“Haaah, all the packaging’s been moved. Is that it for today?”
After hauling several hundred boxes of Styrofoam packaging, I wiped off my beading sweat and sprawled out on the floor.
It’s a bit late to bring this up now, but there’s an epidemic going around in South Korea.
I’m not talking about COVID. This is an incurable disease handed down since far more ancient times, one that still hasn’t been eradicated.
Astonishingly, the disease is said to infect only retired, comfortably-off middle-aged couples in their fifties and sixties. Its vectors include things like “I Am a Natxral Person” and “6 O’Clock My Hxmetown.”
I call it “return-to-farming disease.”
I have no idea what got into my parents, who had lived near Seoul their entire lives and had never even tried something as common as a weekend farm experience, that they suddenly decided to set up a Shine Muscat farm on 4,000 pyeong of land.
...No, actually, I do know. That lady who was always dumping multi-level marketing products on my mother must have fed her some nonsense about “an easy way to make money in retirement while living a leisurely life.”
And so the two of them, filled with grand ideals and romance about returning to the countryside, went down to a rural village that was supposedly “peaceful, with clean air, good water, and kind people.”
Then they spent a fortune and impulsively purchased all the equipment for a Shine Muscat farm, because “it’s so popular with young people these days that there isn’t enough to sell.”
When I asked what kind of grape farming people with bad backs thought they were going to do, they boasted that these days the equipment was so good it would be fine.
And exactly one year and four months later.
—“Sorry, son! I guess we’re city people after all~^^”
...With a text like that, the farm was dumped onto me.
Their son, who just so happened to be unemployed and adrift because of COVID.
My parents’ backs, which just so happened to be getting wrecked by the hard farm labor right on schedule.
And a fantastic result brought about by factors such as the countryside’s mosquito swarms and bug hordes being more annoying than expected, and pruning and fertilizing being more troublesome than expected.
“Whew, now that everyone and their dog started making a fuss about growing Shine Muscats, grape prices have gone to shit!”
Even if I sighed while cracking open a can of beer from the fridge, there wasn’t a soul around to hear me.
It had already been about five years since I abruptly wrapped up my life in Seoul in the bright prime of my early twenties and settled down in some grape field. Maybe I was single-handedly dragging down the average age of this neighborhood by more than five years.
Normally, as someone born and bred for city life, it would have been natural for me to quit this farming nonsense that had never been in my fate after a year or two.
Unfortunately, until around the COVID era, Shine Muscats really were something “so popular with young people these days that there wasn’t enough to sell.”
In other words.
—“Th-the net sales are this much? Haha, hahaha! I guess I’ll have to grow Shine Muscats for twenty years or so!”
I made quite a bit of money too.
For exactly the first three years.
But to me, whose web novel that I’d tried scribbling after losing my job had ended in disastrous fashion with something like “14 views,” that success was far too sweet.
Just like the taste of Shine Muscats when the farming was going wonderfully in the beginning.
“Success is... a drug. It’s a drug... Shouldn’t the government stop people from succeeding? What are the South Korean police even doing?”
Unable to forget that taste, I had been stuck in this nonsense for five years now.
Still, after five years, even this work was starting to become manageable.
The neighbors who had been territorial because some young bachelor had shown up now bartered things like potatoes and chickens with me, along with pitying looks.
And I, too, had gotten used to spraying pesticide, watering, pruning, and so on, so even farming alone had become far less burdensome.
Of course, once the harvest season came in full swing, an amount of labor I couldn’t handle alone would come crashing down. But at times like that, my parents, wearing faces that looked (very slightly) apologetic, and the prospective return-to-farmers they dragged along with sparkling expressions, would come help and leave, so it was fine.
“Come to think of it... harvest season’s almost here.”
This rural house where I lived alone was about to become noisy again after so long. Even the precious free time I’d barely been savoring would soon disappear.
Ding-dong.
“Ah, it’s here!”
Which meant the time to enjoy my hobby would disappear too.
“You’re Mr. Gim Isang, correct? Please sign here.”
“Ah, yes. Yes. Thank you!”
That could not be allowed.
With a cheerful heart, I gave the postal worker a friendly smile, came back inside, and immediately tore open the delivery box.
The contents were none other than the preorder limited package for this year’s most anticipated fourth-quarter release, the open-world stealth-action RPG Immortal Order: Origin!
The long-awaited prequel to Hwangsuksoft’s masterpiece series, which depicts the protagonist’s struggle against a secret society lurking behind major historical events such as the American Revolution, the Civil War, and the two World Wars.
I’d heard that this installment would finally reveal the hidden origin and truth of the secret society they’d kept tightly concealed throughout the series while scattering nothing but foreshadowing everywhere. To prevent spoilers for the story, I hadn’t even touched the internet for two whole days.
Slide. Tap.
Ah, packaging that had clearly had effort put into it had that distinct pleasure of unboxing.
—“It is the 16th century. England, ruled by Queen Elizabeth, sends settlers to Roanoke Island in order to establish its first permanent colony in North America. ‘In our world,’ that attempt is known to have ended in miserable failure. But what truth truly lay behind it...?”
Kyaa. The Korean localization is perfect too. Starting today, I’ll bow three times in the direction of the distributor.
They had even included an antique-looking detailed map and explanatory text of the Roanoke Colony and its surrounding area, which were apparently the setting of the game.
Very thorough. With this much, it was a satisfying package.
In this grape apocalypse, where searching “Shine Muscat” on a portal site brought up outrageous related searches like “Shine Muscat tastes bad,” I had spent the whopping sum of 144,000 won.
Therefore, this game was not allowed to be unfun.
No, there was no way it could be unfun.
I immediately entered the CD key from the package and swallowed my saliva. The Hwangsuksoft logo appeared, emblazoned with the face of Lord Hwangsuk, whose ears were quite large, and the majestic BGM set my heart fluttering.
Soon, a black screen appeared. When I chose “Yes” to the question asking whether to turn on Korean dubbing, subtitles and a voice began to rise over the selection window along with flames.
—“You are sufficiently prepared.”
That’s right. I’m very prepared.
—“You are qualified to glimpse the truth beyond the secrets accumulated until now, beyond the passage of hundreds of years.”
If I spent 144,000 won, then even qualifications I didn’t have should naturally appear.
—“O you who shall be immortal beyond the ages, now a new world calls to you.”
—“Migrate to the New World.” “Give up.”
...Migrate to the New World?
That was strange. Traditionally, the Immortal Order series’ signature was putting a “Stand Against the Order” button on the start screen.
Well, sure. Since it’s a prequel, throwing in a slick change like this once isn’t bad. That was what I thought as I moved the mouse.
Crackle.
For some reason, an ominous thought flashed through my mind.
For some reason... just for some reason.
Usually, in web novels and stuff, isn’t this where something ominous happens? Like if I click this start button, I get sucked into the screen or something.
“Ha... Harvest season’s almost here, and now I’m thinking weird crap too.”
Click.
...
...
...
See, nothing happened after all.
Wondering what stupid thought had come over me for a moment, I thumped my own head and got up. Thinking maybe blood wasn’t reaching my brain, I stretched too.
When I looked back at the screen, there was only a single sentence written on the black background.
—“...You most certainly agreed.”
And then the computer shut off.
“...”
Click. Click.
“...”
It wouldn’t turn back on.