Chapter 14: The Fallout and Unlikely Encounters

Even Han Yurim can’t carry every match.

**Eternal World** is a capitalist game. Unlike other games that romanticize a particular space-time, this one introduces disparities in growth. When the difference in growth becomes extreme, even a Challenger can lose to a Bronze player. The game was designed that way from the start.

When your carry duo dies ten times in ten minutes to an enemy scout, not even Han Yurim can salvage the situation. And this game felt exactly like that.

[0/11/4]

It was a kill-death ratio that made you question if a real person was behind it, but it was unmistakably Han Yurim’s. At first glance, it looked like she was trolling. But there was more to the story—Han Yurim didn’t just charge headfirst and die 11 times without reason.

Let’s use an example to explain.

Imagine five of the world’s best pros team up with one Bronze player and go against six Challengers. Who do you think would win? At a glance, the former seems to have the upper hand. The gap between a Bronze and a Challenger appears smaller than that between five of the best pros and five Challengers. That assumption makes sense.

However, in reality, the latter team wins.

Is it because the Bronze player keeps dying to the enemy?

Not exactly.

A more intricate mechanism is at play.

Betrayal is most painful when it comes from someone you depend on.

In the context of **Eternal World**, it’s like this: *The most painful thing is when an ally doesn’t make the obvious play you expect them to.*

Even if the game is set up so that a simple attack move would guarantee victory, if the Bronze player stands still without even attempting a basic attack, it drives even the world’s best pros mad.

And Han Yurim experienced that frustration with the main carry, scout, and support—all of them.

Victory was within reach with just a few skills, yet the support stood still. Han Yurim had neatly delivered the enemy on a platter, but the scout missed every shot, resulting in her own death. She dove in at the perfect moment, only for the main carry to die even faster than she could react.

At that point, even Han Yurim was helpless.

If she had noticed the pattern early and planned to play the entire game on her own, it might have been different. But once you place your trust in teammates, you have to follow through to the end.

So Han Yurim kept trying every time she saw an opportunity.

But she shouldn’t have.

There’s an unwritten rule in team-based games like Eternal World:

Once a player messes up, they’ll be a mess for the entire game.

Seeing the three teammates creatively ruin every opportunity Han Yurim painstakingly created would have even made Gandhi reconsider non-violence. It was a heartbreaking sight, no doubt.

If you spot the right opening alone, you’ll die alone.

Han Yurim’s remarkable [0/11/4] kill-death ratio reflected her determination to shoulder the burden and win. Unfortunately, that effort was something Bunnyrun, playing the lone outer-lane role, couldn’t grasp.

How could she know? She had spent all 20 minutes roaming the outskirts, unaware of the chaos unfolding in the city. All she saw was the match summary:

[17/2/7] for the enemy core,
[0/11/4] for her team’s core.

“If you’re riding the carry train, just stay on till the end. Why get off and start playing solo? Are you even a real woman? It’s not like you just started gaming yesterday. You were probably boosting your score with that guy as support and switched to Thierry once you were done, huh? Just like those girls who pick cute characters they can’t even play.”

Bunnyrun’s showtime had begun.

Six months ago, she had landed herself in hot water for voicing opinions unfiltered on a hot social issue. And now, freshly back from her hiatus, she was back to her old self—speaking her mind without hesitation.

“Wow.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“True, true.”

Still unsatisfied, Bunnyrun began typing furiously.

Bunnyrun (Outer Lane): Did you let someone else play on your account?
Han Yurim (City Core): I’ve been wondering the same thing. Can you even get someone to play a VR game for you?

What the hell is this girl saying?

Frustrated by Han Yurim’s feigned ignorance, Bunnyrun’s next message was harsher.

Bunnyrun (Outer Lane): Where’s your “bro” now? Does it feel good making everyone miserable?
Han Yurim (City Core): I’m an only child.
Bunnyrun (Outer Lane): Don’t dodge the question. Why’d you die 11 times?
Han Yurim (City Core): The world is full of surprises, isn’t it?

“This f***ing girl… Is she doing this on purpose? If you made a mistake, just apologize! Why are you acting like the victim? Is she trying to give me high blood pressure?”

