Remembering a past life was not particularly a good thing.
“Hey, do you want to go to the capsule room after the lecture?”
“Today too? You went yesterday as well.”
“Yeah. So, what is your answer?”
“Of course I am going. Why even ask.”
Except for the fact that he remembered his past life, Seo-jun, who was an extremely ordinary college student, thought as he listened to the whispered conversation of the students sitting in the back row.
“We will end today's class here...”
The lecture ended.
As always, the professor's parting words were drowned out by the sound of students packing their bags and standing up.
Seo-jun also packed his things leisurely and stood up from his chair.
“Hey, hey. If we are late, there might not be any capsule seats left.”
“Are we middle or high school students? For there to be no seats just because we are late after school.”
“Then what?”
“There are never any seats here whether you go early or late. So just take it easy.”
Was it that popular?
Indeed.
Seo-jun agreed as he thought of seven years ago.
Even back then, securing a seat in a capsule room was no different from hell.
‘But since the popularity of capsules is rising every year... No, never mind.’
Seo-jun turned his attention away and headed home.
When he opened the door and entered the house, his housemate and practically his only friend was sitting on the sofa watching TV.
“Hey, you're back? This is the All-Star game, do you want to watch it together?”
His name was Kim Tae-woo.
Seo-jun's high school classmate and also a seven-year veteran streamer who maintained an average of ten thousand viewers.
Tae-woo had lived a life of sleeping at school and broadcasting when he went home since high school.
Thanks to that, he was kicked out of his house whenever it was exam period, and after using that as an opportunity to stay in Seo-jun's room, they came to live together once they graduated and Seo-jun also became independent.
“No thanks. Watch it by yourself. That is not fun.”
Seo-jun replied bluntly.
“Fun? Do you even know what fun is?”
“Is it not obvious anyway.”
“Yeah. It is obvious. If you try it, you might actually feel like virtual reality is all pretty much the same. I think so too. But you see, Seo-jun-ah.”
Tae-woo let out a sigh.
“Yeah.”
“You have not even tried a capsule. You bastard. Even when I told you to do it together, to just log in even once, you kept running away!”
Virtual reality was a device through which one's entire body could be immersed in another world.
The capsule.
It was not an exaggeration to say that the world had been swept by this capsule craze for several years.
The capsule realized real-world attractions to satisfy the travel desires of busy modern people who could not afford the time,
and it was changing the world by integrating virtual reality into numerous industrial fields such as shopping, education, medical care, and automobiles.
However, there was a separate field that was the most popular, and as expected, it was entertainment—namely, games.
As games with overwhelming realism and flashy skills poured out like mushrooms after rain, the popularity of capsule games was rising day by day.
The All-Star game that Tae-woo was watching now was also an event match of the famous virtual reality game 'The League'.
“I told you, I played a capsule game in the past.”
“Then, why do you not do it now?”
“Virtual reality is dangerous.”
“What is dangerous about it? They say only one person has collapsed in a capsule so far. Just one person in the entire world!”
Hearing those words, Seo-jun made an indifferent expression and changed the subject.
“Is that so? By the way, let us go eat dinner later. My mom said she made galbi-jjim.”
“I cannot resist galbi-jjim.”
Tae-woo grinned widely.
He was a simple friend.
Seo-jun shook his head and entered his room.
<><><>
After organizing his things and changing his clothes, Seo-jun sat in front of his desk, turned on the computer, and clicked the search bar.
This was because he had become curious about whether Tae-woo's words were true.
Capsule, virtual reality, accident.
Seo-jun searched the internet by combining the three words,
‘It really was just one.’
and he was able to find an article stating that seven years ago, a sixteen-year-old student had collapsed while using a capsule.
There was no need to click on the content to confirm it.
‘There would not be anyone who knows better than me.’
Phew.
Letting out a sigh, Seo-jun leaned back in his chair.
‘Why did I play games again?’
That was to say.
Remembering a past life was not particularly a good thing.
If his past life had been a farmer born in a peaceful reign who lived harvesting rice, that would be one thing.
But he had been in a place that could be called the center of where savages lived—savages who would immediately perform a fiery sword dance just by locking eyes on the street like a man and woman at a ballroom.
‘It was certainly savage.’
In his past life, death was closer than a shadow,
and loss was more common than pebbles rolling on the roadside.
Above all, when he was young, he had no choice but to doubt the authenticity of his memories.
There was no proof that he was not crazy.
Then, when he turned sixteen,
he accidentally took his first step into virtual reality and held a sword inside it.
He still vividly remembered that moment.
The unfamiliar, yet incredibly familiar touch on his hand.
The movements.
The path of the sword.
He swung the sword following the movements that kept lingering in his mind,
and on that day, he was able to be certain that his memories were not a fiction.
‘Is that why?’
The virtual reality game was quite enjoyable and free.
However,
However, Seo-jun, who had been enjoying virtual reality, could not even do it for a year before he lost consciousness and collapsed, bleeding from his nose and mouth.
Inside the capsule, that was.
The cause was an innately low synchronization rate.
The synchronization rate was a numerical value of how realistically one perceived the virtual reality world; it was said that the higher this value, the better one adapted to virtual reality, and the lower the fatigue.
‘Regrettably, Seo-jun-nim's synchronization rate is so low that the link is unstable.’
Those were the words Seo-jun heard after receiving a detailed examination at the research center.
‘How low is it?’
‘It is 10. I think it is the lowest in the entire world. You must have been very dizzy all this time, so how did you play games in this state...’
A synchronization rate of 10.
Considering that the average was 60 and the lowest value excluding him was 42, Seo-jun's synchronization rate was an extremely low figure.
