This is Jotso! ~Hope Arc~ (7)
“Oh.”
As Shin Na-young tapped the app once, a stunning illustration from Sepiros Online burst onto the screen in full glory. The loading bar filled up bit by bit until it hit 100%, and a voice chimed in: “Welcome, Summoner.” The game screen appeared.
“...But you can’t actually play yet, right?”
“Yeah.”
Im Seong-u had built the entire tutorial, but it still needed finishing touches.
The server work’s not done yet...
Shin Na-young tensed up. Game programming came in two phases: the client side for players to mess around with, and the server to log all their actions. Loading was client-side, so that made sense. But payments, levels, character saves—all that was server territory.
The current build was riddled with issues. Even if you pulled an SSS-rank character, the server wouldn’t remember it. Launching this in open beta? Users wouldn’t just complain—they’d show up with pitchforks and torches for a siege.
It was maybe 2% complete. Han Yu-ra eyed Shin Na-young with a worried look.
...Will it work out? Well, we got results, at least...
Even with Im Seong-u around, they could get past the loading screen. But after he quit, whatever malicious code he’d slipped in made it impossible. And yet Shin Na-young had cracked it. Thank God for small miracles.
“Not bad at all, Na-young.”
“Thank you.”
Han Yu-ra continued, “So, you pretty much understand the code now, right?”
At the hellish question, Shin Na-young’s face went pale.
I let out a sigh. When the loading screen wouldn’t budge, I’d helped her—partly because of our deal, and partly because I could imagine the grilling she’d take.
But having tasted that “chance” once, Shin Na-young kept firing questions without stopping. I thought back to my college days.
The prof fixed in three seconds what took me five hours.
Programming was like that. Point out what I missed, and my skills skyrocketed. So her approach made sense. Asking when you didn’t know was the right attitude.
The problem? I hated it.
Why the hell should I help Shin Na-young?
She was pitiful, sure. But what did I gain? Call me sleazy, but she wasn’t about to hop into bed with me.
Ah, fuck.
Sleazy as hell, yeah. Shaking off the guilt like a good Confucian boy, I straightened my thoughts.
I don’t want that company to succeed.
Han Yu-ra was still young. She needed more suffering to wake up. Starting a company with two randos from a uni club was a miracle already, and snagging investment by sheer luck? She was just a fortunate kid. Entrepreneurial spirit, maybe, but no real chops yet.
So no guilt wishing the old company would tank. She’d rack up 300 million in debt, crawl like a dog for years. But she wouldn’t die.
Still, thinking her pain would be temporary pissed me off a little. Why?
Revenge?
The Shin Na-young in my memory had said that over drinks.
I want to. Revenge...
I stared at the scar on my palm. The glass shard wound burned hot. A harsh fantasy flickered in my mind.
Back in my pure days, I’d imagine a man and woman stripping down to make love. Not anymore.
If I got revenge on Han Yu-ra, what would I do? Punish her. Strip her bare, make her drop every shred of pride until she was just a bitch in heat.
Revenge twisted with lust into something sickly sweet. Completely subjugating the woman who’d belittled me, exhausted me, undervalued me.
Yeah. After a year of hell, I’d warped completely.
Or maybe this is who I am deep down.
Almost no one turned into this later in life. I messaged Na-young.
I didn’t want to get dragged by emotions, so I laid out the truth.
Na-young said nothing.
Shin Na-young acknowledged me. Spilling my guts lightened the load.
Shin Na-young sighed. It was already 8 p.m. Han Yu-ra’s hopeful eyes sparkled with burdensome intensity. She wanted to rest... but couldn’t.
Can’t torment Im Seong-u anymore.
He’d helped her plenty already. No more pings to him. She started tracing his footsteps, and 14 days passed.
“Na-young-ssi. Na-young-ssi. What’re you doing? Na-young-ssi!”
