Open Beta (11)
2 p.m. The bald man with square-rimmed glasses pressed his lips into a thin line and glared at me, firing off questions about the code one by one. They were the kind of questions no one could answer unless they'd written the code themselves.
In the midst of it, a tidal wave of emotions surged up inside me—a massive wave that sent shivers through my entire body. I don't want to show them this side of me...
There were four people still with me: Han Yu-ra, Yoon Se-hee, Shin Na-young, and the auditor. Im Su-yeon had stormed out midway, true to her personality. Too many witnesses for me to bare my soul. And honestly, I didn't want to spill my true feelings anyway.
"Director Im doesn't know how hard Seong-u worked, does he?"
"Isn't changing the planning easier than actually building the program?"
They wouldn't understand anyway. And they were laypeople to boot.
...I did work a lot.
Even including external libraries, it was a mountain of code tens of thousands of lines long. I wasn't even sure I remembered it all myself. So at first, I was tense as hell.
Can I answer this right? Do I even remember? If I screw up, it'll look like I'm a fraud who didn't write it myself...
The auditor's questions were sharp.
"Director Im Seong-u. What does this section of code do?"
But when Lee Seung-cheol pointed at the code on the monitor, "That's..."
"..."
"I think... it's the character level-up code."
Like magic, my memory started flooding back. My brain had forgotten long ago. But my body remembered. The memories of that day—the pain, the sense of accomplishment, the affection. All of it.
Ah... the level-up bug. It was snowing the day I fixed that. I was alone in the office.
There was a snag somewhere causing characters to level up twice. A serious issue—I had to fix it that night, no matter what. My personality wouldn't let me sleep otherwise.
Where's the problem?
Client to server transmission?
Or server-side processing?
I scoured the error relentlessly. Reading hundreds of lines of the same code pointlessly, wandering the fringes of code dumps. Of course it was exhausting. Back then, I was still a total noob even in front of my own sentences.
But after pulling an all-nighter staring at it, experimenting with everything, the structure emerged. I saw the meaning in every copied-and-pasted line. I understood how the basic knowledge from college applied. There were plenty of shitty moments too. Realizing how inefficient my code was and compressing thirty lines into three. Or spotting not just line-level issues but structural flaws, overhauling the whole thing.
But through it all, I felt it. I was getting stronger as a developer.
"...The client calculates experience points and sends them to the server, which cross-checks with the DB to verify. Then it sends back to the client for stat allocation."
"Th-then, this part. pet_spot.js is..."
Lee Seung-cheol looked flustered. A bead of sweat trickled down his bald head, and his eyes trembled as he tried to hide his agitation.
I didn't remember pet_spot.js offhand. But as soon as I saw the contents, my life flashed before my eyes.
"No more pet development starting today."
"What?"
"Didn't you hear? No pets."
"No way, I've been working on this for weeks."
"Well, since we're scrapping it, that's a win for you, Im Seong-u, right? Anyway, new plan. Room decoration."
That fucking bitch Kim A-ram...
Memories burst forth like a dam breaking. Revived trauma and technical knowledge. I suppressed my emotions and answered smoothly.
"It's code for other users to view my pet's growth stats. Ah... it was for a feature we scrapped, so the file just lingered."
"Uh, uh..."
I understood Lee Seung-cheol's shock.
If I were in his shoes, I'd react the same.
A guy fresh out of college, handling game server, client, homepage, and auth simultaneously—building a simple mobile game in a year. No outsourcing. Could an expert accept that?
Probably not. In the end, he had no choice but to admire and acknowledge it.
"...Director Im Seong-u."
"Yes?"
"...How did you do it?"
That question broke the dam. Being understood could be heartbreaking sometimes. Emotional. All the pent-up feelings overflowed in a sensation beyond joy or sorrow.
Aaah...
His head was shining. Like a halo from an archangel... His perfectly bald scalp reflected the afternoon sun in a perfect circle.
Why is it so blinding?
No one had recognized it before.
"Even calling it talent isn't enough. No, talent falls short."
Shin Na-young looked at me with eyes saying, Wow, amazing! Wonder, basically. Han Yu-ra didn't know coding well, so her understanding was surface-level—guilt in her gaze. Yoon Se-hee? We barely talked. Kim A-ram and Im Su-yeon wouldn't even look.
But this was more. Genuine.
"...Haha. Hard work pays off, I guess."
Not the shallow praise like:
Oh, good job.
