The First Commercial! (2)
Korea's largest game company: PUG. The title they were pushing as their flagship was an FPS—Survival Ground.
They had thrown idol collaborations and town halls at the problem, anything to keep a shrinking player base from slipping away. Winning those players back, though, was another matter entirely.
"We have to decide now. If the numbers drop any further..."
The PUG analyst jabbed a finger at the live chart, concurrent users bleeding out in real time. He loved Survival Ground—genuinely loved it. But this was the job. A game that didn't perform got shut down without mercy. Service terminated. Upper management had already sent the order: it wasn't making money anymore, so kill it.
Rival studio FPD was exploding in popularity, and PUG had slid behind them. Once, people had called Survival Ground the number-one game in every PC café in the country. That boast rang hollow now. They had fallen to eighth.
"Maybe we try another idol collaboration?"
The game director could not let the title die like this. He floated idea after idea. Every last one of them cost a fortune.
An idol collab wasn't a terrible thought. Lapsed players would come flooding back at first, spend money trying to pull their favorite idol, then keep playing because they had already sunk the cash and couldn't stand to waste it.
"That isn't a real solution. We can't burn hundreds of thousands of dollars just to keep the game on life support for a few weeks."
The biggest problem with idol collaborations was the price tag. Character remodeling, pre-production, design—and, wedged in the middle of all that, negotiations so miserable they made your face burn.
"Don't you remember how the users tore us apart last time? Because they couldn't equip anything except the collab skins?"
The game director's face went stiff. The abuse he had eaten back then had carved at least three extra wrinkles into it.
"Even if the talks went well and we actually launched a collab, users might not spend. They've already been burned once."
"When did we ever betray anyone?"
The game director's head throbbed. A competitor had just dropped an idol collab of their own and it had been a smash hit. Unlike PUG, players could even swap back to their old outfits—so public opinion on PUG's side had soured even further.
"Which is why I have a proposal."
"A proposal...?"
When the analyst opened his mouth, every ear in the room pricked up.
"We show our faces."
"We've already done multiple town halls..."
"Not a town hall. We don't just sit there talking. We go live, play the game with viewers, point out the problems ourselves, and fix them on the spot. How about that?"
"...Us?"
Was that even possible? Doubt settled over every face except the analyst's. They could barely get words out at a town hall. Playing the game and chatting with viewers at the same time? That was killing a man twice.
"You think users will be happy just because we play?"
"Of course they won't. That's why we bring in a new face."
"A new face..."
One name flickered through everyone's mind. Little Boy, the guy who had commentated every tournament they had ever run.
"You're not talking about Little Boy, are you?"
"Not him."
"Then who?"
"We push a fresh face, the way the competition does."
"The budget..."
"Then shall we just shut the game down?"
Silence sank over the conference room.
"If we use someone with no name recognition, the users won't care."
"R-right... But is there anyone cheap who actually has a following?"
"There is."
The analyst tapped his tablet. The person on the screen was a woman who had exploded in popularity as the ghost Kang Sora in the recent drama Ghost Singer. A rookie. Only two episodes had aired, and she had already stolen every viewer's eye. The talk of the town: Lee Jiwoo.
The drama wasn't even over yet, so everyone in the industry was still keeping their voices down about her.
"She's an actress, so the image management, the face... it's solid. Considering most of our users are men, not bad at all."
"Exactly. And she hasn't appeared on any other broadcasts yet. If we're the first to make an offer, we can get her cheap."
"Still... she's a rookie. Will that be okay?"
Everything else was perfect. An affordable asking price. Outstanding acting. A face even women would fall for. It was harder to find something wrong with her. The problem was that Jiwoo was still a newcomer.
"I think it'll be fine. The PD on that drama is Kang Wonseong. He doesn't just pick people off the street."
"Kang Wonseong, huh... Yeah. That's enough of a reason."
The others' expressions weren't bad either.
"All right. Let's go with Lee Jiwoo. As for talking to the higher-ups..."
"Obviously the director..."
"I'm counting on you."
The game director stood up.
"Huh? M-me?"
"I'm busy. Oh, would you look at that! Another bug report just came in. Well then!"
"Wait—hold on... Bug fixes aren't even your job..."
Too late. The game director was already gone.
Cursing the man for dumping the work on him, the analyst headed for the PUG executive. To move anything forward, they needed approval from above.
"Sir. Here's the meeting report."
"Why are you bringing this to me... Anyway."
