Episode 12
Going back to yesterday.
“Got something to talk about?”
“What, man.”
Alpaca was having a conversation with his editor and manager, Lee Su-han.
“The person we’re collaborating with this time, you said they’ve only been streaming for two days. So the question is, do they even have enough material?”
Specifically, about the upcoming collaboration with a new streamer.
Lee Su-han voiced his doubts.
Usually, the target of newbie discovery content was a streamer who was just starting to gain traction. Whether through a competition, a collaboration, or any other opportunity, it was when a small-time streamer first began to attract attention.
Alpaca would invite such streamers to boost his own content while also helping them out. The audience of the invited streamer was mostly made up of new viewers. By digging up the streamer’s past—specifically, the embarrassing moments from their small-streamer days—and offering them up for laughs, they created a sense of camaraderie.
That was the essence of newbie discovery content.
The time it took for a streamer to get noticed varied greatly.
But.
A streamer who had only been streaming for two days was a first.
“But Su-han, you’re mistaken about one thing.”
“What is it?”
“That person is coming as a ‘Master’s Guest’ kind of deal.”
“Master’s Guest? You’ve never done that before. Wait, more importantly, a two-day streamer... Ah!”
Lee Su-han clapped his hands as if he’d figured something out.
“So a famous master started streaming! What game’s master is he?”
Alpaca let out a sigh.
If he’d only watched today’s stream, he’d know the whole story.
But given that Su-han was in charge of managing Alpaca’s online presence, being his manager and editor, he couldn’t be expected to watch every single stream.
But.
“Dawn of the Assassins.”
“What? A master in a game like that? Pfft.”
Lee Su-han hadn’t missed his stream because he was busy; he simply hadn’t watched it.
Because he was obsessed with the game ‘The League’.
It had been years now.
“I knew you’d say that. But if you watch the video, your opinion might change.”
Seeing Alpaca fiddle with his phone, hinting he was about to show something, Lee Su-han snorted.
“Oh please. How good can you be in an assassination game? I’m not watching it. I’m not buying it.”
You’ll have to watch it anyway when you edit.
Alpaca swallowed the rest of his words.
“What’s so fun or hard about PvE, huh? The thing with those games is you can beat them with just a bit of effort.”
PvE (Player vs Environment) simply means the player fights against AI. It’s the opposite of PvP.
Alpaca had been urging him to try Dawn of the Assassins for ages, but Lee Su-han always refused, saying fighting machines was no fun.
“Well, so it’s like a Master’s Guest thing, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then just handle it yourself. I’m going to squeeze in another match.”
Just as Lee Su-han was about to head to his room.
“Oh, right.”
Alpaca remembered what he’d been forgetting. The very reason he’d brought up the collaboration in the first place.
“Can you lend your capsule to the streamer coming tomorrow?”
“What? There are spare capsules.”
Lee Su-han said with a serious face.
“They said it has to be yours. You just upgraded to the most expensive one. Their synchronicity rate is a bit low.”
“How can a master have a low synchronicity rate?”
Synchronicity rate.
A measure of how realistically one perceives the virtual world.
The stereotype that you need a high synchronicity rate to be good at capsule games was half true—no, mostly true.
As a side note, there were cases where this number exceeded 100.
Those who deep-dove into a fantasy world that felt more real than reality often felt a sense of alienation when they resurfaced from the capsule.
Like a diver suffering from decompression sickness upon surfacing.
This was called ‘fantasy decompression sickness,’ and those who suffered from it were characterized by showing incredible performance in the virtual world thanks to their high synchronicity rate.
Lee Su-han thought for a moment and then gave a short answer.
“Ugh, no. No way.”
“Why.”
“You want someone who’s worse at games than me to use my brand-new baby that I’ve barely had a chance to enjoy?”
Lee Su-han was a skilled player who maintained a high tier in The League even while gaming only in his spare time.
“That person might be better than you.”
But Alpaca knew, from a purely objective standpoint, that the streamer Jin Seojun would be better.
Even if it was PvE, not many people could replicate movements like that.
The problem was that Lee Su-han wouldn’t even watch the video, and even if he did, he wouldn’t admit it.
‘Sigh. I guess I’ll have to let them use mine.’
His own capsule wasn’t bad either.
Even if it was obvious Seojun would win, he couldn’t exactly make his editor fight him over lending out the capsule.
But then, at Lee Su-han’s question, a different thought took over Alpaca’s mind, and he felt a chill.
‘Come to think of it, even with a low synchronicity rate... that means he pulled off that kind of play while not even fully attuned.’
Whoa.
Then how much better is he in real life?
A gangster?
No, he uses a sword... a yakuza?
In Alpaca’s mind, an image formed of a man with a huge scar on his face, wearing a floral-pattern shirt and wielding a butcher’s knife.
* * *
“Hello. I’m streamer Alpaca.”
Alpaca, who opened the door with trembling hands, had his eyes go wide.
Because Seojun’s face looked exactly like the avatar he’d seen in virtual reality.
‘I thought since it said the avatar was based on a real face scan, it was probably lightly edited like everyone else’s. But it was really the raw scan!’
Fortunately, unlike his imagination, Seojun’s face was that of a clean-looking, handsome young man.
So much so that Alpaca felt guilty for the weird thoughts he’d had the day before.
“Yes, hello. I’m streamer Jin Seojun.”
Meanwhile, Seojun was also looking around.
He was curious what the studio of a long-running streamer in his early thirties looked like.
“Hyung, long time no see. I’m here too.”
“Taewoo, it’s been a while. Come this way.”
Seojun shook hands with Alpaca and followed his guidance to a spacious living room.
It looked like a normal home from the outside, but he got the sense that workspaces and relaxation areas were strictly separated.
