An Air of Ease
A throbbing headache pressed hard against his temples.
"Ugh…."
I groaned and opened my eyes.
My mouth felt dry and gritty. The beer I'd poured down last night with Hyung and Representative Kang at the chicken place was probably to blame. It had been a while since I'd had a real drink, and the hangover was hitting hard.
"Water…."
I staggered to my feet and, out of habit, grabbed the phone I'd left under my pillow.
The moment the screen lit up, the first thing I checked was, of course, the Sirius app.
"Let's see…."
Rubbing my bleary eyes, I searched for my work.
I'd confirmed it had hit number one on the real-time rankings right after launch yesterday. But the alcohol had put me under early, and I'd never checked the numbers that refreshed overnight.
The cover of The Regressed Hunter is Merciless appeared on the screen.
And next to it, the view count.
Views: 1.3 million.
"…Huh?"
I rubbed my eyes.
Had I misread it?
"One hundred thirty thousand… right?"
I still wasn't fully sober. A hundred thirty thousand would already be huge. A hundred thirty thousand people in a single day.
But I forced my eyes wide open and counted the digits again.
Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands….
Hundred thousands. Millions.
"…1.3 million?"
For a moment, my mind went blank.
I couldn't trust my own eyes.
It wasn't 130,000. It was 1.3 million.
In a single day.
Not even a full twenty-four hours had passed since launch. And the view count had already blown past 1.3 million?
"Is this… even possible?"
My heart hammered. The hangover seemed to vanish in an instant.
Of course, not every one of those views would convert into paid revenue. Free chapters were included, and some readers would have used promotional tickets.
But still.
Even if only half of that becomes actual sales….
I ran a rough calculation.
A hundred won per chapter.
If half of 1.3 million views—650,000—were paid purchases….
Sixty-five million won.
"In one day?"
My jaw dropped.
Even accounting for the massive 130-chapter dump at launch, this was no ordinary record. On other platforms, a new title that rode the open-day boost past ten million won in a single day was already called a massive hit.
And yet sixty-five million. My estimate might have been too conservative—or too hopeful.
But one thing was certain.
This is a different scale entirely.
Even on Munpia, the first chapter was currently pulling over 200,000 views—a runaway success in its own right. But Sirius operated in a completely different weight class.
I checked the first chapter's views.
Chapter 1 views: 150,000.
A hundred fifty thousand new readers in a single day.
So this was the power of Sirius—one of Korea's two great platform giants.
But platform power alone couldn't explain it. The platform had set the stage, and my writing had danced on it.
"Haha…."
A hollow laugh slipped out.
Then a text waiting in the notification bar caught my eye.
Just the number of exclamation points told me everything about how excited he was. For the usually composed Representative Kang to go this far….
I swallowed hard and hit the call button.
At the same moment.
Representative Kang Suk-woo was on his way to the office, humming under his breath.
"Bam-ba-bam~."
Despite how much he'd drunk the night before, his body felt light as a feather. A hangover? That was something only losers felt. The ultimate antidote—the thrill of victory—was coursing through his veins.
"I wonder…."
Waiting at a red light, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, lost in thought.
"How much did we actually make?"
1.3 million views. You could estimate from that, but you couldn't be sure. Plenty of readers might have sampled the free chapters and left. Or, on the flip side, a flood of heavy readers might have bought the entire 130-chapter run outright. The real key was the purchase conversion rate—how many views turned into actual payments.
"Whew."
The moment he parked in the company garage, before he even stepped into the elevator, he called the settlement manager at Sirius.
"Yes, Manager. It's me. Kang Suk-woo."
There was steel in his voice.
"Would it be possible to get a preliminary look at yesterday's launch data? Yes, yes. Our author is waiting on it."
He could tell they were taking this seriously on the other end. Normally it would have been a polite We'll send it over once the afternoon numbers come in—but the manager laughed and said:
"I was just about to send it to you, actually. Congratulations, Representative."
"Sorry?"
"Check your email. It's historic."
Ding.
The email notification chimed.
Kang Suk-woo sprinted up to the office. Staff called out greetings—Representative, you look fantastic today—but none of it registered. The second he sat down, he opened the mail.
The Regressed Hunter is Merciless — Day 1 Launch Revenue.
He double-clicked the file.
The number that filled the screen:
"…A hundred million?"
Kang Suk-woo screamed before he could stop himself.
"A hundred million?!"
Every eye in the office snapped toward him, but he didn't care.
A hundred million won.
A single day's revenue had hit a hundred million.
"Insane…."
Cases like this were rare. Practically unheard of. 1.3 million views generating a hundred million in revenue meant only one thing.
"A massive number of readers paid for all 130 chapters in a single day."
This wasn't casual sampling. Readers had finished chapter one, decided this was the real deal, and slammed the full-collection button straight through to chapter 130. The average revenue per user was off the charts.
The calculator in his head spun fast.
"Gross revenue: a hundred million."
Sirius's cut was an exceptional fifteen percent.
"That leaves 85 million."
Then management took its ten percent fee. Ten percent of 85 million was 8.5 million.
"Our share: 8.5 million…."
