001. This is Fucked! ~Hope Arc~ (9)
The call was from Han Yu-ra. She agonized over what to say before finally opening her mouth.
“Seong-u.”
“...Yeah?”
In a situation where Im Seong-u was the only lifeline left to grasp, she felt ashamed as CEO and full of regret. She wanted to lean on someone somewhere, but now there was no one around. In the end, the words she chose were trite.
“Can you talk?”
It was an ordinary spring evening, the time when couples made plans for flower-viewing dates. Im Seong-u replied perfunctorily, as if annoyed.
“Yeah. Keep it short.”
He was someone who could earn plenty of money. But there was a gap in his heart that refused to fill. He wasn't sure what it was, but Im Seong-u wanted to know. What had she meant to him? A year together as business partners, another as master and slave. When this company collapsed, what would those times mean to her?
Im Seong-u wanted confirmation.
For a year, Han Yu-ra had treated Im Seong-u like dirt. At first, she'd been kind. But gradually, she melted into the office politics and started pushing him away. She hadn't understood him.
-Ma'am, it's finally done.
-What's done?
-The ■■■. If you don't do ■■■ right, ■■■ will blow up... Haah. But it worked out, thank goodness.
-Oh... really?
Everyone was fragile at heart. Who wouldn't want praise as a programmer? When he'd pulled an all-nighter solving a tough problem, when he'd had that childlike gleam in his eyes—shouldn't she have praised him just once more back then?
Han Yu-ra regretted it that way, but Im Seong-u was merciless.
“Why'd you call?”
His cold words hit her. Short and businesslike. She'd have preferred if he'd yelled.
She felt her heart sliced open. “Um, Seong-u...”
To her, nothing was more precious than her career. She was always short on time. She'd have met any man useful for game development, but that wasn't love. For a woman like that to make such a stupid mistake? Han Yu-ra swallowed hard.
I have to...
It was something she absolutely had to say. It had taken forever to get the words out.
“Seong-u... I'm... sor...ry.”
What she'd inflicted on Im Seong-u was violence. What must it have felt like, alone in that tiny office, coding away? Only after experiencing it herself did Han Yu-ra realize. That he'd truly given his all.
But now it was too late.
“Sorry for what?”
“For leaving you alone and...”
Im Seong-u's face twisted at those words. Sunset light fell across features much improved from his overtime days. Struggling to contain the torrent of emotions, he thought,
What good is your apology now?
He didn't want to explode in anger. To him, even that felt like a waste of emotion.
-Seong-u. Remember that task A-ram gave you?
-Ma'am, there's no time to develop that too...
Such memories.
-Seong-u, you're the slowest here.
-The specs have been rewritten how many times? Of course development lags.
More such memories. Every one a suffocating mess.
Han Yu-ra spoke. “Seong-u...”
“...”
“Please, just help us this once?”
“...”
“Open beta's in 42 days. The company's in a really tough spot. Na-young's working hard, the new girl... Could you help a bit?”
“...”
Im Seong-u believed once you'd become covered in thorns, you couldn't embrace anyone else. He asked coldly, “What do I get?”
“...”
“Basic business, right? At least pay me.”
“I'll raise your salary! Guarantee work-life balance too...”
Han Yu-ra, of all people, groveling. It was a sweet experience. Slowly, the dominance lurking in Im Seong-u's heart raised its head. No one had ever begged him like this. Not even bullying rookies in the army or scolding subordinates in business. A new emotion filled him.
Im Seong-u followed his feelings.
“Hey, CEO Han?”
“...”
CEO Han. Farther than 'Han Yu-ra,' 'Yu-ra,' or even 'Ma'am.' To her, it sounded like an insult.
Human emotions were sly like that—the Im Seong-u she'd hated so much was now achingly missed. But there was nothing she could do now.
“I took on some freelance work.”
As he said it, gazing at the sunset, sticky guilt welled in his chest. Then uncontrollable elation burned through. For the first time, guilt over making a woman cry, the thrill of dominating Han Yu-ra.
Im Seong-u said calmly, “Three million.”
“Ah.”
Hearing that, Han Yu-ra hugged her knees tighter.
“I can make three million in four months. So what can you offer me, Han Yu-ra?”
“...I...”
Im Seong-u seized control. “Fami—ly-like employees?”
“...”
She knew he was bullied but hadn't protected him.
“Overtime?”
“...”
She hadn't acknowledged his suffering during all-nighters.
“Or the disdain for devs and constant spec rewrites?”
“...”
Every time planners tweaked docs, programmers worked double. Insane, in hindsight.
“If you didn't know coding, you should've studied a bit. At least enough to understand what devs say. No matter how busy chasing events.”
