Chapter 63: The Challenges of Freedom and the Next Big Content

While watching the ending credits, Gajunsik let out a triumphant scream.

“I did it! Damn it! I finally did it——!”

The game was over, and the title screen appeared:

<Repeaters Need Love Too>.

After a month-long journey, the game had finally come to an end.

To be honest, <Repeaters Need Love Too> hadn’t achieved overwhelming popularity.

It had sold over a million copies and was approaching the two-million mark, but compared to Han Yurim’s other games, its sales performance was lackluster.

Was it because the game wasn’t fun?

Fun is subjective.

Different people find enjoyment in different aspects of a game.

It’s a highly personal experience and cannot serve as a definitive standard for evaluation.

Was it because the game was poorly made?

Similarly, what people consider important in a game differs.

Subjective factors like these can’t form a proper evaluation standard.

However.

There was no denying that it was a fresh and innovative game.

The NPCs moved almost like real people.

It was so revolutionary that game companies worldwide tried to reverse-engineer it.

(Thanks to the tight security, only a few companies had succeeded so far. Ironically, when they dissected the game, they discovered that the AI-related technology wasn’t embedded in the game itself. Instead, the characters were controlled by external commands delivered over the internet, which only deepened the mystery.)

The impact of the game was undeniable.

Gamers are sensitive to such things.

While consumers may not understand the detailed mechanics of a game, they can certainly detect its “fun.”

Didn’t I just say that fun is subjective and can’t be used as a standard for evaluation?

Yes, but that doesn’t mean fun is an illusion.

It’s not entirely intangible.

Gamers had found that “fun” in <Repeaters Need Love Too>.

The game’s freshness was a significant factor contributing to its enjoyment.

If someone were to ask, “Wait, didn’t you say the sales were relatively low? If it’s fun, why didn’t it sell more?” the answer was simple.

Because it’s a dating sim.

No matter how much larger the scale of dating sims had become compared to the PC and console eras, a dating sim is still a dating sim.

People might sometimes get the wrong idea when they see an IP originating from a dating sim take the world by storm.

But fundamentally, the market for dating sims is inherently limited.

A genre where you spend hours—sometimes tens of hours—watching mundane daily scenes just to reach a highlight isn’t exactly designed for mass appeal.

Anyway.

That’s why <Repeaters Need Love Too> had an absurdly long playtime.

The game officially had 100 unique endings.

And those 100 endings didn’t even include the bad endings.

This abundance of bad endings often frustrated players.

“Hey, what’s with all these unnecessary bad endings? They’re just here to piss people off!”

The answer was always the same:

“Because the developer is Han Yurim.”

Including bad endings, the total number of endings reached several hundred.

Each ending took an average of 16 hours to achieve.

Based on official endings alone, the total playtime was estimated at around 1,600 hours—approximately 66.6 days of non-stop gameplay to fully complete the game.

Of course, skipping shared routes could cut down on the time somewhat, but including the bad endings made the total time even longer.

Therefore, even a month after the game’s release, completing all 98 remaining routes to save “your daughter” was a daunting task.

Still, Gajunsik managed to do it.

It seems fatherly love counts as a form of love too. After all, hadn’t it worked a miracle?

<User has donated 1,000,000 won>
<User has donated 1,000,000 won>
<User has donated 1,000,000 won>

Donations poured in. That’s how grueling the journey had been.

Overwhelmed with dopamine, Gajunsik tried to calm his excitement.

“What kind of conditions are these, seriously?”

In truth, completing all the remaining routes wasn’t a strict requirement to see Han Yurim’s true ending.

Han Yurim had never explicitly stated that every route needed to be cleared.

What she said was, “You won’t be able to reach it unless you complete the remaining 98 routes.”

The implication was that clearing those 98 routes only increased the probability of reaching the true ending. It wasn’t a mandatory condition.

In fact, Gajunsik managed to reach the true ending after completing only half the routes.

“How was I supposed to figure out that the condition for the true ending was for my daughter to have a talent for acting while the protagonist excels at writing, and the two of them create an independent film that becomes a massive hit?!”

Sure, there had been plenty of clues.

Han Yurim had practically lived her life as an actor.

The protagonist consistently scored top marks in Korean literature for some reason.

And while he wasn’t born with a silver spoon, this young adult had somehow managed to save up tens of millions of won.

It was clear he wasn’t living an ordinary life.

So, by persistently repeating playthroughs, you’d eventually discover that the protagonist had been writing all along, that the money he saved came from publishing web novels, and that Han Yurim was more interested in pursuits other than academics.

But connecting all those elements into a short film? That wasn’t easy.

Why?

Because of the game’s freedom of choice.

“A Repeater Also Needs Love” was not your typical visual novel.

