Chapter 92: The Missed Opportunity

The beta test of Cosmic Ossuary concluded successfully.

The live stream alone attracted hundreds of thousands of viewers, and if you include MyTube subscribers, it reached nearly millions.

The impact was evident—V-TV’s new viewer count surged significantly due to this event.

And one more thing. About the hidden treasures—no one found them in the end.

I had worked hard to prepare those gifts, but no one claimed them. It was a bit disappointing.

So, where did I hide the treasures?

I didn’t hide them in particularly difficult places.

The first treasure is within you~

I placed it inside the first spaceship a player creates. If that ship got destroyed, the treasure would transfer to the next one.

When I checked one of the spaceships to verify, the owner screamed, “What the hell, it was here?!”

The second treasure is the companion who’s been with you all along~

I hid it inside the first android the player purchased.

I wondered if anyone would even buy a humanoid android since they’re expensive and not very practical, but fortunately, someone did.

When I cut open the android—just like with the spaceship—the owner screamed, “Give me back my daughter, you monster!”

The final treasure—this is the classic hiding spot~

I hid it inside the planetary core of the starting planet.

Quite a few people dug around the planet, but after the [Unified Federation] was established, they all disappeared.

When I revealed this, a few people who had joined the [Unified Federation] screamed while digging toward the core, “I told you it would be there!”

Even thinking back on it now, I can’t understand why no one found them.

When I voiced my confusion, Bunnyrun said, “Who would think something as huge as a free game development license would be hidden in such obvious places? You basically tricked everyone by making it too easy.”

But it wasn’t a free game development license—it was just a small gift I prepared casually.

I had put a lot of thought into it and even bought some high-end wine and a fancy coffee machine.

Why was everyone only after the free game development license?

It’s so unfair.

While watching a short video titled Han Yurim, Who Smiles While Dismantling Someone’s Daughter, I stretched and stood up from my seat.

Shhh.

When I drew back the curtains, the garden came into view.

I nodded, admiring the beautifully landscaped yard.

But honestly, it didn’t feel as special as I had expected.

Seoul was a textbook example of overpopulation.

Too many people crammed into a tiny space had caused real estate prices to skyrocket.

If you wanted to live in a spacious, standalone house in Seoul, it required a fortune.

Right.

I spent a lot of money this time.

And now, I was starting to regret it a bit.

I bought the place hoping that living in a mansion like in the movies would spark my creativity—but honestly, watching actual movies was more inspiring.

If I had known this, I would’ve saved the money and just bought an apartment instead.

I brewed coffee using the state-of-the-art coffee machine that no one managed to claim.

The rich aroma of coffee filled the house. It was delightful.

I poured the coffee into a cup. And then—

I dumped it straight into the sink.

I never mentioned it before, but I actually don’t like coffee.

At first, it was because of caffeine’s side effects. Even after becoming a super-developer, old habits die hard—I still had no desire to drink it.

Honestly, with a body that can consume unlimited sugar without consequences, why would I choose coffee?

Hot chocolate is the real summer drink.

I enjoyed my hot chocolate with the mountain of desserts I had ordered in advance.

The sugar rush (not a problem for a super-developer) was a pleasure I never got tired of.

Sweet things are the best.

After finishing a feast of sweets, I glanced at the coffee machine, which seemed to radiate disappointment.

Coffee Machine: “So… am I only going to be used like this?”

Me: “Yup.”

Hey, at least I didn’t throw it away.

You wanna end up like that Pidgeot, huh? Better watch yourself.

Lucky for the coffee machine, I’ve always had a hard time throwing things away.

I mean, I still haven’t tossed out that useless mech, right?

“So, in the end, you never used the mech for anything?”

“Paepae, how could you even suggest selling this poor thing to a scrapyard? You really have no heart—guess that’s what I get for trusting someone who used to be a spoon!”

“Excuse me, you were the one trying to sell it, you lunatic.”

I recalled Paepae’s words from the server shutdown day as I stepped outside.

The moment I emerged, Yuseong—my favorite cousin—ran up to me.

“Noona, let’s go.”

“Yuseong, you’re too talented to be working under me.”

“What are you talking about? There’s no better place than by your side.”

“That’s exactly what I meant.”

I got into the car Yuseong was driving and headed to the office.

For now, Yuseong had agreed to work with me. It was an awkward time for him to return to school, so he decided to work while earning some pocket money.

Although, calling it “pocket money” was an understatement—I was paying him quite a lot. But he earned it. Finding someone as skilled as Yuseong wasn’t easy.

This wasn’t part of my usual routine.

Normally, I’d stay home, tune into V-TV, and chat in Moss or Paepae’s streams.

So, if I was making the rare trip to the office today, it was for something important—and, of course, it was game-related.

I entered the building I bought along with the mansion.

Soon, I met the man who had been waiting for me.

“…Are you Han Yurim?”

“Hello.”

The man flinched when he saw my face but quickly composed himself.