Wow, you worked hard!
You're awesome.
But real recognition:
Holy shit... how did you do all this in a year? Are you okay?
Acknowledgment of how grueling that year was. The baseline suffering required. The bricks of endurance that built my trials.
Finally validated.
"Seong-u."
"..."
"Where'd you learn backend?"
"Back in college, we were short on startup funds, so I freelanced homepages. Couldn't afford hires, wanted every penny."
Those were the days. A year in college with Han Yu-ra. Dying on paperwork for government grants, secretly crushing on her.
"Whoa... and game servers?"
"Built on backend knowledge. Started with full API calls. Learned sockets later."
I knew shit about game programming. Stuck to API calls at first, no sockets. Rewrote it all eventually.
Loving days weren't always fun. I'd felt betrayed by Han Yu-ra.
"Any trouble with sockets?"
"Connections were unstable, so I studied nonstop."
The time that made me an expert wasn't easy.
"Google login, ad monetization, in-app purchases..."
"Eh, copied those."
"Ah..."
Copying didn't make it easy. ChatGPT wasn't advanced enough yet.
"..."
Lee Seung-cheol sat silently for a long stretch. Awkward quiet. Only the office clock's ticking filled the void in my chest for minutes.
Finally, he spoke.
"You worked hard."
How to describe it? Anguish? Craving validation? Stubborn pride in my skills mixed with should've gone corporate anxiety? Revenge?
...
Pathetically, I couldn't hold back the emotions, so I laughed instead.
"Haha. Thanks for the praise."
"No problem."
"Mind if I hit the bathroom quick?"
"Sure."
Even on days I couldn't focus three minutes, I clocked twelve-hour full-throttle shifts. Maybe swimming nationals prep honed my concentration, but really, it was love. I wanted to see Sepiros Online bloom.
Yeah.
Love is obsession.
"..."
I lingered at the bathroom sink a while. If someone called me a fool or idiot for crying now, I'd punch them. It was that joyful a day.
......
Han Yu-ra bit her lip.
...That reaction.
She was sensitive to others' responses. Lee Seung-cheol's attitude: first suspicion, then anger and shock, then acceptance, then admiration.
She ground her teeth. Her heart sank heavily.
To be honest, I don't get what Seong-u's saying.
No overtime pay budget right now. You know that?
Can't do it in a week? Why?
Her mind replayed her mistakes. Hiding incompetence and ignorance behind "busy."
Han Yu-ra bowed her head, facing the raw truth of her actions. She'd never grasp it with her coding skills. The extent of Im Seong-u's suffering.
I...
She'd apologized already. He'd accepted. But Yu-ra was still sad. The causality felt off. Had she only superficially understood his ordeals? What meaning in apologizing now?
She clenched her fists.
I drove him that far.
CEO, we need more time.
Kim A-ram's got issues. Changes plans based on other planners. Even investors dragging us down...
Overtime pay would pay off in the end, CEO.
Now, it all rang true. But arms bend inward. Same club alumni? She shielded the girls.
What happened to Im Seong-u?
How frustrated was he?
Yu-ra regretted it.
And how agonizing?
"CEO Han."
"...Yes."
"You've got a great developer."
Lee Seung-cheol looked at Han Yu-ra. She had no words for the bald man. She averted her eyes and bowed her head—not just because of the glare off his scalp.
"I don't know internal details... but salary negotiations? Rehiring Im Seong-u as director was smart. Good deal."
"...Yes. Thank you."
Broken promises. Unresolved stubbornness. Believing only funding or cash flow mattered.
Yu-ra suffered.
"Thought you had an incompetent dev at first... but now it makes sense."
"..."
"You need more programmers."
"..."
"Hire extras, no question. Pushing staff to limits shows skill, but easing up lasts longer. Director Im must be exhausted."
"...Understood."
"Audit done. No need to rush remaining dev. Just keep working diligently."
She realized: Sepiros Online stood on a massive stroke of luck. Perfect timing for women's startup grants and IR. Im Seong-u sweating blood. Kim A-ram hustling early on.
Her specs weren't bad. But specs alone don't win.
Han Yu-ra watched where Im Seong-u had gone. The office felt empty despite just one departure. Her chest ached—like scorched guts snipped with scissors.
Do I even qualify?
Qualify to wedge between him and Shin Na-young, demand his love?
Maybe not.
Yu-ra gripped the chair arms, fists tight.
I hate this...
A day she wanted to turn back time.