. It’s still just lunchtime, but the place is packed.”
And it really was. Some customers had even made reservations.
“Well, I spent big to replace everything with 4th-Generation VRS units. It had better be full.”
4th-Generation VRS.
The next-gen virtual reality systems released almost simultaneously—just one day apart—by domestic developers PV Industry and DS Corporation.
The limit RTP (Reality Transfer Point) had been boosted from 300P to 500P, 200P higher than the previous generation.
RTP is a numerical value quantifying the amplified sensations you experience once your brain crosses into virtual reality, freed from the constraints of the body.
Back then, my own measurement hit the limit—500P. I tried connecting to a 2nd-Generation device capped at 200P, and the rebound (over-sensory lock-in) threw me into a coma for a while.
After that, I didn’t dare to connect again. But about a month ago, in cooperation with DS Corporation, I gave it another shot.
They said the measuring equipment had improved. The test showed I had far surpassed 600P, which was a huge problem. But by imposing sensory pain, as if the body still existed, the system could forcibly lower the RTP. Using that method, they managed to create a custom VRS unit that caps me at 500P.
Of course, even in reality I wear a device on my wrist that suppresses my senses with electrical signals.
Out on the streets right now, DS and PV are in a corporate war. The products are ready—the fight now is who can sell more. Their release dates were just a day apart.
Both companies’ marketing and sales departments are in a daily life-or-death struggle. Market share and sales numbers seesaw back and forth every other day. TV ads, newspaper spreads, billboards, subway posters, flyers—the entire country is plastered with VRS ads for the two companies.
And in step with that, the newly released 4th-Generation VR game—
Lost Sky Online.
Our boss has been waiting for nothing else. He even liquidated all his old game items to prepare ammunition. The total? Probably worth tens of millions of won.
I once caught a glimpse of him posting on the community board.
***
―Cleared out my game of three years.
Loaded 100 million won worth of ammo. Going to lock down Server 1.
< Recruiting Members + Hunting Ground Control >
)) Recruitment Requirements
– Must be able to log in at least 12 hours a day.
– Must join KakaoTalk group chat.
– Must be 20 or older, own a 4th-Generation VRS, or be able to commute to the PC bang.
– Must be able to invest at least 50 million won of ammo.
– Seeking co-admins for 24-hour full-time rotation.
Posted by Lord Commander.
***
For a moment, I honestly wanted to quit my job out of sheer embarrassment. If he knew I’d seen that post, I wonder what kind of face he’d make. Just imagining it makes me cringe.
And the comments below made it worse.
―Prove it, or shut up.
―LOL, as expected from the gaming capital.
―Old man, can your fingers even bend?
―Bro, you made me chuckle today.
―I laughed at the “100 million ammo.” Pfft.
―What, only 100 million? LOL, what a scrub.
Sigh. My boss embarrassed himself, and the comments left me speechless. I almost wanted to show that post to his wife and then quit on the spot.
Would he die faster from being beaten by his wife, or from sheer humiliation?
And the worst part is, I can’t even tell if he posted that as a joke or in earnest. Others may laugh, but he really does have 100 million in spare cash.
The open beta for Lost Sky lasts seven days.
Today is day one.
“If you’re a man, it has to be Server 1.”
There are eight servers in total, with one million reservation slots each. Right now, six million players are breathlessly waiting for the launch.
Our boss was all fired up in front of the game room.
I’d overheard that Jaejung hyung—the guy who works the night shift—had also registered. Same server as the boss. The two of them seemed to have formed a pact, united in purpose.
Server 1 filled its one million slots in just twenty minutes. At six in the morning, no less. Everyone in the know must have been waiting at their PCs to snatch their slot the moment they opened.
Koreans really do have insane passion for games.
“You should play too.”
“Not much I can do. The player cap’s already full, so I can’t get into Server 1 anyway. Unless you’re willing to switch? That’d solve it.”
The boss cuts me off without a second’s hesitation. Stings a little. Guess I’m just the “lucky charm,” after all.
“I only play Server 1. No exceptions. You just hang around on another server until people start dropping off. Then come over. I’ll boost you up. Ask me if you’ve got questions.”
That unwavering stance—it was like watching a soldier march to war.
“All right. I’ll ask you later if I need help.”
At ten minutes to 5 p.m.—a little early—I was busy installing Lost Sky on every VRS unit in the PC bang. The original client had a fatal bug, and we had to download and reinstall the entire package. Sweating bullets.
“Working hard, I see.”
“If you know that much, how about lending a hand?”
He scurries off, clutching a cold orange juice.
The hardships of a part-timer.
“When are you going in?”
“Now.”
He slams the empty carton into the trash and bolts for Game Room 1—the prime spot we’d saved for him.
Just then, the door to the PC bang swings open.
“Sorry, all the seats are full… oh, wait.”
“Ah! My bad. I’m late.”
“Not a little late. But your station’s ready. Room 2. Go on in.”
“Thanks, and sorry again! Dinner’s on me next time.”
He’d promised to come early and help, but something came up. That was Jaejung hyung, the night-shift worker. Easygoing, good-looking, sharp eyebrows, tall nose, strong jawline.
From what I’d overheard, he used to be a pro gamer. Look him up online, and his profile’s still there. Plenty of articles with him holding trophies.
