Adella Challenge
"What I saw was this video right here. It was content from VTube last year called Docu 4 Days that racked up millions of views."
Cheon Se-min played the video with 7.5 million views for the production crew. With a calm expression, he kept fast-forwarding through the footage before clenching his fist tightly to pause it.
"This part right here."
"Holy...!"
The crew's eyes twitched. Amid the game characters standing awkwardly side by side and waving their hands, a very young child—presumed to be NoName's avatar—kept blinking her eyes repeatedly.
"This is Morse code, a telegraph signaling system from 200 years ago. Three short blinks mean 'S,' and three long blinks mean 'O.'"
"So... S... OS?"
"Yeah, exactly."
"Aah... how could this..."
"Sniff... sob..."
One of the assistant directors couldn't hold back the nausea rising in his gut and bolted for the bathroom. It finally hit them that NoName had been physically trapped in that capsule. It wasn't something they could dismiss as just a tragic childhood—she had waged a desperate, brutal battle against death for over seven long years.
Looping the footage of the stiff, expressionless child desperately blinking her eyes over and over again stirred emotions that just wouldn't subside.
"Thank you, Se-min oppa."
"Nami, you have to live pain-free and happy from now on, got it?"
"Come on, you're hamming it up too much just 'cause we're on camera...? Yeah, I got it."
The next stop was Seoul Asan Hospital. The doctor who had treated Nami back then joined the detectives and rescuers all gathered in one place. The frail, emaciated girl who had been on the brink of death a year ago walked in looking perfectly healthy. They couldn't hide their tears at the touching reunion.
Nami, whom they'd only caught glimpses of now and then on TV, handed each of them a bouquet of flowers she'd made herself, hugging them one by one.
Interviews continued while Nami underwent her checkup.
"They kept saying she wasn't a survivor, so I figured the mom had put her daughter in the capsule too and it was a double suicide. There are plenty of cases like that in Korea. Even now, so many people kill themselves with butane gas in capsules. It just doesn't make the news much... Anyway, I'm so relieved. So relieved the kid came back healthy like this."
They said it was more believable at the time that a mother and daughter struggling with poverty had despaired of life and climbed into an abandoned capsule in some ruin, rather than surviving seven years locked away without food or water.
Finally, the doctor took Nami's hand and shared the checkup results with the crew.
"She's underweight, for starters."
Another wave of despair seemed to crash over them. The youngest PD squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself—when the doctor offered hopeful news.
"But she's not malnourished. She's put on a lot of weight since before, and as you can see here, her blood pressure, anemia levels—all normal. The best news is that her Restakaya Syndrome is fully cured thanks to the major Aura Heart surgery she had. And for the muscular dystrophy, thanks to the new meds and potions she's on, as a specialist I can say there's real hope for a full recovery there too."
Detective Ma Beom-il rushed over, scooping Nami up in his arms and muttering how it was truly a miracle. Nami's view shot up to 2 meters in an instant as she looked down at the doctor and asked,
"So... I can keep exercising and stuff, right?"
"As long as it's not too intense, moderate exercise will actually help your health."
"Phew, that's a relief."
Nami beamed. Now that she had the doctor's official opinion, she could spar with Professor Cheon without hiding it anymore.
But the crew, unaware of her inner thoughts, simply captured her giggling delightfully on camera.
On the way back home in the 11-seater van with the crew, the PDs checked directives from the writers.
"Nami."
"Yeah?"
"Can the PD sisters ask you one thing?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"Have you ever created a unique magic spell?"
The PD started tentatively, her throat dry as dust.
"Yeah, I have."
"By yourself...?"
"Yep, just me."
"And you registered the copyright with the Japanese association?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why?"
"I had my reasons. Is... that a problem?"
"Not a problem, but..."
Nami bit her lower lip slightly and turned to gaze out the window. Sensing the conversation turning serious, the PDs suddenly pulled out their personal phones one by one and started filming. They'd caught that telltale expression Nami made right before pulling off something huge.
By now, Nami and the crew could communicate via eye contact alone, like telepathy.
Nami read their eyes and quietly opened her mouth.
"Truth is, I needed Japanese permanent residency right away. Korea's process was a bit complicated."
"Permanent residency? What are you even talking about, Nami!"
The van erupted. So what was the point of all this heartwarming footage they'd shot so far?
'Wait... meaning...?'