Depending on the player’s actions, the NPCs’ reactions, the progression, and even the content of the story changed.

Unlike the standard visual novels where pressing the Enter key and choosing the correct options led you to an ending, this game was in an entirely different league.

It was a true “bishoujo dating simulation” game in the most literal sense of the term.

But as everyone knows, the higher the degree of freedom, the harder it gets for the player.

The amount of information that needed to be acquired increased exponentially, while the game provided little guidance.

To see Han Yurim’s true ending, you had to consider her aptitude, her circumstances, the protagonist’s aptitude, and the highest possible score the protagonist could achieve—all to come up with a short film scenario.

Just thinking of such a concept was challenging enough, but what came next was truly maddening.

You actually had to write the scenario yourself.

There was no pre-made scenario provided.

Players had to create a plausible scenario and then use it to film a movie.

When the game first told Gajunsik to write a scenario, he didn’t give it much thought.

He casually copied and pasted the script for Parasite and submitted it.

The game responded with the following script:

“Whether or not this scenario can be shot with a low budget is a secondary concern—this is Parasite. This won’t do.”

Thinking it might have been rejected for being too famous, Gajunsik tried copying various other movie scripts.

But every single one was rejected.

It felt as if the protagonist knew about every single movie in the world.

Having no other choice, Gajunsik abandoned plagiarism and wrote an original film scenario.

The game’s response?

“A movie shot with such a mediocre script is bound to flop. To convince Yurim’s parents, it has to be a smash hit from the start. Anything less won’t cut it.”

The moment he saw that response, he nearly blurted out, “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” but managed to hold it in.

After all, he had to rescue the kidnapped girl.

And so, Gajunsik submitted scenario after scenario, discussing them with his viewers, until he finally received a passing verdict and reached the ending.

As he watched ‘Han Yurim’ smiling brightly while walking along a beach on the screen, Gajunsik couldn’t hold back his tears.

He couldn’t figure out how the game had managed to prepare video footage of his original scenario in advance, but he brushed it off.

After all, there were countless strange things about A Repeater Also Needs Love.

“Thank you all for sticking with me this past month.”

[XX donated 1,000 KRW]

–You worked hard too, bro.

Hearing the donation chime, Gajunsik walked over to the window and pulled back the blackout curtains.

As sunlight poured into the room, he finally felt like he was back in reality.

Still dazed, he glanced at the chat.

The flood of messages that had been ongoing for a while was overwhelming.

So, what should I do next?

That was the first thought that came to mind.

It was also a symptom of the occupational hazards of being a streamer.

No matter how difficult today had been, a streamer always had to go live tomorrow.

Content had to be prepared.

The easiest fallback was always Eternal World, but jumping from a month-long dominance of A Repeater Also Needs Love to Eternal World felt a bit abrupt.

It would’ve been nice to have a one-off buffer content in between. Was there nothing?

Crossing his arms in deep thought, Gajunsik pondered.

Just then—ding! A video donation arrived.

[XX donated 13,400 KRW]

–(A highlight reel of Han Yurim and Akane’s banter edited from the game)

“Hey, how about this game next, bro?”

“Wow. What’s this?”

Gajunsik’s eyes lit up as he watched the game in the video.

‘Ormal,’ ‘Marvin Flail,’ ‘Han Chanhyuk,’ ‘Ishikawa Yuzuru’—their appearances were unmistakably Eternal World characters, but the aura they exuded was entirely different.

Seeing them radiate such majesty, as if they were boss monsters, made his mouth water.

As everyone knew, Gajunsik was a renowned Eternal World fanatic.

A Souls-like game made using the Eternal World IP?

This was a delicacy among delicacies.

“It’s Han Yurim’s new game.”

“It was originally a non-commercial release, but Novella begged them to publish it, and they’re launching it soon.”

“It’s not released yet, so only Japanese Vtuber companies can play it for now.”

“Not released yet?”

Gajunsik clicked his tongue.

It looked so fun, but he had to wait.

[XX donated 2,300 KRW]

–(A short clip of ‘Han Yurim’ slightly lifting her gothic lolita dress while seeing Akane off)

“Your daughter’s in this game too, lol.”

“Is Han Yurim like Thierry’s lost soulmate from a past life or something?”

“How would we know? Stop trying to understand—just feel it.”

“Ask her directly if you’re curious, lol.”

Reading the chat, Gajunsik froze for a moment at the last comment.

Ask her directly?

That’s it!

Gajunsik opened his email.

He suddenly knew what his next content would be.

Quickly typing up an email to Han Yurim, he soon received a reply.

“I’d be happy to!”

Gajunsik’s next content:

A special guest interview with Han Yurim.

Confirmed.