“Here comes the meltdown! LOL.”
“Let it all out, Bunny! Shall we go on another vacation? How about Guam?” (deleted)

It’s hard to stay calm when you’re angry. That’s the nature of adrenaline—it doesn’t play well with logic. The thrill of Eternal World’s ruthless competitiveness coursed through Bunnyrun’s veins, making it hard to hold back. Her brain, eager to vent, urged her to act. She closed the broadcast window, pulled up a virtual keyboard, and started hammering out angry messages, completely forgetting she was still live.

Just as her team’s base was about to be destroyed, Bunnyrun took a moment to glance at the chat.

Breaking News:
“Bunny: ‘If we’re losing because of you, just apologize and own up.’”
“Bunny: ‘You’re the reason we’re losing, you damn—!’”
“Bunny: ‘This is why girls shouldn’t play games.’”

Wait. Why do they know what I’m typing?

Alarmed, Bunnyrun checked her stream settings. Had she forgotten to cover the screen? No—the stream overlay was still active, blocking the view.

How do they know what I’m saying?

The thought crossed her mind: Was I hacked?

But the chat soon provided the answer.

“Han Yurim is re-streaming you. LOL.”

The words hit like a brick. Bunnyrun was about to type, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” but held back. Instead, she kept her composure and calmly asked,

“What’s her stream name?”

“It’s just Han Yurim.”

Bunnyrun’s eyes darted in disbelief.

No way. She had never imagined the person she was verbally obliterating would be live-streaming at the same time. Her brain glitched. Sudden situations tend to do that to people.

While her thoughts scrambled, her mouth moved on autopilot.

“So what if she’s a streamer? Does being a streamer mean you get to play like garbage? Who even is Han Yurim? I’ve never heard of her. Is she even a real streamer?”

When machines malfunction, they behave in strange ways—and Bunnyrun was no different.

“Bunnyrun’s Meltdown is Live. LOL.”
Bunnyrun had just added Han Yurim as a friend and was now locked in a heated argument with her.

• Why go this far? It’s just Eternal World.
• Honestly, I get it. Talking to Han Yurim makes your head spin. It’s not even Tai Chi; it’s like a black hole that sucks you in with no escape. LOL.

Bunnyrun: Want to bet who played worse?
Han Yurim: I don’t have money. That’s why I got a part-time job recently.

• Wow, smooth way to dodge a bet. LOL.
• Honestly, it’d be weirder if a small-time streamer had money, right?

Bunnyrun: Then how about we bet on our streams?

Wait. So, is she saying she’s willing to stake her own stream?

• This is why loners in outer lanes are the worst. They only see their side of things.
• From Han Yurim’s perspective, it’s heartbreaking. LOL.
• You won’t get it unless you watch the whole thing. LOL.

Things were escalating rapidly, thanks to Bunnyrun’s reckless energy.

What started as a petty argument over gameplay was now snowballing into a showdown, like the climax of a movie.

Just as things were about to reach their peak, however, Han Yurim ended her stream with a simple excuse:

“I have to work tomorrow.”

Burning hot emotions tend to cool just as fast. As soon as Han Yurim disappeared, Bunnyrun snapped back to reality.

What the hell did I just do?

Her brain, finally free from adrenaline’s grip, began processing the situation.

Sure, trash-talking during a game was part of the culture.

People who felt uncomfortable with that wouldn’t watch her stream in the first place.

The streaming world was generally lenient about such things.

But this wasn’t just mid-game banter.

She had singled out a person and insulted them repeatedly.

That was a problem. Even if Han Yurim had been just an ordinary player, it would’ve been wrong.

But since she was a streamer, the fallout could be much worse.

Bunnyrun fell silent and glanced at the chat.

The messages were now full of vacation recommendations.

After a brief moment of reflection, she decided to replay Han Yurim’s match from the start.

If Han Yurim had really thrown the game, that would at least provide some justification for Bunnyrun’s outburst.

The streaming community had always been like this—players were praised or shamed, sometimes excessively, for their performance.

Bunnyrun calmly watched the replay from beginning to end. When it finished, she quietly ended her stream.

Of course, the VR streaming forums exploded with posts like:
“Bunnyrun runs away! LOL.”

But there was nothing she could do.