“I... I tried hard too...”
Han Yu-ra crumbled. It was too harsh to endure. She sensed Im Seong-u growing crueler and hated herself for it.
Meanwhile, Im Seong-u's senses sharpened. A woman's tears were twisted, sweet. A fizzy, overflowing thrill invaded his heart. Vulgar. Swayed by the mood, he said,
“Yu-ra.”
“...Yeah.”
“Honestly, getting that investment was luck, right? Even with a good pitch, a newbie under a year landing Angel Ventures? Pure chance.”
It was true. A slightly weaker pitch, slightly worse art from Im Su-yeon, and the future would've changed. Ten billion was pocket change for conglomerates, but they didn't throw it away lightly.
“...Yeah.”
“As CEO, you bear your own responsibility, right?”
“I know, I know, but... Seong-u.”
They thought of their college days. Wearing thick department baseball jerseys, wandering Sinchon or near Konkuk Station for empty bars. Excitedly ranting that modern games were trash. Muttering about making a masterpiece, laughing, chattering.
Back then, it was enough. No stars in Seoul's sky? Fine—Han Yu-ra's eyes had them. In an era where 30 years of savings couldn't buy a house, she believed her indie game would spark a global phenomenon. That light had enchanted Im Seong-u, dooming him to long suffering.
“I know I'm shameless. I'll rewrite the whole plan. Whatever you want... yeah? I'll pay plenty...”
“Yu-ra.”
Im Seong-u caught the desperation in her voice, a bid to escape the moment. No forgiveness for betrayal—he cut it short.
“No.”
Clear refusal. No explanation needed; she knew best.
“...”
“...”
The two faced reality again. Im Seong-u in his studio; Han Yu-ra holed up in the office, sobbing.
Her final apology: “...Sorry, Seong-u.”
“...”
Why the regret?
Im Seong-u felt a twinge of regret.
Do I actually love tormenting people that much?
He listened quietly to her voice.
“Got it... Good luck with the new freelance.”
“You too, CEO.”
To Han Yu-ra holding back tears, Im Seong-u said,
“Hang in there.”
“...”
She gritted her teeth.
⋯
And so D-DAY 41 arrived. 41 days until company doom.
Han Yu-ra had to find a way.
“Listen up.”
Like her college self, she rose again. Burning herself in a final blaze. Return light before death—her nonexistent energy squeezed from her heart left her haggard.
“From today, we're rewriting the plan. Yoon Se-hee, you'll join development. You know Unity, right?”
“...Yes. But coding, I'm not great at...”
“No choice.”
Han Yu-ra stated firmly; Yoon Se-hee accepted without resistance. The CEO's fire spread to the staff.
“Coding's the top priority. A-ram, you said you coded before, right?”
A-ram had nothing to say. She'd bragged about Python once.
“Well, yeah. Basics... I can manage...?”
The chief culprit in the company's mess still remembered yesterday's fight. She couldn't be nice to the Han Yu-ra who'd reamed her. But the passion moved her, hence the grudging tone. No one cared.
“Then pause planning. Handle new hires.”
“Sigh... Fine.”
I'll do it myself.
Kim A-ram's face said it; Han Yu-ra felt irritation.
Then Kim A-ram rolled her eyes and asked, “Wait. CEO, what's the new hires' salary?”
“...Why do you need to know?”
“Just wondering if our pay's going up...”
Han Yu-ra suddenly wanted to kill her. If she'd had a knife, maybe 17 pieces.
Just stay a planning machine.
Kim A-ram kept yapping. “Others might feel relatively deprived...”
⋯
10 days later, D-DAY 31.
Shin Na-young stiffly approached the CEO. Han Yu-ra frowned slightly, glaring. Guilty look.
“What?”
“Um...”
Han Yu-ra glanced around. Staff silent. Chatty Kim A-ram sweated coldly beside her; Yoon Se-hee looked ready to die. Her social anxiety worse today.
Instinctive dread hit Han Yu-ra. Three words echoed in her mind.
We're fucked.
“What is it? Spit it out.”
“Um... me.”
Shin Na-young hemmed and hawed. Glanced back. Kim A-ram stared; Im Su-yeon stone-still, drawing silently.
Fuck... what the hell.
“Stop stalling.”
“Y-yes.”
“...”
“CEO... I.”
“...”
“...Um.”
“...”
“Like, that.”
“...”
“Haa... how to say this?”
“...”
“Me, uh...”
“...”
“We didn't mean to, but like...”
“...”
“Um...”
“Want me to die of rage?”
Then Shin Na-young said despairingly, “CEO. The server files are gone.”
“...What?”
“All... of them.”