Liberating the Disasters (1)

The convenience store owner had a favorite lecture he delivered every single time he saw me.

“Nam Juyeon! You lack persistence! Huh?! Look at those celebrities on the TV over there! You think they climbed to the top overnight? Every last one of them got there through blood-soaked effort and the kind of persistence that refuses to give up…”

Lack of persistence. That was the line he trotted out without fail. There were plenty of variations, too. If you’re young, you should be willing to ruin your body with hard work. You ought to be grateful I’m even paying you this hourly wage. Do you have any idea how tough it is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out there? And on and on.

“Fucking bastard. He can eat shit.”

I let out a long sigh and threw myself onto the bed in my tiny studio apartment.

“No persistence, huh…”

He wasn’t wrong. I had never been the type to cling to anything with real tenacity—studying, work, relationships. For a jobless bum scraping by on part-time gigs, how much persistence could I possibly have?

That said, it wasn’t as if I had none at all. When it came to things I actually enjoyed, I could pour in an embarrassing amount of time. Games, for instance.

Still lying face-down, I twisted around, fished my phone out of my pocket, unlocked the screen, swiped away the mountain of spam notifications, and tapped the single icon that mattered.

After a modest loading screen, the main menu appeared.

I scrolled past the flood of messages without much interest. Nothing unusual. My fingers moved on autopilot—sending the characters back out on expeditions, breaking down the newly acquired gear. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Then another cheerful sound effect chimed.

“Ah, more junk.”

I sighed and immediately disassembled the gift.

This was exactly what the game was: a collection-type idle title. Disaster Order. You gathered characters known as disasters, developed your base, sent teams on expeditions, crafted equipment, synthesized items, and strengthened them. It was the same kind of idle collector game that had once flooded the market.

I had been playing it for five full years, yet even I had no idea how the developers stayed in business. There wasn’t a single microtransaction, not one ad. The servers never went down. Updates were slow, but every year they still added new characters.

“Guess the company’s rolling in money.”

I had started playing back when I was studying for the college entrance exams. It wasn’t particularly fun. The system was convoluted, and despite being an idle game it still demanded a surprising amount of manual input. The story was mediocre and the character art was nothing special. When I tried searching for guides, almost no one else played it, so there was no community to speak of.

Any normal person would have dropped it with a single “Ugh, what a trash game” and never looked back.

Yet I had stuck with this trash game for five years. The reason was simple: stubbornness. I had zero persistence in real life, but in games I had it in spades. The desire to see the end of even this modest title, combined with the tenacity of an unemployed bum and my natural competitive streak, had dragged me into its depths.

In the end I had played it for five years. Because it was idle, it didn’t require constant attention. It didn’t need money either—if you invested the time, you could collect every 5-star character. The only problem was that the time required stretched into years, but I happened to have plenty of that.

So I had gathered nearly every character in the game. After five years, my territory was packed with four 5-star disasters, countless 4-stars, and equipment of every grade.

“There’s nothing left to do now.”

I could have kept going for the remaining 5-stars, but that would have meant another ten years. No one else in the world would have played this trash game consistently for five years, so if they ever held a server-wide ranking, I would probably be number one. A strange sense of accomplishment came with that thought.

“Haa…”

I sighed so heavily it felt like the floor might cave in. But what was the point? Who would care that I was the best in the world at a game no one else played?

Besides, today was the day I planned to quit for good.

“It’s about time.”

The convenience store owner’s words had been completely right. Nam Juyeon. Twenty-nine years old. Orphan. High-school graduate. A bottom-feeder scraping by on part-time work. It really was time for a change, and quitting the game was the first step.

“…It was fun. Or… was it?”

I smiled bitterly and opened the management screen. I selected all four 5-star characters at once, removed their locks, and pressed the fire button.

Anyone who knew this game would have been horrified. I was the madman tearing apart more than half the 5-star roster in one go.

“…Hmm.”

I hesitated for a second, then shook my head. If I left even the slightest opening, I might reinstall later. That couldn’t happen. I pressed the button firmly.

“They really went all out on the warning, huh.”

I let out a small laugh. So firing a 5-star even triggered a message like this. Feeling oddly entertained, I reached for the Y button—then froze.

“They can make expressions like this?”

On the screen, every character was staring straight at me with wide, shocked eyes. Their lips trembled. Scorched Saint Selene in particular had collapsed to her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She was the very first 5-star I had ever obtained. Even I, who thought I knew every one of her animations, had never seen this motion before.

The others were the same. Each showed different gestures, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all of them looked genuinely shaken. I never expected such detailed production from a trash game. Then again, who would ever fire the 5-stars they had raised themselves? The fact that they had wasted so much effort on something so pointless was, in its own way, perfectly on-brand for this game.

“It’s a shame, but… there’s no helping it.”

The characters on the screen dissolved into particles and vanished. A pang of regret hit me, but I shook it off. I wouldn’t have time to play anymore anyway.

With fresh determination, I fired every remaining character and deleted the app.

“Starting tomorrow, I live as a proper civil-service exam candidate.”

The next day, the world more or less ended.

*

Until I woke up and got ready to leave, everything felt exactly like always. The only difference was that I hadn’t launched Disaster Order first thing in the morning.

But the moment I stepped out of my studio, I froze.

“Young man!”

The landlady came sprinting toward me, drenched in cold sweat.

She was usually friendly, so her shouting startled me. I asked, confused, “What’s going on?”

“Why aren’t you evacuating?!”

“Evacuating? Why? I have a part-time shift…”

She slapped me hard on the back.

“Aigoo! Young man! How do you not know?! There’s a war! A war!”

“A… war?”

“Yes! Fighter jets flew overhead earlier—it was total chaos! So hurry and get to the shelter! There’s one nearby!”

“…”

Her words didn’t feel real, so I pinched my cheek. It hurt. This wasn’t a dream.

“…Fuck.”

In 21st-century South Korea, the word “war” only pointed to one possibility. Had North Korea finally invaded? As a second-year reservist, would I be dragged away immediately?

I had decided to start a new life only yesterday. Why was this happening?

All kinds of useless thoughts swirled through my head.

“…No. First—evacuate.”

There was no time to waste. I grabbed my phone and hurried down the villa stairs. The moment I reached the main road, however, I stopped dead.

The game I had deleted yesterday. Why was its welcome message floating in front of my eyes?

It wasn’t only me. Everyone on the street stood with the same dazed expression, staring at nothing. They were all seeing the same window.

After a brief silence the window stretched vertically.

“No way…”

I slowly lifted my head. A colossal crack had torn open in the sky. It swirled like the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gacha screen from the game.

Which meant—

In a single morning, the world had changed. The trash game had become reality.