Watching the scout, the main carry, and the support’s clumsy performances had been unbearable.

With her mind still tangled, Bunnyrun collapsed onto her bed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, it was already morning.

Feeling a rare sense of appreciation for not quitting her part-time job, she began preparing for work.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she mumbled softly:

“How do I manage to mess things up on my first day back? Am I even human?”

She ruffled her hair in frustration and let out a long sigh.

Every action has its consequences, no matter how big or small.

Technically speaking, what Bunnyrun did wasn’t an unforgivable offense by streaming community standards.

Some in her chat were already joking about her taking another six-month break.

But still, this was serious enough to warrant a formal apology and a few days of laying low.

How should I apologize?

The first step would be to send a private message to Han Yurim.

A public apology could follow afterward. Bunnyrun wasn’t new to this—she’d been through it enough times to know the proper procedure.

Arriving at her part-time job, she popped a lollipop into her mouth and muttered under her breath:

“Maybe I should just quit all this.”

For the first time in a while, she felt a wave of doubt.

At 21, Bunnyrun couldn’t help but wonder: What am I doing with my life?

Maybe starting her streaming career so young had skewed her brain.

Her thoughts and actions had been shaped entirely by the streaming world, making her behavior socially offbeat, if not outright antisocial.

It used to be fine. In the past, streaming was an underground scene where almost anything went.

But with platforms like VTube bringing it into the mainstream, the rules had changed. Acting like she used to could get her canceled in an instant.

Should I go back to university? The thought of re-enrolling crossed her mind briefly, but she shook her head.

She doubted she’d do well at anything else.

Let’s just write the apology and be careful from now on.

With a resolution in mind, Bunnyrun changed into her uniform and walked into the staff room.

She immediately noticed a man and woman chatting happily inside. Bunnyrun narrowed her eyes.

The man had started working at the same time as Bunnyrun, but the woman was new—just hired recently.

She was also the subject of gossip on stream.

Bunnyrun found her suspiciously attached to the guy, always hanging around him.

There’s no way she’s interested in him romantically, Bunnyrun thought. She’s way too stunning for that.

It wasn’t even close—her beauty was on a whole different level.

Bunnyrun figured the woman was just buttering up the guy to use him for convenience, which annoyed her even more.

Soon, the man stepped out, probably to grab some drinks.

Seizing the moment, Bunnyrun took a seat next to the new girl and pulled out her phone.

“Hello?”

A bright, cheerful voice greeted her. Bunnyrun glanced over.

The first thing she noticed was the woman’s striking golden hair, like liquid sunlight.

Her blue eyes were the deep, shimmering shade of a tropical ocean. A foreigner? No, her Korean was too natural for that—maybe mixed-race.

“Hello,” Bunnyrun replied curtly.

Despite her annoyance, she wasn’t so socially inept as to let it show outright. Surprisingly, she managed to keep her tone polite.

The woman tilted her head slightly, as if puzzled. Bunnyrun frowned, feeling uneasy.

“Is the bet still on, by any chance?” the woman asked out of nowhere.

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind. I guess it’s not. Sorry about that.”

What is she talking about?

The strange question made Bunnyrun’s brain stall for a moment, but then things clicked into place.

The bet. Yesterday. Memories of her argument with Han Yurim flashed through her mind.

Is she… a viewer?

Reflexively, Bunnyrun glanced down at the woman’s nametag.

[Han Yurim]

Her thoughts raced, as if she’d just stumbled into a real-life version of The Truman Show.

But all that came out of Bunnyrun’s mouth was a single word:
“Sorry.”

“Huh?” Han Yurim blinked in surprise.

“Sorry for… you know, the things I said yesterday. The insults, the anger… it was stupid.”

“Oh, that?” Han Yurim said cheerfully. “Don’t worry about it! Did you know people’s IQ can fluctuate? When you’re stressed or embarrassed, your IQ drops to dolphin levels. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Her playful words left Bunnyrun with a weird, conflicted expression.

Is she calling me a dolphin, or is she forgiving me?

“But you know,” Han Yurim continued with a teasing smile, “you’re really different from your avatar. The vibe is totally off. Is that okay?”

What the heck is that supposed to mean?

Bunnyrun stared at Han Yurim, feeling more confused than ever.