The Game That Still Lives

I had planned to do a face reveal someday. I never imagined it would happen at a moment like this, in a way like this… but it was fine. Siren’s status had already risen as high as it possibly could. She wasn’t at the level where trashy flies would dare swarm her anymore. The idiots whose concept processors had been factory-reset along with their awakening wouldn’t have the guts to try anything stupid. Of course, there were still a few who didn’t know their place and kept running their mouths.

The die-hard fans who had formed before I knew it took care of the haters themselves. It felt strangely satisfying. I poked the top of her head with my chin and showed her the community screen.

“Siren. You’re ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really popular.”

“They’re such grateful people.”

Siren didn’t seem particularly bothered by the hate comments. She just casually checked the community reactions, then moved on to the emails. Ever since we revealed her face and the avatar casting, the flood of emails had become too much to handle alone, so we’d asked the Association for help. They filtered them first and only passed along the ones that looked okay. According to Yu Gang-hyeok, they had even created a dedicated email team, yet dozens of messages were still piled up in the inbox. Thirty-eight were magic consultations, eleven were artifact advertisement offers with amounts that made me question reality, thirteen were web drama appearance offers, and there were all sorts ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of other inquiries on top of that.

Magic consultations and advertisements had always been plentiful, but ever since she revealed her face, scouting offers from the broadcasting industry had exploded. I asked if she was interested.

“I don’t want to.”

She turned it down instantly. If someone else had said that, I would have smacked their chest asking how they could throw away such a golden opportunity… but when I thought about it one by one, Siren really didn’t lack anything. Money? Between the building the Association gave her and the cash in her account, she had well over ten billion won. Honor? She was Korea’s second archmage, possessed unprecedented talent, and held twelve special privileges that proved her social standing. Recognition? Not knowing her would make you a spy. Popularity? It took less than a minute to reach ten thousand live viewers. And she didn’t even have any particular desire to act…

…When I listed it all out like that, there really wasn’t any reason for her to keep broadcasting, was there? The whole point of streaming had been to earn money quickly so she could become independent, but she had overshot that goal by a ridiculous margin. Huh. Then why does she keep streaming?

I asked her the reason.

“Because it’s the only thing I can do with you, Hyun, without worrying about other people’s eyes?”

“Ah, I see.”

She said that was also why she refused scripted broadcasts. She would have to follow someone else’s script and I would have to stay far away during filming.

“And there are the people who have been cheering me on from the very beginning.”

She planned to continue her personal broadcasts unless something special came up. I nodded in understanding and kept scanning through the rest of the emails. That was when I found one with a rather unique subject. I thought even Siren might be interested in this.

I showed it to her right away.

“Siren. How about a magical girl tokusatsu show?”

“What’s a magical girl tokusatsu show?”

“If you’re asking what it is, it’s only right that I answer….”

“Hyun?”

“A magical girl tokusatsu is…!”

“Is that a magical girl line?”

“Yep. It’s written at the bottom of the email.”

“And I’m supposed to say that?”

“Probably?”

Siren smiled sweetly and said,

“Absolutely not.”

We had been bickering ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over business emails when we left the house for our next schedule. Our destination was Bukhan Mountain. Ever since the wyvern incident I had kept saying we should go, we should go—and today we finally did. I turned on the live stream right away.

“Your magical girl Siren! Today I’ve come to Bukhan Mountain~”

It was the opening line I was now used to. The manager soon came out to guide us. Most of it required security, so they only filmed Siren’s face, but that actually got an even better reaction.

I banned the usual troublemakers. Now that we had ten thousand viewers, even banning took quite a while.

It really was time to hire a proper manager. While I was at it, I appointed some right away.

While I was at it, I also put up a recruitment notice for editors.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Around the time I posted the notice, Lee Seon came out and greeted us.

“Thank you for coming.”

“It is impossible to ignore a friend’s difficulties!”

“Friend… Ah, right. You said it was that concept.”

(RankingAddict): Sorry.

After exchanging appropriate greetings, Siren and Lee Seon went to begin dismantling the magic circle in earnest. Since it was a secure facility, filming was prohibited, so the broadcast was supposed to take a short break here. But the viewers asked me to tell stories about the Dragon Horse War, so I ended up talking alone. Most of the people who had come to see Siren left, but around five hundred still remained. At this point, maybe I should make my own channel?

I jokingly acted arrogant for a bit until another donation popped up.

“Siren’s hand-eye coordination is terrible, so that would be pretty difficult.”

“Ah, that one is fun.”

Since only the guys were left, the topic quickly changed to games.

“No, not really.”

When they asked what the last game I played was, I answered honestly.

“Well, there was this idle game called Raise the Hero that was a real god game among idle titles.”

“It went bankrupt….”

Then came the chat telling me to just donate to Somali pirates instead, which finally got under my skin. I used being tired as an excuse and ended the stream.

After I turned off the camera… I suddenly thought of Raise the Hero. It had been well over a year since the service ended, yet the app still occupied a corner of my phone. There wasn’t any particular reason I hadn’t deleted it. If I had to pick one, maybe sentiment? Lingering attachment? Even though Siren—the very reason I had started playing Raise the Hero—was now by my side, the scent that app once carried made me hesitate to delete it.

Anyway. I stared at the app for a long time, then tapped it.

Ddu-dun~ The familiar background music played. It had been such a long time since I last logged in.

“It’s already a memory now.”

Of course, an error message would pop up and I wouldn’t even get to see the waiting room, but still. In fact, I had tried logging in once or twice before. It crashed every single time, but I always held onto that tiny “maybe.” This time was the same. I harbored the absurd hope that maybe, just maybe, some crazy person at the operating company had reopened the servers.

I tapped. As expected, the game cras—

—It didn’t crash.

“…?”

What the hell?