The Kayak Effect
Kayak's recruitment as a Supporter went through at lightning speed. She'd gotten a firm commitment—complete with a signed contract—right there on the spot where they'd met.
Of course, a few of the finer points still needed adjusting. Kayak's demands had been something even Director Hong Gyun hadn't anticipated in the slightest.
I never thought she'd ask for skins.
He'd figured she'd want money at most—or, if she really went for it, a stake in the company. But skins? He wasn't sure whether to call it eccentric or modest.
As he sat there looking puzzled, Kayak continued her explanation.
"Camilla is a foundational hero who's been with Abyss since the very beginning."
"Right…?"
"But she only has three skins, including the default one."
Camilla had existed since the day Abyss first launched. Compared to other heroes, she was elder statesman material—a senior so far above a recent release like Stella that Stella couldn't even meet her eyes.
And yet, unlike the other founding-era heroes who'd launched alongside her—Camilla's classmates, so to speak—Camilla only had two skins.
One was the low-quality skin that had come bundled with her original release. Skill effects, motion sets—none of it changed. Just a slight tweak to the outer appearance. Compared to modern skins, it was almost embarrassing to call it a skin at all.
The other was Snow Queen Camilla, the highest-priced skin in Abyss history, which Hong Gyun himself had announced at the town hall. That one needed no explanation. Appearance, skill effects, motions—describing any of it would just be a waste of breath. Even Kayak, who was as exacting about Camilla as a cold-blooded film critic, had given it her stamp of approval.
"Two, okay? Two. Lenok, who launched in the same era, has eight. Theodora has seven. And Camilla's stuck with two—one of which is barely different from the default, and the other only just came out."
"Ahem…."
It was a fair point. Excuses like "Camilla's design and skills are so unique that skins are hard to make" or "she's such a bug-prone hero" were just that—excuses. Even he thought two skins was a little cruel.
Of course, releasing hero skins wasn't Hong Gyun's job. But as overall director, he could apply meaningful pressure to get one produced. So he accepted Kayak's proposal without hesitation.
Camilla was notoriously difficult to skin. He'd heard the art and design teams had suffered plenty putting Snow Queen Camilla together, too… but that wasn't his problem to worry about.
A few days later, with the Supporter contract officially finalized, I was at Ionicx headquarters. Today was the first day of my formal Supporter duties.
Coming to Ionicx HQ itself wasn't new. It was a long story, but I'd once stood out front with a picket sign for a one-person protest over some miscellaneous issues. An embarrassing past with more than a few chapters to it.
The Ionicx headquarters I returned to hadn't changed much. The building was a little taller—maybe they'd made enough money to expand. From the road in to the surrounding buildings, everything looked familiar… and yet some things didn't.
"This is the marketing team, and upstairs you've got development and art side by side."
I'd never been this deep into the building's interior before, so I looked around with genuine curiosity. Hong Gyun, who'd taken charge of the tour, seemed to notice my interest—he kept enthusiastically explaining things without me even having to ask. Showing me the employee break rooms still felt a little excessive, though.
"You should know where everything is. You're basically one of our employees now, Kayak."
"An employee?"
"Temporarily, but if you break it down, yeah. We've assigned you to our team for now. Oh—and take this."
Hong Gyun pulled something from his pocket and held it out. A lanyard you could hang around your neck, with a small rectangular card dangling from the end. Printed on the card: Abyss Official Supporter 4th Generation — Kayak.
"Whenever you need to go somewhere, just tap that. Show it to the security guards too. We've set your access at regular employee level. Half-price cafeteria, free use of the gym and screen baseball range in the basement—"
"Wait, wait a second."
My thoughts couldn't keep up with him. I cut him off and asked again.
"Hold on. How does a mere Supporter get this many benefits?"
"These are the welfare benefits our employees use every day?"
So this was a major corporation. There was something to that old saying about working as a servant in a rich man's house—the perks looked serious.