As he and Taewoo sat on the sofa, Alpaca went to the kitchen to make coffee, and a man with a rough appearance emerged from a closed room.
“Hello. I’m the editor, Lee Su-han.”
Lee Su-han extended his hand to Seojun with a grin.
“I’m streamer Jin Seojun. Nice to meet you.”
Seojun felt strength in the firm grip. A show of dominance?
“So I heard your synchronicity rate is low.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re good at games.”
“Well, I’m decent.”
While making a short, concise teaser video for the collaboration yesterday, Lee Su-han had a chance to watch Seojun’s gameplay.
And he’d felt a competitive urge at the unexpectedly good skill.
Thunk.
The subtle tension shattered.
Alpaca had set the cup down on the table with a loud thud.
Alpaca glared sideways at Lee Su-han and had Seojun take a seat.
“Alright, alright. Now that introductions are done, let’s talk about the broadcast. Did you see the teaser video?”
Seojun nodded.
The video posted on Alpaca’s fan cafe and online channels along with the collaboration announcement.
The video, which dramatically recreated Seojun’s play and interspersed it with Alpaca’s confident boasts, was brief but perfect as promotional material.
“Thanks to you, the response has been hot. With skill like that, the video really comes alive and it’s a treat to watch. Wow.”
Whether that response was genuine or not would be revealed shortly.
“Your editor did all the work though.”
Lee Su-han scratched the back of his neck with an awkward smile at the compliment.
“Hahaha. No, it’s nothing. But while editing I noticed you’re really good—have you really only been gaming for two days?”
“Well, no. I’d rather keep it a secret, but the truth is I played briefly a long time ago.”
Seojun thought there was no need to hide the fact itself that he’d played a game in the past.
“How long ago?”
“About seven years ago, I played The League for a bit.”
Alpaca latched onto ‘seven years ago,’ while Lee Su-han perked up at ‘The League.’
“Were you good back then too? What tier were you?”
Lee Su-han’s eyes lit up.
Tier is an English word meaning rank.
In games, it’s usually used to classify item levels or player ranks.
“Silver.”
Silver was the tier where the average majority of players were placed.
“That can’t be right. There’s no way you suddenly became good at a game after a long break.”
“Well...”
Seojun shrugged.
In the end, Lee Su-han accepted it. If the man said so, what could he do.
However, it was true that, based on the video, Seojun’s current skill was on par with his own.
So.
“Seojun, would you care to spar with me at the training grounds?”
Lee Su-han wanted to clash with Seojun.
After speaking, he shifted his eyes around, gauging the reaction.
Seojun looked troubled.
But Taewoo, who was beside him, asked with a brightened expression.
With a meaningful smile.
“You want to spar with Seojun? Why?”
“To test our skills.”
“With him?”
“Yeah.”
Hahaha!
Suddenly, Taewoo burst into laughter.
Lee Su-han looked at him with displeasure, wondering what was so funny, while Alpaca, who had been lost in thought, raised his head and stared at Taewoo.
And Seojun had a pretty good idea why he was laughing.
“Hyung-nim. Don’t do that.”
“Huh?”
“Just don’t. *cough*”
“……?”
At some point, Taewoo was looking at Seojun. With a playful grin.
Seojun understood the meaning of that gaze.
It meant, ‘Can I tell them?’
Seojun figured that since Taewoo was close to them and even if the story leaked there’d be no proof, he nodded in permission.
“This is also a secret, but if you want to fight him in the training ground, just challenge Level 10.”
Basically implying Seojun was the unknown.
Alpaca’s and Lee Su-han’s eyes widened in shock once they understood the meaning.
“Th-... really?”
“Of course.”
As if he’d been waiting, Taewoo took out his phone, played a video, and handed it to Alpaca, and Lee Su-han jumped up and went over to Alpaca’s side to watch.
And then, exclamations burst out.
“Whoa.”
“Oh.”
“This?”
“That’s Shin Ha-yeon?”
“We’ve invited someone even more amazing than I thought.”
“The collab today just got a lot more intimidating.”
“Wait, didn’t he not get hit even once?”
“It’s totally one-sided.”
“Keuh.”
“That final move was insane.”
Alpaca looked back and forth between the video and Seojun, his eyes now holding a bit more conviction, then muttered ‘seven years ago’ and sank back into thought. Lee Su-han, after watching the whole video, turned to Seojun and said,
“I’ll treat you as my hyung-nim.”
The look in Lee Su-han’s eyes, which had been sizing him up as a rival, completely changed.
“Huh?”
“If you’re good at games, you’re hyung-nim.”
Seojun, flustered, opened and closed his mouth.
Come to think of it, being treated like an elder rather than a hyung-nim wouldn’t be strange either.
Seojun gave Kim Taewoo, who was giggling for no reason, a smack. He just felt like hitting him.
Then Lee Su-han glanced at the clock and tapped Alpaca’s shoulder.
“Hey, what are you doing? Hyung-nim’s broadcast is about to start.”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. Alright! Let’s go start the stream. Here, my capsule….”
“This way, hyung-nim. I’ll escort you comfortably.”
Alpaca stared in disbelief at Lee Su-han, who was leading Seojun to the workroom where Alpaca’s own capsule was.
Now I have to reset the settings, you bastard.
Seojun followed Lee Su-han into the workroom, and Alpaca sighed and walked to his broadcasting room.
And changed the capsule's settings.
He also prepared the ingredients for the post-game dinner after the stream ended.
His broadcasts were largely improvised, but he was meticulous about this kind of preparation.
Anyway.
‘Even if it’s AI, to beat Shin Ha-yeon...’
For some reason, Alpaca wanted to continue building a relationship with Seojun even after this broadcast.
And if Seojun was the user he suspected...
‘No, that’s going too far.’
Alpaca shook his head and entered the capsule.