“……Ah, right.”
Kang Jaemi also knew about the Blossom Incident—a catastrophe no Eleven Wizard player could ever forget—and that Ji-han had quit the very game he’d played for a full ten years back then.
“Anyway, Oppa. Ji-han oppa.”
Jaemi’s address for Ji-han had reverted from ‘Kang Ji-han’ and ‘you’ back to ‘oppa.’
“I’m really going to ask you a favor this time.”
“Let me ask one thing first. Why did you suddenly get banned from playing? Auntie was always lenient about that sort of thing.”
“She found out my mock exam scores.”
Ji-han refrained from further questions. He understood.
A high school senior who bombed her mock exams because she was gaming. Just being banned from gaming was merciful. In another household, she’d have been grounded for life.
“You should’ve studied before the test.”
“Are you here to nag me? Are you a dinosaur, oppa? Have you changed that much, Kang Ji-han? Did the military do this to you? Huh? I’m going to start a petition to abolish the military.”
As Kang Jaemi rattled off her words, Ji-han sank into thought.
Eleven Wizard.
The game that held a 14.9% share of PC room games.
Eleven Wizard, reborn from a crappy game to a godly game.
Eleven.
Wizard.
Ji-han squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them.
This might be fate.
“Oppa, are you even listening? Are you drinking bubble tea through your ears right now?”
“Jaemi.”
“Huh?”
“What’s your Eleven account ID and password?”
“Oppa! Do you want another cup of bubble tea?”
Ji-han repeated to himself.
This isn’t a return. Absolutely not a return.
He was doing a good deed. Proving that blood is thicker than water, merely helping a cousin in need.
Ji-han opened his mouth.
“I’ll have green milk tea bubble tea with white pearls added.”
***
Ji-han installed Eleven Wizard on his home computer while browsing the game community.
He wanted to know how Eleven Wizard had changed over the past two years, and coincidentally, there was a post on the front page that neatly summarized it.
[The once-crappy game Eleven speaks: “Becoming a god game was the easiest thing.”]
The title didn’t feel particularly fresh or witty, but it had made it to the front page, likely because there were so many Eleven Wizard players.
Ji-han clicked on the post and read it thoroughly. Then he muttered his thoughts.
“Huh, they handled it well.”
Eleven Wizard’s biggest problem had actually been its name.
It wasn’t that the name was bad, but because of it, they couldn’t expand the world beyond a certain point.
In Eleven Wizard, as the game’s name implied, there were eleven Archmages and the eleven continents they each ruled.
It was a cool and plausible setting. Really great.
Until all eleven continents were revealed and there were no more continents left to unveil.
It took exactly seven years to reveal all eleven continents and their stories. After that, the game stagnated for three years. With only minor updates and no major patches, players left one by one in search of new fun.
In an attempt to stem the exodus, the game company introduced a randomized pay-to-win gacha system. Opening a rainbow-colored box that could be purchased with cash would yield various flashy items—as if made by grinding down designers—at extremely low probabilities.
But even those low probabilities turned out to be false. The rates were rigged. Players registered a petition for the director’s execution on the government website, and Eleven Wizard, already on its deathbed, decayed even faster.
So how did this crappy game, Eleven Wizard, that had fallen into the abyss, manage to resurrect?
Simple. The CEO personally apologized, and all players received generous compensation.
And more importantly, a massive amount of new content was added, including a new continent and quests.
In truth, the CEO’s apology and compensation were secondary. The content was key. There’s only one thing a game needs to succeed: fun.
In that respect, the new continent and story added to Eleven Wizard were amazing.
“An ancient continent submerged in the sea, and the ancestor mage who once ruled it, awakened…”
Ji-han stroked his chin. It was a really good idea. Beings from the ‘previous generation’ are usually not grouped together with those active in the present.
For instance, consider a movie about three genius protagonists. They’re a group, called the “Trio.”
But then suppose three additional geniuses from the past generation—the parents of the protagonists—appear.
What happens to the movie’s protagonists? Do they become a Sextet? No. Even if all six solve a case together, they don’t fuse; they remain separate. Not a Sextet, but two Trios. A present Trio and a past Trio. People naturally perceive it that way.
And that law applied perfectly to Eleven Wizard. Although three ancestor mages had appeared in the Eleven Wizard world, it was still Eleven Wizard. Not Fourteen Wizard.
Of course, some people sneered and called it Fourteen Wizard. But that could be ignored. However much they gnashed their teeth and ranted, the ancient continent that had emerged from the sea was majestic and awe-inspiring, and the ancestor mages with their immense power exuded charisma and dignity.
“Did they change the designer? The art is insane.”
As Ji-han stared blankly at the illustrations of the ancestor mages, the installation finished.
The monitor screen turned white, and soon the changed logo of Eleven Wizard rose in the center.
“Crazy…”
Ji-han tilted his chin back. He couldn’t stop the tears that flowed.
***
He was screwed.
No.
He needed a much more vivid and intense expression. Honestly, he was royally fucked.
“What do I do?”
He got kicked out of the guild.
But this wasn’t Ji-han’s fault. He didn’t think so.
“For goodness’ sake, Kang Jaemi. If the guild’s vice master is a female creep, you should have told me…”
The incident happened about an hour ago.
Ji-han had been happily playing Eleven Wizard for the first time in ages—about three hours had passed.
He was in a four-person party tackling a dungeon in the new continent. The dungeon was fun. So much that he could understand the crappy game Eleven Wizard’s amazing revival and its 14.9% market share.
Everything was good. Everything.
But the troublemaker was a user named [ObbaObbaChaitteo]. The nickname alone spelled trouble, and he was a total idiot, spamming ‘oppa-ga’ from the first meeting, flirting madly with a user named [EndToTheEnd].
When they finally defeated the dungeon boss, [ObbaObbaChaitteo] even resorted to sexual harassment. ‘Oppa gave you a ride, what are you gonna give me in return?ㅎWanna go all the way with oppa today? jk~’—he plastered the sacred party chat window with such messages. Ji-han could take no more.
‘A ride lol, some freeloader idiot is sexually harassing like crazy. If you’re gonna play like that, just quit. Don’t you know people like you almost ruined Eleven lol Normal people would rather quit than play the same game as youㅜ’
……Ji-han typed that long message in three separate parts. The party chat froze for a moment, and then [EndToTheEnd] sent ‘zzzz.’ Not lol, but zzzz.
[ObbaObbaChaitteo] replied right after.
He said ‘Lol?’ then ‘hold on’ and then something incomprehensible: ‘subju?’
What subju, man? Is that a side dish?
Ji-han found out the meaning of ‘subju’ a little later.
The guild master, who had been online, sent a whisper. It read: ‘Sir InnocentㅠㅠIs it true that you verbally abused Chaitteo?’
Only then did Ji-han realize something and hurriedly opened the guild window. [ObbaObbaChitteo] was in the same guild as Kang Jaemi’s character, which Ji-han was leveling up, and was even the guild’s vice master!
The situation went to hell. [ObbaObbaChaitteo] was using a cash item—the guild-hiding item. Using that invisible guild item—commonly called invisi-guild—meant you couldn’t see which guild a character was in until you right-clicked and checked their info.
If you didn’t use it, the guild name would appear directly under the nickname.
Crazy bastard. Absolutely insane. [ObbaObbaChaitteo]’s ‘subju?’ meant he was asking if the person playing Jaemi’s character was someone else, not Jaemi. Since Ji-han, being in the same guild and especially as the vice master, didn’t recognize him and badmouthed him, he must have asked that.