The PUG executive took the report and leafed through it at a leisurely pace. Flip. One page. Flip. With every sheet that turned, the analyst swallowed a dry gulp of nerves.
"Lee Jiwoo, huh..."
The executive tapped the table. His expression barely changed. So it was a no after all.
"Not bad. All right. Proceed as planned."
"Understood. We'll scrap this—wait. P-proceed?"
"What, you don't want to? Fine, we'll scrap it."
"W-wait! I'll do it! Why would we scrap this?!"
He grabbed the executive's hand just as it was about to drop the report in the trash.
"But... will it be all right? Lee Jiwoo is still..."
"Yes...."
Not sure what to make of that, the analyst nodded vaguely. The executive had once been a newbie himself, then a game director, and now sat in this chair—a man with luck, skill, and a sharp instinct. And that man was saying she would give them wings.
"Understood. I'll start preparing immediately."
"As fast as you can. The timing is right."
The analyst nodded. This wasn't a department head or a team lead. This was an executive's order. No idiot in this company was going to refuse.
The moment he left the office, he threw every team member and program engineer he could find at the job. Set construction, booking Little Boy, and most important of all—Lee Jiwoo. All of it was ready in just three days.
"Hello. I'm Lee Jiwoo, a new actress with JO Entertainment."
A goddess had descended upon a set assembled with every resource they had.
"A game commercial?"
I thought it over with a serious face. Game ads were usually the domain of streamers. Sometimes idols or actors shot them as promotional videos. But they all had one thing in common: name recognition. One drama. A supporting role. I was not at the level where commercials came looking for me.
"What are you talking about?"
Kang Ho-yeon blinked at me, as if she couldn't agree less.
"Jiwoo, look at your socials! You're already over two hundred thousand. And you've only posted four pictures!"
I had uploaded one more photo over the last few days. Once again it had been buried in likes and comments, cheers and love confessions.
"Jiwoo-chan! You got a game commercial?! I'm so jealous... Tsuki wants a game commercial too."
Survival Ground was one of the games Tsuki loved. If I remembered right, she had been a ranker last time I looked. I had tried it once at her urging. It was fun. In the future the game had been shut down, so I had only ever played the titles that came after it. Playing the original wasn't bad at all.
So I accepted the commercial. For a VTuber idol, singing and gaming were the basics. Building the skill from now on couldn't hurt.
"Hello. I'm Lee Jiwoo, a new actress with JO Entertainment."
The PUG set. True to the name of Korea's flagship game company, famous characters—ones that would still be famous in the future—were on display from the entrance.
Whoa... that's an AK-47. An M16. Wait!
A custom rifle caught my eye.
"No way... is that a K2?!"
The second I saw it, a trauma from my past life woke up.
"Ugh... uurrgh..."
"What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?"
That goddamn military...
Just imagining it made my whole body shake. One look at that miserable rifle and the memories came flooding back—the idiot assistant gunner who had nearly gotten me killed.
The most dangerous moment in the army. Every moment was dangerous, but the worst was checking the targets after live fire. That pye-geup bastard had pulled the trigger because he claimed he still had rounds left, and a bullet had whistled right past my ear.
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Gu Chang-shin, the game director who'll be broadcasting with you... Are you all right?"
I steadied my trembling hands and greeted the client.
"Hello!"
I put on the brightest smile I could. But my gaze drifted to the person standing beside Director Gu Chang-shin.
"Ah, this is our executive director at PUG."
"E-executive director?"
Since when did executives travel this light? No way. After the CEO, executives were the ones with the heaviest seats in the building. And one of them had come in person? Who... are you?
"A pleasure. I'm a fan of yours, Ms. Lee Jiwoo. I've already liked and commented on your socials, and I follow you as well."
"Ah. Yes. Thank you. And I was told you're the one who invited me here today, sir."
"Ahaha! Don't be so tense. Just think of me as the neighborhood uncle and relax through the shoot."
The executive laughed heartily.
"And... before you go, could I get an autograph..."
An autograph. The agency had told me to come up with a signature, but...
"Of course."
I never thought my first autograph would be for a guy like this.
"Could I borrow some paper and a pen?"
"Ah... here you go!"
The executive pulled a ballpoint pen and his phone from the inner pocket of his suit and held them out.
"On the back of the case, please. I put on a clear case just for today."
"Ah... yes. And your name is..."
"Ah. My name is..."
The executive's name. And then—
Autograph No. 1, to my dear fan.
— Lee Jiwoo