But his team broke up, and he vanished. Gone without a trace.
Turns out he and the boss went way back. In his amateur days, he used to practice here. Even entered tournaments representing this very PC bang. Both of them have fond memories. He knows the boss’s wife, too.
For some reason, he never returned to the pro scene. Ended up here, same time I started working. About three months ago.
He jokes around with me often, and honestly, I find him easier to get along with than even the boss’s daughter.
Time to resume my post as caretaker. Ten minutes of silence pass. Only the hum of air conditioners and VRS fans fills the air.
Around 5:03.
All the VRS case covers in the PC bang spring open at once.
“What the hell!”
“Is this a joke? Now?”
“Goddammit… what is this?”
What? I hadn’t seen this coming. I shut my book and stand. Customers are panicking. The PC bang turns into a fish market in seconds.
Even the covers on Rooms 1 and 2 pop open.
“What’s going on?”
“Server crashed.”
“Maintenance.”
That’s the boss and Jaejung hyung, in unison.
Great. Disaster. What about all these customers?
“One million slots, huh? Can’t even hold for two minutes without crashing.”
Grumbling breaks out everywhere.
“Hyung, how long’s the maintenance?”
“No idea. They said they’ll post another notice. It’s frustrating.”
“Boss, what do we do with the customers?”
Finally, the boss looks around. Not that it helps.
“No refunds. Absolutely not.”
“Got it.”
“Damn… even the homepage is down. Can’t get in.”
At that, we both glance at the monitors. Frozen solid.
“Ha! Unbelievable. Day one and already a shitshow. At this rate, we’re looking at the Four Great Sword Strikes.”
The Four what?
“What’s that supposed to be?”
“The Four Legendary Maintenances: Regular, Temporary, Extended, and Emergency.”
“…That’s ridiculous.”
I can only chuckle. Who comes up with this stuff? Still, they all end with “maintenance.” Swords, huh.
And just like he said, the entire day turned into a parade of maintenance.
Temporary maintenance ends after 30 minutes. Five minutes later—emergency maintenance. Another 20 minutes, then extended maintenance, 30 minutes. Then maintenance, maintenance, and more maintenance. And then more maintenance.
Checking the Lost Sky free board, most players were in the same situation.
―Enough with the maintenance.
―Who does maintenance all day?
―I waited five hours, got in for twenty minutes.
―What’s wrong with the starting area?
―Logged in, stuck in place. Someone help.
―Bro, I hit level 5. Ask me anything.
―Bullshit. No way you got 5.
―LOL, you guys just don’t know.
―Email it to me. Thanks in advance.
―Everyone log off. I want to be alone.
After my shift, the servers were still down from endless maintenance. I never even got to boot up my custom VRS. I just went to bed.
***
“I’m home.”
The boss’s daughter, Yeonji, looks up from the counter PC where she’d been watching something.
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear with her pale little finger, revealing a soft, round face not yet shed of baby fat. Small face, big eyes, gentle features.
That’s the boss’s daughter. Thank God she takes after her mother, not her father. Honestly, she probably used up half her lifetime luck being born with her mother’s looks. And for the record, the boss’s wife is pretty.
“You’re early.”
“Nothing much going on today. Dad? He’s in?”
She tilts her chin toward Room 1. Still at it. Incredible. Is that even allowed?
“He’s been playing nonstop?”
“Yeah. Mom’s going to kill him when he gets home.”
She says it casually, as if it’s no big deal, though the words sound terrifying.
“Better send him home before she gets here.”
“Leave him. Maybe he needs a beating to snap out of it.”
Somehow, Yeonji seems more like the adult here. Usually, it’s parents scolding kids for gaming too much. Here, the roles are reversed.
“Jaejung hyung? He hasn’t gone home?”
She nods.
Looks like both of them have lost their minds. What time is it?
“All right. I’ll drag them out and put them to bed if I have to. Yeonji, good work. Head home.”
“Thanks, oppa. Good night.”
The moment she’s gone, I send warning signals to Rooms 1 and 2. Worst case, I could just cut the power—but that’s never good for the user.
Having been in a coma myself, I’d never risk that. Too dangerous.
“Out. Before I pull the plug.”
I wouldn’t actually do it, but threats work.
At last, the VRS case covers open.
“Damn. I just settled in.”
Jaejung hyung grumbles, looking at me.
“Our lucky charm’s here? Is it that late already?”
The boss checks the clock, startled.
“Hey, lucky charm, clean up for me. I’m heading out.”
Before I can even answer, he dashes out of the PC bang.
I grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge and hand it to Jaejung hyung.
“Ah! Thanks.”
He gulps it down, sighing in relief, expression blissful. Like it’s heavenly nectar. I can’t help but smile.
“How was it? Worth it?”
“Yeah. Seriously good. You should try it. Feels like a whole new world.”
“I just slept. From the posts I saw, didn’t look worth the trouble.”
“Guess that makes you the winner. They only set ten starting points. Of course it bottlenecks. People pile up nonstop. Those dev bastards are twisted freaks. How are you supposed to break through?”
“Right? I saw they posted an apology, said they’re working on measures. How’d you even manage to get past?”
“There’s a trick.”