Game Master 001: Heroes Destiny (1/315)

At some point, he had realized it.

The fact that he wasn't the protagonist in this world.

He wasn't anyone special.

Just an utterly ordinary existence.

That might be why he got so hooked.

No matter the countless hardships and failures, the protagonist of that game world was always him.

And so,

he became the protagonist.

Ding-dong, dang-dong—

The moment the end-of-class bell rang, someone tapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his back.

"Hey! Wanna hit the PC bang after school? Underwatch? EloL?"

He turned to see the same annoying guy he'd known since elementary school. With an irritated expression, he turned his head away.

"Sorry. Kinda busy today."

His refusal prompted another friend nearby to grumble.

"Dude, he doesn't even like games. His phone's spotless. Let's just go without him."

"You're such a freak. How can you not like games? You even got balls down there?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the friend's hand darted toward his crotch. Startled, he jerked his hips back.

Barely guarding his chastity(?), he spat out a curse.

"You crazy bastard!"

But the guy was already sauntering off. Laughing his ass off, he tossed out some slippery advice.

"Play some games if you wanna hang with the guys. You're always bailing."

"That fucker—"

He almost chased after him to land a punch but gave up.

No desire to sweat over some childish chase.

With an annoyed wave, he shooed them off.

"Just go. PC bangs aren't my thing. Not that fun."

"Weirdo as always. We're heading out."

"Go. Please, just go!"

Once his friends were gone, the noisy classroom fell quiet.

"Guess I should head home too."

He slung his bag haphazardly over his shoulder and left the school.

Home wasn't far.

"I'm home."

He knew no one was there, but habit made him greet the empty house anyway before heading to his room.

He tossed his bag in the corner and toed the power button on his computer.

Thanks to sleep mode, the monitor lit up instantly, displaying the exact same screen as when he'd dozed off last night.

Settling into his chair, he muttered,

"Me, not liking games? As if."

He just didn't care for online or mobile games.

Games designed for multiplayer basically never let one person steamroll everyone else.

The slaughtering side might have fun, but the rest would quit in frustration.

So developers slapped on level caps and obsessed over class balance.

To make it look like "fair competition."

Sure, whales or insane talents could occasionally break those limits.

But it was just spice to keep the rivalry going.

No true "protagonist" existed there.

Single-player games were different.

That world existed solely for the player.

Save and load to rewind mistakes anytime, or even cheat past systemic limits to become an overwhelming powerhouse.

He loved games.

His tastes just differed from the crowd.

He moved the cursor to click the train-shaped icon on his desktop, unfolding the [Steampunk] webpage.

A global platform selling packaged games.

From AAA titles by big studios to indie gems by solo devs—a massive open market where anyone could create and sell.

That was [Steampunk], the hub for games matching his "tastes."

He loaded his half-finished save from yesterday and fired up a MyTube livestream.

Just raw gameplay footage, so viewers hovered around ten.

Most bounced within a minute, but a loyal few subscribers stuck around.

The spicy chat dug into his chest, but he'd grown numb enough to laugh it off.

Plus, donors were generous—enough for a new game every month or so.

"Eh, this is plenty."

That was his peaceful routine.

Until the massive donation dropped out of nowhere.

"Gah!"

He'd scraped by buying one game a month from $1 donations. A million won was paralyzing for a student like him.

The quiet chat exploded.

Amid the wild speculation, the big donor finally spoke.

DEA said his piece and left the channel. Chat went nuclear.

Uneasy, he ended the stream early and slumped into his chair.

"Hoo…."

He clutched his pounding chest and let out a long sigh.

Checking his donation account confirmed it wasn't a dream. The grand was right there.

"Hoo… What if they want it back?"

He stared blankly at the monitor, too scared to open the new email.

His mind raced with all the things a million won could buy. Shaking off the temptation wasn't easy.

"No… I can't keep this. Does my stream even deserve it? If they really think so, great—but if it's a mistake, I gotta return it."

Calming himself, he clicked the new email.

"Phew… not asking for a refund."

Finally relaxing, he reread the email carefully.

"So, basically asking me for a private test…."

The bit about no one clearing beta rattled his brain.

Why'd he start streaming?

To escape his boring, repetitive life.

Average grades, average looks, average gaming skills.

Of course he wanted to game with friends.

But even there, he was average.

A desire he'd never acknowledged, buried deep: to be special.

And no one cleared it in beta.

What if he did?

I could be more special than anyone!

The offer ignited his competitive fire.

Decision made, he clicked the link.

An install prompt popped up.

"Not a scammer, huh. Yes!"

"Heroes Destiny…? Weird name."

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk, he launched the game the instant it finished.

Curiosity was killing him.

No one saw the ending in beta? Tough sell for normal difficulty… maybe too short beta?

Install complete, prologue unfolded.

"Graphics are decent, not amazing. Solo dev, so this is solid…."

"Hmm…."

Short deliberation. It didn't fit a character, but nothing beat his channel name.

The Eren Continent, the game's stage, sprawled before him.

No tutorial—just protagonist dropped in a village with a wooden sword. Controls were simple.

"Pretty standard, huh?"

He muttered that, only to eat his words soon after.

"What the? Just a blank?"

Most RPGs offered preset dialogue choices.

Not Heroes Destiny. Cursor just blinked, waiting.

As if awaiting his input.

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

"No way… Type my own lines?"

A chill ran down his spine. Mostly disbelief, but he had to test it.

Combat kicked off immediately. His character got wrecked and chased out.

"This time…."

Next day, his character was sold to a slaver and brutally abused.

"Ha…."

Character deaths didn't matter.

What shocked him was how NPCs perfectly understood and reacted to his custom lines.

"How is this even possible?"

He even tried misspellings and dialects. No difference from real people.

"Live operators pretending to be NPCs?"

He yanked the LAN cable to test.

Offline, NPCs reacted identically.

"World-building's rock-solid… Could believe this world exists."

Heroes Destiny felt more real than any game he'd played.

"Who the hell made this monster?"

"DEA? Same as the donor's ID. Dev team name? Acronym or something…."

Curiosity about the donor faded fast. The game was too captivating. He dove in headfirst.

"Huh? Dead again? Whoa, time flew…."

When he snapped out of it, bedtime was long past. Without the death, he'd have played till morning unnoticed.

"Sucks, but can't ditch real life."

Licking his lips, he set the PC to sleep mode.

Days passed like that.

No streams—he couldn't show Heroes Destiny footage.

The brutal difficulty fueled his addiction.

"Ah… dead again. So close."

A lapse or bad luck, and death followed. But that only fired him up more.

"Heh, yeah. No wonder no one saw the end in beta. This lights a fire!"

Save/load let him build data methodically, refining his play.

But even he couldn't predict his challenge lasting over a decade.

Not until the no-name streamer traded his uniform for a suit and joined the working world.