"But I'm not a full-time employee. If you give me the same benefits, won't the other staff resent it?"
"Resent it?"
Hong Gyun answered in a tone that said he'd just heard something amusing, a laugh mixed into his voice.
"I get what you mean, but you've always had a good image around the company… and these days even more so."
Even more so these days? What was that supposed to mean?
"The stock price went up a lot because of you, Kayak."
"The stock price went up because of me?"
What was he talking about now? Stock price—Ionicx's stock? I must have looked completely lost, because he pulled out his phone and showed me something.
"Huh, you didn't know? There was even an article."
"Huh."
Kayak Effect? What Kayak Effect. They'd slapped my name on an article without the person in question even knowing. I let out a hollow laugh from sheer disbelief. The most unfair part was that the stock had supposedly risen because of me, and I hadn't seen a single extra won for it.
"So you really didn't know. A lot of people here buy company stock on a drip basis every payday. I've been doing it for a while myself…."
"But what does the stock price have to do with me? Looking at the comments, most of these people don't even know who I am."
"Beats me. I'm not exactly great at stocks either. They call it a positive catalyst, so good news is good news, right?"
I'd once read a post online about stocks. If Typhoon Roe deer was coming, take out a full loan and buy Roe Deer Paint stock. No idea what the connection was, but the stock had skyrocketed just because a roe deer was on the way. This probably wasn't much different.
The article had slapped the name "Kayak Effect" on the recruitment of streamer Kayak, but the actual probability of that being the cause was negligible. They'd just timed a Supporter hire with a major patch, looked like they were working hard, decided it was good news, and the stock went up. Kayak Effect, my ass. It was a bubble, pure and simple.
Still, there were people who'd profited from that bubble. Or rather—more of them than I'd expected. Like Hong Gyun said, my standing inside Ionicx didn't seem all that bad.
"It's Kayak!"
"Kayak! Kayak! Kayak! Kayak! Kayak! Kayak!"
"Just one autograph…."
I'd never actually held a fan meeting, but this was something I'd been running into a lot lately. The kind of energy that made you think, yeah, this is probably what a real fan meeting would feel like.
Compared to the viewers I'd met at G-Star or out on the street, though, these people's reasons for worshipping me made a little more sense. You know how it goes—when your wallet gets fatter, your heart gets freer. The stock had gone up somehow, they'd decided it was because of me, and now they were cheering at the sight of me.
"Anyway, nobody's going to say, 'Who's that person wandering around when they're not even an employee?' If anything, people will be happier if you use the facilities."
"Yeah, well…."
"The cafeteria's good, so make sure you eat every time you come."
We traded that kind of nonsense while looking around a bit more, then moved on to today's main destination—the place where I'd actually be working as a Supporter.
The studio. The same place used for the last user town hall, for emergency patch broadcasts, for calming the player base when things got heated.
"It's bigger than I expected."
The studio was massive. From the perspective of someone who'd been inside actual broadcast stations and appeared on network TV, it didn't feel like it fell short. Of course, unlike a real station, ratings weren't the primary goal here, so it didn't have that ultra-professional edge—but still.
I'd already gotten a full briefing on my activities while signing the contract. Here, I'd be co-hosting a broadcast with overall director Hong Gyun. The topic: the major patch that had just gone live. As a Supporter and a representative of the player base, I'd play the game on-site and give honest impressions—what I liked, what I didn't.
Not a hard job. Honestly, it was free money. Nothing particularly taxing—just play the game and stream. I'd been doing that forever, so it wouldn't even feel awkward. Play some games, review the patch, pick up a Camilla skin and a paycheck. Absolute gravy. I really was lucky.
That thought shattered the moment the employee guiding me spoke.
"Please change into your outfit before makeup. I'll be right back."
"…Excuse me?"
Makeup? Change clothes?
That was when I realized I hadn't carefully read the contract all the way to the back page—and that overall director Hong Gyun had completely played me.