Chapter 83: Cosmic Oshuary: The Unexpected Beta Test

What’s the difference between art and popular culture?

It all came down to the target audience.

The target of art was solely oneself.

Art was about discovering the one and only thing within oneself and bringing it into the world exactly as it was.

That’s why artists didn’t seek the empathy of others.

If anything, they might even get chills if someone resonated with their work.

‘Why do you relate to this? Are you a stalker or something?’

What was inside a person varied from one to another.

And people could never truly understand each other.

Yet somehow, they were supposed to understand someone else’s art?

That meant something had already been compromised. The piece hadn’t been perfectly realized.

A perfectly realized work of art should evoke discomfort at first glance. If someone looked at it and said, “There are actually people in this world who like this?” then congratulations—you were an artist.

Standing on the complete opposite end of that spectrum were creators of popular culture.

As the name suggested, their target audience was the public.

If artists were people who discovered something unique within themselves and simply released it into the world, then creators of popular culture were those who found something within themselves and played tug-of-war with the masses.

‘Do you like this? No? What about this? Oh, not that either?’

That’s how it worked.

Anyway.

If someone asked me which side I belonged to, the answer was obvious—I was in popular culture.

It was natural since the games I loved were on Nintendo and PlayStation.

The reason I was suddenly bringing this up was that I wanted to make one thing clear—I wasn’t particularly stubborn when it came to games.

If something looked good, I’d incorporate it. I wouldn’t oppose it just because it would ruin the artistic integrity.

Some might say, “That’s rich coming from a hardcore purist like you.”

But I liked casual games, too.

It was just that the games I had made so far suited a hardcore style more than a casual one.

In short—

Fun was my top priority. Everything else? Didn’t matter.

That was my conclusion.

“Hmm-hmm~”

Humming, I continued working on my game.

Be wary when you see a creator looking happy while working.

Such creators didn’t exist.

Creation was a process of squeezing one’s brain dry, condensing all the works they had consumed so far into a single output.

Enjoying such a thing?

There were only two possibilities:

Either they were masochists like Paepae, or they weren’t actually creating anything.

So, which one was I?

Neither.

Because I wasn’t in the process of making a game—I had already finished it.

Since I could skip all the tedious labor, my game development process was complete the moment I solidified my ideas.

Of course, coming up with ideas wasn’t easy, but compared to other developers, it was like I was getting a free ride.

And eating raw food in the summer could give you food poisoning, so unless you were a super developer, don’t try this at home.

I wandered around a lot to get inspiration.

I went to Donghae and rode a cruise ship, visited the (now nonexistent) secret base I used as a kid, and even reached rank one in Eternal World.

The result was a single-player ocean adventure game set in the Age of Exploration.

But something was still missing.

So I collaborated with Yukimura Akane, appeared on Gajunsik’s guest talk show, and even entered a competition.

And then I realized something.

Doing things with others was fun.

It was the same logic as even standing in the hallway as punishment is fun if you’re with a friend.

So, I adopted that idea immediately.

And that’s how my single-player ocean adventure game evolved into an MORPG.

…But wait.

[Did you forget about Simma?]

Would I really discard the realization I gained from witnessing the Great Old One (Iron)?

Seriously?

But incorporating that into a normal ocean adventure game would be difficult.

[Simma : Look closely. Do I still look like Simma to you?]

No way.

[Simma : The answer is already inside you.]

The final missing piece of my game was already within me.

It was the space adventure action movie I saw on the day I went out to recruit an editor.

This was why people needed to watch a lot of movies.

As expected of movies—the pinnacle of popular culture.

But if you hadn’t read the original novel Please, Call Me Leone, then you really should. It was even better. A true masterpiece.

“Done.”

Nodding, I finalized my FinalDraft5_ActuallyFinal_Final76 version.

A game where players built their own spaceship and traveled through a monster-infested universe together.

Complete!

Now, there were two types of after-parties:

One was a drinking after-party, and the other was a gaming after-party.

Though some people did stream drinking after-parties, they usually wrapped up in about an hour, so they were more like content for streamers.

But gaming after-parties?

They were different.

They brought together rare player combinations and featured games they wouldn’t normally play. It was entirely for the viewers.

Of course, since such streams got good viewership, they also benefited the streamers.

However, unlike drinking after-parties, where you could just eat whatever, gaming after-parties required careful thought—

What would be fun to watch? What game would people enjoy?

“Game?”

[Yes.]

“Unnie, you already made a new game?”

Bunnyrun looked slightly surprised.

The world already knew that Han Yurim’s game development speed was bizarre and that she didn’t bother hiding it.

Even so, this was way too fast.

She had gifted Yukimura Akane a game just last month.

Which meant she had completed another game in just about a month—

And that was despite spending roughly three weeks participating in a tournament.

So when had she found the time to make a new game?

Bunnyrun couldn’t hold back her curiosity.

“Unnie, be honest. Do you have a dedicated Skynet for game development at home?”

[You’ve watched too many movies. Even if humanity advances for another hundred years, we still wouldn’t have strong AI.]

“Then what are you? A classified project?”

[I told you, I’m a super developer.]

Since Bunnyrun had watched nearly all of Han Yurim’s streams, she understood what that meant.

According to Han Yurim’s definition, a genius developer was a human triumph, whereas a super developer was someone who used cheat-level abilities.

So she really was using something she considered a cheat.

But Bunnyrun had no idea what it was.

Honestly, AI seemed like the only explanation. But Han Yurim insisted it wasn’t.

Hmm.

Wasn’t it just AI, though?

Unnie, let’s be real—you lie all the time.

[I always speak from the heart.]

“That doesn’t mean you always tell the truth.”

At that, Han Yurim fell silent for a moment before letting out a dramatic, defeated sigh.

[Bam-ba-ba-bam! Congratulations! You’ve unlocked the Han Yurim Route! Keep pushing forward to uncover the truth!]

“…What the heck was that?”

[An event prepared for detectives. Wouldn’t it be disappointing if there wasn’t a special effect after solving a puzzle?]

“Unnie, is your life a game?”

[Pretty much.]

Han Yurim doing weird things was nothing new, so Bunnyrun didn’t even bother reacting.

But that last remark made her curious…