‘If you enter virtual reality more in the future, probably... your brain will be in danger. Just as a device's circuit is damaged if the voltage of the charger and the electronic device do not match, severe damage can occur because Seo-jun-nim's brain does not match well with virtual reality...'
Was it because he uniquely remembered his past life?
Or was his constitution simply peculiar?
In that way, Seo-jun became the only person in the entire world who collapsed in a capsule.
‘We are sorry. For us, even for Seo-jun-nim's safety, we have no choice but to stop providing the virtual reality service. We are truly sorry.’
She explained that it was the first time someone had collapsed like this, and also the first time they had suspended service.
It was a natural decision, and Seo-jun accepted it calmly.
It was not as if he would die just because he could not play games.
Even so, this emotion he felt now was,
Was it regret?
Or.
“...I do not know.”
The moment Seo-jun muttered that and turned off the computer,
Beep.
His phone's notification rang, and Seo-jun's eyes widened as he checked it.
“Huh?”
[Hello, Seo-jun-nim. This is Oh Ji-hye, the director of the Surface Korea R&D Center. If you have some time, would you like to visit our research center after all this time?]
<><><>
The next day.
Whir.
The capsule's lid rose, and Seo-jun opened his eyes.
“How was it loosening up your body in virtual reality after all this time?”
A woman who appeared to be in her late thirties approached Seo-jun, who was slightly dizzy from just coming out of virtual reality.
Oh Ji-hye.
She was the research director who had built a connection with Seo-jun while examining him in the past.
Seo-jun clenched and unclenched his hands for a moment, then told her his impressions.
“It is fine. I think I am definitely less dizzy than when I did it in the past.”
The reason she had invited Seo-jun to the research center was simple.
It was because a way had been created for Seo-jun to dive into virtual reality without any brain damage.
After a whopping seven years!
“Fufu. Right? The new capsule you just entered is a model made so that people with low synchronization rates feel as little foreignness as possible, and people with high synchronization rates can achieve maximum performance!”
“I see.”
“Yes. Would you mind coming this way?”
She led Seo-jun toward her desk.
And she had Seo-jun sit in the seat next to her.
“If you look at this graph here...”
Although he could not understand the graph even if he looked at it, her explanation was as follows.
That he could use the capsule as long as he did not exceed a set amount of time per day.
However, there was one more condition besides the time limit.
Namely.
“Regrettably, only the new capsule coming out this time will be safe. It is an item whose performance was crazily raised without particularly considering the price.”
Did it mean he could barely use it only if it was a product made in such a way?
Seo-jun smiled bitterly and asked the price.
He was bothered by her words that they had not even considered the price.
Sure enough, the price of the capsule that popped out of her mouth surpassed imagination.
“Well, you see... It is 100 million won. Haha, the price is a bit high, right?”
It was high.
Low-end models could be bought for a few million won, and even high-end models did not exceed thirty million won.
‘But 100 million won.’
If it were a professional item—for instance, for pro players whose victory or defeat was decided in 0.1 seconds—it would be worth investing this much, but...
“What would you like to do?”
Seo-jun thought it was too expensive to pay merely for a hobby.
As expected.
Just as he was about to say that it probably would not work out, Oh Ji-hye spoke cautiously.
“100 million won is certainly a burdensome amount. So, by any chance, do you know about 'The League' tournament held by Travel?”
League of Streaming.
LoS for short.
It was a tournament where streamers competed in a game called 'The League', and was practically the largest tournament held among non-professional leagues.
Seo-jun knew about it superficially thanks to Tae-woo, so he nodded.
“Surface has sponsored it this time. That is why this new capsule was added to the prize for winning.”
“Ah...”
“If Seo-jun-nim says he will participate in the tournament, I will specially rent the capsule to you for free until the tournament ends.”
Seo-jun's head began to grow complicated.
In other words, she was telling him to win it and pay it back, right?
A streamer.
Even though he had someone close to him who had this job right now, it was a profession he had never thought of before.
“Instead, do not even think about becoming a pro gamer. Pros practically live in capsules except when eating, and they even receive regular checkups every month. If Seo-jun-nim gets that kind of job, your brain will not be able to hold out. Even if a capsule with better performance than this comes out.”
Was that how it was.
Seo-jun fell into thought for a moment, then smiled and chose the most safe answer.
“Thank you. I will think about it.”
<><><>
“Director, why did you do that?”
The laboratory remained after Seo-jun left.
An ordinary researcher who had been eavesdropping on the conversation between Seo-jun and Oh Ji-hye from behind approached and asked.
“What?”
Oh Ji-hye feigned ignorance for now, but...
“The free rental. And on top of that, the streamer tournament? Why did you say such things? Who is that student. I know he is a peculiar case, but you do not need to go that far.”
“Hey, punk. Our Surface has a rule of not losing even a single customer.”
“What are you talking about, coming from someone who threatens to suspend service using danger as an excuse and tells pro players to sue her if they act even slightly annoying when coming for examinations.”
The researcher spoke in an absurd tone, and Oh Ji-hye brushed it off as if it were nothing.
“Well, it is because I hate seeing talent go to waste.”
“Pardon? No, but even if you give him such benefits, will that student be able to win, or rather, even participate in the League of Streaming?”
Oh Ji-hye recalled when she first saw Seo-jun seven years ago at the researcher's words.
How surprised had she been at the fact that the synchronization rate of such an amazing user was at most only 10.
And even now.
‘His skills have not rusted. No, rather...’
Oh Ji-hye's eyes shifted to the side.
There, the data of Seo-jun measured today was displayed.
Not only Seo-jun's physical responses, but also the results of the simple—no, simple but therefore extremely clear—tests conducted in virtual reality.
“Honestly, participation might be difficult.”
Because he would need to establish himself as a streamer and gain a certain level of recognition.
But if he only participated.
“Winning, I think it is possible?”