Where Should I Go?
House had Tae-in in it, and the delivery depot—where an audit team or verification crew could barge in any second—was off-limits for two weeks. Thanks to that, I'd been laid off on the spot, but like a dad pretending to go to work while sneaking off to a PC bang so he wouldn't worry his wife and kids, I'd been drifting between neighborhoods every day, killing time at convenience stores. It had already been a week like that.
The bandages were off, and my arm was free again, but the doctor said to take it easy for another week, so I'd wandered outside a few more days. I ended up at a quiet convenience store a good distance from home. Rediscovering the taste of lunchbox ramen was fine, and chugging hot broth felt great. The problem came after.
Some weirdo plops down next to me, stinking of cigarettes, and starts mumbling alien gibberish.
"Good afternoon. Can I make time for me?"
"I'm sorry, I find it rude. Can I make time for me? I'm Sinchul. Call me at the number."
"W-wait! I just want to have a short interview with you!"
"I'm another weird person!"
If you're Korean, speak Korean, damn it. What country's alien language is this?
"What the hell are you even—"
I was about to give this lunatic a piece of my mind when someone dashes up and smacks the babbler hard on the back of the head.
"Hey, you crazy bastard! What the hell are you doing?!"
That set me off. No way I could let it slide without saying something.
"What the fuck, you've been yapping in that broken bullshit since earlier?! Don't you know Korean?!"
The guy who'd been cornered and flustered was me. The shocked one was him.
"You speak Korean?!"
"No, Korean—"
—Everyone speaks Korean, obviously.
The blue-eyed foreigner nearly said it. Calm down. The sudden intruder hogging the seat next to me and prattling nonsense had startled me, but I needed to stay cool.
"Foreigners aren't supposed to speak Korean or what? That's pretty damn racist."
You fucking racist prick. When in Rome, do as the Romans do—when in Korea, every foreigner speaks Korean.
"Ah, no... Is that how it works...?"
The gray-haired guy gave the young punk a stern look that didn't suit his head.
"Apologize properly first. I saw from outside—you were pushing him around one-sidedly."
"Yeah... You're right."
The guy who'd cornered me with his broken talk straightened up and bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry! I wasn't trying to do anything bad, I just wanted to do a quick interview!"
Embarrassed, he shoved a business card at me and bolted out of the store like he was fleeing.
These days, even Newtubers carry business cards around. That oddly indie vibe nagged at me for some reason. I flipped the stiff card over and over, and the remaining gray-haired guy bowed to me too.
"He's an acquaintance of mine—that guy's a bit hot-headed. Sorry if he scared you. If you're too shaken up, we'll compensate. Contact him via that card."
Then he hurried after Sinchul, who'd left first. What was it? His voice, his face—they felt so familiar, but no one came to mind.
It's a voice I heard super recently...
Aside from Tae-in, I had next to zero interaction with peers. If I'd met someone, it'd be weirder not to remember. But no matter how I racked my brain, that face wasn't in my database.
If Sinchul's a Newtuber... is the gray-hair a broadcaster too?
Broadcaster. Broadcaster... Streamer... Tuhon?
"Ah."
Suddenly, I recalled that streamer who'd been obsessively trying to unmask Ren-mom.
"Suka blyat..."
I'd almost fucked up big time. For real. I'm not leaving the house starting tomorrow. Ever.
A day later.
Ppase headed downtown to meet Mixer, who was about to leave the country soon. Fans clustered around Mixer standing at the subway entrance. Seeing him calmly chatting with them put Ppase at ease. If Sinchul was a rollercoaster, Mixer was a luxury sedan.
"Hey. You're here. What's with the face."
"...Nah. Yesterday was... haa. Some shit happened."
Wonder how spooked that customer was. He hadn't even opened his drinking yogurt from the shock. Things were so hectic, I barely remembered his face. Did I apologize properly?
After short fan meets, Ppase rubbed his furrowed brow and led the way.
To their right loomed Hajeong Soft's flagship center, boasting history and tradition.
"Wanna squeeze in a Tuhon match while we're here, hyung?"
"Nah, draws crowds. Let's just eat."
"...What's up with you. You turning down Tuhon?"
Mixer fiddled with his slightly dark under-eye circles and muttered. When his hand dropped from his eyes, his sharp, hawk-like gaze returned.
"Stayed up all night rewatching VODs."
He shot Ppase an irritated glare, blaming him for the request.
"You didn't have to go that hard."
"You said you wanted to meet him no matter what."
"True, but is it more important than your tourney prep? Anyway, what're you eating."
"Pick. I'll eat whatever."
Koreans in winter meant gukbap. Ppase suggested galbitang, the fancy kind.
"Sounds good. Hot broth."
"Matched it to your taste again."
"Save the consideration for girls. You know I eat anything."
"Ah. Sorry, can't turn off that passive. And matching your food prefs ain't consideration—it's hospitality."
Ppase grinned slyly, shoving his cold hands in his pockets. Mixer pretended to walk casually and kicked his heel.
"Gahk!"
They moved spots into a warm interior, and Mixer pulled out his phone, playing a video. Ppase took it.