Shin Na-young cracked her eyes. A string of drool dangled from her lip. The blank monitor stared back. Her hair was a mess—she knew it.
In the dream, another Shin Na-young spoke.
All-nighters were programmer life. Shin Na-young had joined Pangyo’s legion of human lightbulbs.
She wandered the dream. Sepiros Online was genuinely captivating. Planner Kim A-ram was a personality disaster, but her game design and lore were solid. Han Yu-ra packaged it expertly, Im Su-yeon drew flashy art, Yoon Se-hee nailed the animations.
No problems there. But talented specialists didn’t make a company run smoothly.
Her mind was a flower field.
“Um, Na-young-ssi?”
“Yes?”
Na-young jolted up and checked the time. 7 a.m.
“...Ah.”
Morning sun blazed. She met Han Yu-ra’s dark gaze.
“Na-young-ssi, you okay? Pulled an all-nighter?”
“...Yes.”
“There’s a limit after all. You can’t do it alone.”
“...”
Na-young had no words. Im Seong-u’s code was an unclimbable wall.
“Be honest, Na-young-ssi.”
D-DAY: 52
The whiteboard text loomed oppressively. Massive for Han Yu-ra, lighter for Shin Na-young.
“How far on code analysis?”
Shin Na-young gritted her teeth. “...10%.”
Shallow despair filled Han Yu-ra’s eyes. Then resolve.
“Go. Get some real rest.”
“...”
Shin Na-young packed silently and left. No strength left.
I’m not Im Seong-u, huh.
Wonder when I’ll become a cool programmer...
I fucked up.
In the dim bar corner, Han Yu-ra clutched her head. Heart pounding.
D-DAY: 52. Game completion: about 8%.
Kim A-ram had nagged that no matter how she planned, nothing came of it. Im Su-yeon stuck by her, snickering. Did programming kill political savvy?
Han Yu-ra saw it: Shin Na-young turning into a second Im Seong-u and bailing.
She stared at Im Seong-u’s name in her phone.
I misjudged this.
Three make a tiger, huh? Kim A-ram and Im Su-yeon never stopped badmouthing him. Han Yu-ra picked Kim A-ram. Wrong choice.
Kim A-ram would say:
So she’d asked him why he made work so hard.
“Bypassing ■■■ lets you manipulate ■■■, President. Ignore this, someone’ll exploit it.”
“■■■ from ■■■ causes performance drops. Most phones have ■■■ memory—current build ain’t optimized.”
Tech jargon was tough. Complaints? Easy to grasp.
“More time, please?”
“President, rushing won’t make the impossible happen. Extend deadline? Or trim planning?”
Now she got it, sorta—from Shin Na-young’s studies.
Couldn’t cut planning. Kim A-ram would explode.
Then it hit her.
Wait... Why was I watching Kim A-ram’s mood?
She’d vowed to make a Genshin-level god-game, mobile Elder Scrolls. But soon, no input on planning. Just investor docs, marketing worries, sales runs.
Ah, damn.
She’d been bewitched. Body couldn’t beat mental fatigue; thoughts simplified.
Im Seong-u had been sincere. She saw it now—another programmer suffered the same.
Guilt flooded her.
I’m sorry... I’m so sorry.
Like watercolor bleeding on white paper, her heart stained.
Im Seong-u. Uni pre-startup package days. She’d seen boredom in his eyes. Seemed peaceful outside, but he burned inside. Programmer shortage too. So she reeled him in.
“Seong-u-ssi.”
“Yeah?”
“Business fun?”
“...Makes money, so.”
“Game dev interest?”
She recalled the purity in his eyes then.
Im Seong-u was right. Kim A-ram was wrong.
Self-recrimination. She downed whiskey. Booze didn’t solve shit, but numbed it.
Sorry, Im Seong-u...
She eyed her phone. Late—maybe message him? Nah. Too shameless.
Regret kept her up; she staggered into the office at dawn. Had to save the company without him. Somehow.