Kang Suk-woo smacked his lips. They'd earned 8.5 million won in a single day—the kind of money a mid-tier author might scrape together over a month, or several months, of grinding.
Their management strategy had always prioritized reputation and growing the pie over raw margins. But when the pie got this enormous, even a ten percent slice was enough to burst at the seams.
And the author?
"85 million minus 8.5 million…."
76.5 million won.
"Seventy-six point five…."
Kang Suk-woo let out a disbelieving laugh. This wasn't gross. This was net. Before taxes, sure—but more than 75 million won would land in the author's account from a single day.
"Wait a second."
He punched another set of numbers. Daily revenue on Munpia was running about ten million. Add the settlement from there….
"He's making 85 million won a day?"
Heh….
It was absurd. Of course it wouldn't hold at this level for a full month. Launch day and the day after were the revenue peak; after that, things would settle into a downward stabilization. But even stabilized, this title was already in orbit.
"It's definitely entered the all-time greats."
With trembling hands, Kang Suk-woo picked up his phone.
Right on cue, a call was coming in from the author.
"Hello! Author!"
Representative Kang's voice boomed so loud I had to pull the phone slightly away from my ear before my eardrums gave out.
"Yes, Representative. I saw your text and called. You sound… extremely cheerful."
"Cheerful doesn't begin to cover it! Have you checked the email? No—never mind, I'll just read it to you!"
He rattled off the numbers without pausing for breath.
"Day-one revenue just broke a hundred million! Precisely 102.45 million won!"
"A hundred million…?"
It blew past the 65 million I'd estimated by a wide margin.
"The readers just bought everything! The percentage who read chapter one and then full-purchased all the way to 130 is overwhelming! This is genuinely… insane!"
Representative Kang was so worked up he kept repeating the word.
"I ran the numbers—your settlement for today alone is about 76 million won. Add the Munpia revenue on top of that… and your daily pay for today is 85 million. Hahaha!"
"Ah…."
Eighty-five million won.
Not an annual salary. A single day's pay.
In my office-worker days, I'd worked myself to the bone through overtime and still never touched this kind of money in a full year. I'd earned it in one day. It didn't feel real. The numbers had gotten so large that I almost felt calm about them.
"I… I guess I made it."
The words tumbled out before I could think.
Representative Kang roared back.
"Haha…."
"Of course, once the launch month passes, revenue will taper off. But don't worry. Sirius isn't about to leave a cash cow like this alone. The banners will stay up, and the promotions will be lining up around the block."
His voice was packed with absolute certainty.
"And besides… we still have one more card left to play, don't we?"
"You mean the webtoon?"
"Exactly! The webtoon drops in twenty days! When that hits, today's revenue might look like nothing more than a trailer."
I sat down at my computer and refreshed the Sirius web novel page, then opened the comment section.
Every single best comment on chapter one was about the webtoon adaptation.
Normally, first-chapter best comments served as first impressions—or as mine detectors for new readers. But the best comments on my novel read more like messages addressed directly to the author and the production studio.
We're excited. Don't disappoint us.
We're ready to spend money.
The demand was certain. Overflowing, even.
"You're right. Once the webtoon drops…."
"They're going to run another massive promotion. Sirius has already promised to reset the main banner and pop-ups to coincide with the webtoon launch."
It was insane.
We'd already hit a hundred million on banner power alone. Now we'd grow webtoon wings and ride another full promotional wave on top of that? I couldn't even picture it. The thought crossed my mind that we might actually hit a hundred million in a single day of pay.
"Understood, Representative. You've worked hard. I owe you for this."
"Not at all! It's because your writing is that good. Rest well today, and eat something delicious!"
I hung up.
The studio fell quiet again. But my heart was still hammering loudly in my chest.
"Whew…."
I set the phone down on the desk.
I was so happy. Not simply because I'd made a lot of money—but because I had proven my worth. The fact that a single piece of writing had moved tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of people, and opened their wallets, sent a thrill through me.
People said the arts were a thumbtack economy. At the broad base, ninety-nine percent of aspiring creators and unknown writers scraped by without even minimum wage. But at that narrow, needle-sharp tip—the top one percent—wealth and fame beyond imagination poured down.
I was standing on the point of that thumbtack right now.
"I should tell Hyung, too."
I sent him a KakaoTalk message.
His over-the-top reaction cracked me up.
Yeah. This was happiness.
I leaned deep into the chair, stared up at the ceiling, and took a moment to breathe.
Then I picked up the phone again.
I opened my contacts.
Father.
I rested my thumb over the call button.
There was a time when pressing this button had been so hard. Every call brought the same lines.
Are you eating properly?
Life in Seoul isn't as easy as you thought, is it?
If it gets too hard, you can always come home and learn a trade.
I'd avoided calling because I hated worrying him—and because I hated how small it made me feel.
But now.
"Whew."
With a clear, unburdened heart, I pressed call.
The ringing had never sounded so light.
Brrring. Brrring.
"Yeah? Minjun?"
My father's gruff voice.
But I no longer shrank from it.
"Yes, Father. It's me. Have you been well?"
And in my voice, there was an ease that only the successful could carry.