"What's this?"
"Compared three videos. Watch."
"Three?"
"Been suspicious since Donemise. But rewatching your recent match confirmed it—same person."
The playback showed three split-screen characters moving like copy-paste. Basic backstep into fuzzy guard* chains. Overlaid, they synced perfectly.
(* Fuzzy guard: Character tech where you crouch briefly mid-guard to block mid/low mixups. High success rate against mid/lows, so heavenly ranks use it like breathing.)
"Remember the Hajeong Department Store event tourney?"
"Yeah. The biased hosting got flak. Participants bailed, lots of drama."
"Dunno if that's why. Anyway, that runaway participant? Looks like your Ren-mom."
"I see."
Ppase absentmindedly replied, then jolted and yelled.
"Wait, that guy was Ren-mom?! I watched the online stream too? Wasn't he your stalker?"
"Thought so, but no."
Mixer's sullen face rang true. When someone at his level ID'd foes by playstyle, you trusted it.
"Dunno why, but finals was Ok-si-bal, my match wasn't."
"So Ren-mom subbed for your stalker?"
"99% sure from playstyle. Can't confirm without seeing in person."
Account boosting wasn't enough—proxy gaming too? Event match and they bailed, so no big issue...
"So? What'd he look like? Old dude? Normal student? Girl?"
Mixer shrugged.
"Full gear. Nothing identifiable."
"...Ugh. Kinda scared to hit up Ok-si-bal..."
"One thing stuck out."
"What? Spill."
Mixer grabbed his phone back, found something, and handed it over. Player entrance for the event.
"Why this?"
"Zoom. Handshake with me."
"...Hold up. This Ren's tattoo?"
"Only thing I know. How many people have that tat?"
Ppase's head spun. Liking Ren was one thing, but etching an identical rose tattoo on your thumb? Explained changing his ID to Ren_Daisuki.
"No pro I know has anything similar."
"Right?"
"Yeah."
Mixer slurped hot barley tea and said to Ppase,
"So, bring him."
"...Bring him?"
"Wanna game him. World tourney soon—can't help more."
"Ah."
Ppase flashed white even teeth, crossing palms and rubbing.
"Craving a deathmatch* with Ren-mom, huh?"
(* Death: Short for deathmatch. Set rounds for revenge spam, or go till one quits.)
Mixer nodded silently. His bored gaze out the window sharpened fiercely.
"Hyung-nim, who am I? Ha Se-gi, who achieves every goal."
"..."
"C'mon, don't look at me with those distrustful eyes."
Uncrossable wall. Two-minute magician. Nicknames galore.
"Content's yours, do what you want."
"For real?"
Yet despite envy for his wealth and fame, he thirsted eternally.
"Just find him. First fun opponent since World Masters Summer."
Fled home scared of Tae-in, ran into Ppase. What urban legend horror bullshit is this?
Two days holed up feeling the world unsafe. But addicted to that crisp, moist, oily crunch, I hit my limit. Eating sweat-soaked bread? That was Death Tower shit. Why film a solo nuke apocalypse in modern Korea?
At this rate, I'd snap and beg Tae-in for takeout. Time for countermeasures.
Two needs: Job to earn cash incognito. Meal buddy to replace depot ajusshis.
Job? Half-decided. Couldn't ignore the landlord who wanted my happiness most.
"Crowds dig harder when you hide—flaunt it, they back off."
"Don't proxy—stand tall. Stream steady, don't give time to wonder behind Ren-mom mask. Show what they wanna see."
Still no full confidence. Would people chill? No one wanting their streamer's true face?
Human curiosity ain't squashed easy. Safe?
"Throw fake bait. Fool 'em you're a normal guy."
Tae-in's words hit. History proves: Lies by many become truth.
Ppase obsessed with "Ren-mom" fiction. Weak on truth from lies, especially info asymmetry now.
Use Ppase. Leverage his reach to plant "Ren-mom ≠ me" worldwide.
"He's an acquaintance—that guy's hot-headed. Sorry if scared. Compensate if needed. Contact via card."
That day, Ppase saw me as normal. Acted sensible, mannerly. No "You Ren?" on sight. Smacked rude Sinchul, apologized smooth. No leaks on comms/videos despite face-to-face. Zero stream mentions.
Yeah. His madness streamer-exclusive.
Meal buddy too...
Just gag trigger phrases. Most chat via text—no issue. Out eating? Kick or punch to block.
Tae-in triggered unaware; now I know. Iron mask on face. Split Ren-mom from Elena. Problems solved.
Before Ppase finds hiding me, strike first—make him the fool.
Self-brainwash. Keyboard in hand: I'm 40yo depot worker, 20yr Ren vet ajusshi. Cute daughter Ren. Ppase annoying punk. Sinchul worse kid. He rudely hit my civilian girl...
Suddenly pissed?
Ride the rage: Friend-added Ppase's public Discord from his Newtube. Connected in under a minute.
Reply in 5 seconds flat.
Prepped free match just in case, but Ppase bought it easy. Ren-mom now a 40yo dad with daughter.
Set ironclad rules so Ppase never climbs to the real me. My turn ends.