Why were all those rumor-mill articles about her possibly leaving for abroad popping into her head right now?
"No way... was everything today just a farewell?"
Nah, no way. Why would Nami leave Korea? She had no reason to... Actually, thinking about it, she had plenty.
"I don't get why this magic is so popular."
Adella flicked her tail and asked me sidelong.
"It's super intuitive at a glance."
"Intuitive?"
"Yeah. Like a game. The one who stacks more is the skilled mage."
The biggest difference between games and reality? Rewards.
In games, you complete a quest and get straightforward rewards like EXP or gold. Reality? Not so much. Sometimes you endure countless trial and error for one result, or veer completely off course from the start. Effort betrays you far too often in the real world.
Like how Japan got crushed in the national exchange tournament.
But the Adella Challenge was incredibly straightforward by comparison. Just hold onto the churning magic circle as stacks built up one by one.
Power and might scaled directly with stacks, so people started posting proof on SNS like it was a competition.
In World of Arceria, every character has action-correction stats. Warrior classes especially make casting Adella magic way easier, several times over. So posts faking it by pretending VR was reality flooded in.
I hated seeing my magic abused like that. Even if I'd delegated it to Adella, it was a meaningful spell tied to my childhood memories.
So for the final Genius Scout shoot, I planned to film a proper unique magic tutorial with her. To avoid spoilers, we'd time the release with their episode air date.
It sucked delaying the upload until next Wednesday, though.
"Turn off all assist systems, Adella."
"All of them? You won't even hit ten."
"I'm going for 50. Until I nail it."
"Fi... fifty?"
"Camera director, we're all set!"
I'd barely cleared up the crew's misunderstanding that I was ditching Korea for Japan, explaining my side—Japan was the only country recognizing Adella as a full citizen.
They still didn't fully buy why I was handing over the unique magic copyright, but oh well.
"Hello, I'm NoName, demonstrating the 1st Circle unique magic Adella (アデラ)."
"Evolved from Dawn Cat to Morning Cat—Asaneko (朝猫) Adella here! I'll be assisting! Yoroshiku onegaishimasu!"
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Meanwhile, viewers desperate to confirm if the 1st Circle unique magic Adella was truly NoName's creation had to wait a full week for the Genius Scout lower episode.
An eight-year-old developing magic without adult help? Unprecedented.
1st Circle? Sure—but that 1st Circle was whipping up a storm across the sea in Japan as the Adella Challenge.
Even civilians were digging out wooden swords from storage—last touched in elementary school—and learning Adella magic from VTube vids.
'What's this about World of Arceria being cheating...'
A beam projector sat in the center of the dojo. Katsuhata Emika hit play on VTube for NoName's demo and explanation video.
As far as she'd experienced, unique magic Adella clearly required at least two people for perfect casting—a blatant combo move.
It wasn't about multitasking; solo casting dispersed the force into the air, yielding zero lethality—just a puff of wind.
"Katsuhata, is this the future of Japanese swordsmanship you were talking about?"
Seniors from the dojo fanned out on either side of her, sitting cross-legged.
"Not certain. But at least it's a hint for our direction."
"Other Japanese schools maybe, but Korea has nothing to teach us."
"..."
Japan's sword arts were too rigid now. Emika guarded against dyeing herself the same as her seniors, but coercive training broke her down more often than not.
Plus, Japanese mages' society clustered around the three major schools, bickering in faction wars—like filthy politics.
Adella's 50-chain power was enough to crumble a thick obelisk pillar. But the seniors remained unimpressed.
"Skill's solid."
"Power's legit strong."
"But no practicality."
"Who tanks 50 hits?"
All valid points. Opponents weren't punching bags.
Emika drooped her head.
'Clear my mind. My mental training's been slacking—too many stray thoughts.'
The Adella Challenge was just a TikTok/Instagram fad anyway. The Katsuhata heir wouldn't sweat the small stuff.
'Small... small... wait... that girl... wasn't she eight?'
How'd she even invent a unique magic? A intense dissonance hit her.
The blonde woman clacked her black boots, placing the wooden dummy far off to the opposite side. She returned to the silver-haired cat-eared girl and picked up Skia Bona.
Her eyes curved like crescent moons. The beautiful woman's smile seemed to send a message to the foolish watchers: pity? Mockery? Either way, stunning.
It had utterly stolen the heart of the young Japanese girl.