“Hello. I’m Im Jeongran, the publishing director from Alphas.”

I took the business card he offered.

I hadn’t mentioned it before because it seemed obvious, but VR games hadn’t completely overtaken the gaming market.

They had only absorbed the PC and console market—mobile games were still thriving.

Unless AR lenses became mainstream, that wasn’t likely to change.

No matter how advanced VR devices got, you couldn’t exactly wear them on the subway.

And Alphas was the undisputed powerhouse of the mobile game market.

Hearing that description probably gave you a certain impression—and I’ll confirm right now that the stereotype is accurate.

“What brings you here?”

Maintaining a polite smile, Im Jeongran began his explanation.

“At Alphas, we see unlimited potential in your game, Han Yurim.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Expansion possibilities, development capacity—I could go on forever. But ultimately, the key point is this: your game is fun.”

Fun. That abstract concept was an incredibly important factor for creators of popular culture.

What makes a work entertaining? No one knew for sure.

People could make vague guesses and approach an approximation, but no one in the world could define it perfectly.

That’s why whoever created something entertaining always held the upper hand.

A masterpiece could only be born when multiple factors intertwined perfectly—something that could only be described as being “chosen.”

“The current content industry revolves around securing IP—that’s the alpha and the omega. In this environment, we at Alphas realized that by partnering with you, Ms. Han Yurim, endless possibilities open up.”

“Oh.”

I brightened up.

They had recognized the potential of Cosmic Ossuary. As expected of Alphas, a true giant in the gaming industry.

“How exactly are you proposing we collaborate?”

I asked with anticipation.

What I was planning would be better executed with cooperation. If the conditions were right, teaming up with Alphas wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“We’re well aware of the public’s perception of Alphas.”

Money-crazed maniacs. Not a game company but a BM (business model) factory.

A one-hit-wonder living off their ultra-successful Flame Series.

No matter how much they tried to sugarcoat it, their glory days were behind them, and they had no positive image to speak of.

In an age where IP commerce and soft power were paramount, having such a tarnished reputation wasn’t ideal.

To put it bluntly, today’s twenty-somethings wouldn’t touch Alphas’ games unless they created a flawless full-dive VR game and the entire world hailed it as a god-tier masterpiece for a year straight.

They had lost their footing for new growth—that was Alphas’ current reality.

In such a situation, my game must have looked like a breakthrough.

“Producing movies, dramas, and animations is a given.”

“Wow!”

“We can even release manga in Japan. We’re a global gaming company with a foothold everywhere. We also handle novel publications and webtoons.”

“Wow!”

“Figures, plushies, theme parks, and pop-up stores. Hosting eSports tournaments. Releasing board games and card games. Collaborating with fashion brands. Developing food and beverage products. Releasing various emojis and stickers. Advertising and marketing? That’s just the basics—we won’t even bother mentioning it.”

“Wow!”

“And most importantly—”

“Most importantly?”

I waited for Im Jeongran’s next words.

Im Jeongran opened her mouth slowly.

“We swear not to interfere with your game in any way. Exactly as it is now. No additional BMs, no changes to the gameplay—we’ll simply handle the publishing.”

“Wow.”

“We’ll do all of this with a profit-sharing ratio of 1:9. Of course, the 9 goes to you, Ms. Han Yurim. What do you think?”

“Hm.”

I made a subtle expression.

Why did they stop there?

I thought they had recognized the true potential of Cosmic Ossuary, but… was I wrong?

I asked to confirm.

“Ms. Im Jeongran.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Is that all?”

“…If there’s anything else you want, we’ll actively accommodate it.”

Although Im Jeongran quickly responded, the absence of any additional offers had already sealed my decision.

Unfortunately, Alphas is out.

“Which part of our proposal did you find unsatisfactory?”

It was a question only a rejected candidate would ask—but judges are always obliged to explain the reasons for rejection.

I kindly began my commentary.

“What is Alphas’ greatest strength?”

“…”

“Is it your network, with connections across the gaming industry?”

I continued before she could answer.

“You’re not saying anything. Personally, I don’t think your development capabilities are bad. But aside from that—what can Alphas proudly claim to be the absolute best at?”

With a face that seemed to say, Surely not…, Im Jeongran hesitantly replied.

“BM?”

“If you’d offered to add the strongest BM in human history to my game, I might have been tempted. What a shame.”

I care about intent, you see.

Unfortunately, Alphas is out.

Im Jeongran looked stunned, murmuring softly to herself.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“…Are you really going to make a gacha game?”

“To be precise, I’m going to create a gacha game based on Cosmic Ossuary. That’s why I’ve also developed cross-platform optimization technology.”

There was a reason I had gone so far as to unlock the cheat-level power of cloud gaming services.

That technology was the key to cross-platform optimization.

“Why?”

At Im Jeongran’s question, I recalled the shorts video I had watched earlier.

And I answered.

“Because there’s a scene I want to see.”