7. The Best is Always the Best
The minor mishap sparked by my precious Miley had, more or less, been neatly resolved.
“……President, couldn’t you please tell Mr. Mackey that he no longer needs to come barging into my hotel room?”
“Hmm, the way you put it makes it sound awfully suspicious.”
“No, if you phrase it like that, it sounds like I’m the one grabbing at excuses to do something shady to Mr. Mackey! That guy keeps insisting on atoning by kneeling in the hotel corridor outside my door! People are giving me weird looks!”
Whether Miley’s “fiery atonement in the hotel corridor” had worked its magic, or David had finally realized she was a bit unhinged, their relationship seemed patched up well enough, one way or another.
According to Miley, she’d told him it was “an unintended mistake born of immense pride in her profession”……
Well, not exactly a lie.
After serving at my side for years, she’d naturally take pride in that fact.
As the proxy of the Lord God, savior of the world, and aide to the Hero—how could she not brim with self-assurance?
I couldn’t very well spill the real truth, though.
How could I tell an ordinary guy like David, “Actually, I was in another world……”?
And Miley’s reason for flipping him off right to his face on first meeting? Pure jealousy over being near me.
How the hell do you explain that honestly?
“Sigh.”
God, what a precious little snowflake. A total gold nugget.
But right now, she was exactly the person we needed most.
David, who’d grumbled at first, let out a whoop of joy the moment Miley took full control of my schedule and daily routine, reclaiming his freedom. And I? I started enjoying days so perfectly tailored to my tastes and conveniences that they bordered on creepy sometimes.
Yes. Everything was finally falling into place.
And at last.
“Master, the broadcast team’s framework is finally assembled.”
The new goal of my life. My dream.
The first step toward becoming the world’s greatest streamer had been taken.
Cha Eunho PD straightened the sleeves of his rarely worn suit while gazing into the elevator mirror.
He tightened his slightly loosened tie and plucked off an unsightly thread clinging to the lapel.
“Tsk.”
Yet even so, something still felt off.
He’d slathered lotion on skin he usually ignored, gotten a full haircut on hair he never spared a glance for in the editing bay—and still, why did he look so damn rough?
I’m way too nervous about this.
His usual wristwatch felt bulky and annoying; his lips were parched dry. Should’ve brought lip balm, knowing this would happen.
But there was no helping it.
First impressions…… gotta nail it.
After all, the place Cha Eunho PD was heading to had offered him a staggering 270 million won annual salary.
Incentives and bonuses not included.
Honestly, he’d barely glanced at the initial offer.
No matter how fat the paycheck, who jumps ship from terrestrial TV to some unheard-of foreign outfit?
Sure, he’d screwed up big-time, earned the ire of the production director, and was eating cold stares for it—but he was still a PD with two mega-hit variety shows under his belt.
He could toss his resignation and land at a cable network tomorrow, soaring right back to the top. Or join an indie production house, or even snag investors and start his own company.
Of course, whether cable would touch a guy with his scandalous track record was debatable, and in this oversaturated market of indies, pulling funding was even iffier.
Anyway.
Job-hopping hadn’t even crossed his mind.
But when Cha Eunho PD turned down the headhunt, that bizarrely named foreign company—TS Media—dangled that in front of him.
More money.
More! More! More! MORE money!
The salary’s multiplying like crazy!
It had jumped from the initial 120 million to 270 million in just two weeks. Only those who’d lived that sleepless frenzy of fourteen days could understand.
Should I take it now?
No, you idiot coward! Hold out longer—those nose-picking bastards might copy-paste the salary again!
But is this even a real offer? Why me?
Fuck if I know.
What if I push too hard and they ghost me?
Dazed by the endlessly skyrocketing salary, Cha Eunho PD bit the bait hard.
Lightning resignation!
Resignation letter nailed straight to the production director’s crown!
Thanks to that, the director’s wig flew off, escalating from a kimchi slap to a full wig-smacking fiasco.
With his bridges to terrestrial TV burned beyond repair, he finally got why Zhang Liang laughed his ass off after torching the plank bridge at Chohan—pure, unadulterated glee.
This was honestly fun!
Director, that prick. Hilarious when his wig peeled off.
There’s something universally hilarious about primal slapstick. That’s what the masses crave! Pondering the essence of comedy—isn’t that the real key?
Having ascended to a higher plane via resignation toss—now a genius variety producer bold enough to mock the gods—Cha Eunho PD swallowed dryly, a twinge of fear at his own talents.
No clue what they plan to do with me once they hire me. Not a single hint.
TS, TTS, whatever—zero info on the company. The only clue? “Media” in the name, so probably something in broadcasting.
But.
Doesn’t matter what it is.
Cha Eunho PD clenched his fist, steeling himself.
Whatever they threw at him, he’d smash it out of the park!
“Cha Eunho PD, you will serve as head of content production, overseeing every aspect needed for Master’s internet broadcasts.”
“……Internet broadcasts?”
“Yes. We’ll spare no support in recruiting talent. Assemble the best team and back Master’s streams with everything you’ve got.”
“Me……?”
“Yes.”
Cha Eunho PD choked back the third reflexive curse bubbling up.
Maybe it was the hazy vision of that 270 million won figure floating by. Or the unidentified killing intent from the blond blue-eyed Westerner glaring daggers.
“We’ll take that as acceptance.”
Cha Eunho PD couldn’t bring himself to object.
“Give it your all from here on out, Director Cha.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
The virtual machine was installed in my house.
Even that process had its hiccups. Miley took one look at it and claimed, “David Kim reported ordering the top-tier model, but that was clearly a false report.”
At first, I wondered if David had sabotaged it out of spite toward Miley, just to make her sweat.
Turned out, top-end virtual machines let users customize interiors like tricked-out luxury cars.
Maybe David wasn’t savvy enough about VR gear to know the details, or perhaps he left it to my tastes as the user. Who knows.
Miley, of course, insisted it was sabotage.
“That ugly bastard clearly slacked off on purpose to block Master’s path. In my world, we’d have punished the likes of him with ink torture. It pains me we can’t here.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Yeah, yeah. I knew you’d say that.
If you two could just get along after I told you to play nice, you wouldn’t be my little snowflake, would you?
I plopped Miley on the living room sofa and sang her the “David Kim Is Not Your Enemy” round, gripping her hands and repeating it like a nursery rhyme until her eyes glazed over. Guess my brainwashing still works wonders on my precious one.
“Now, stay right here.”
“……O-okay.”
I parked her flushed face on the couch, fired up Pinkfong for her, and hopped into the machine.
A world apart from the arcade unit in the U.S. game center. Top-tier luxury lived up to the hype.
The full-body embrace felt like lounging on a cloud. If we’re talking pure comfort, this beat a first-class recliner.
But it wasn’t just about comfort, of course.
That’s where gear really shines.
A virtual machine is still a machine, at heart.
Mass-produced goods might be uniform, but that’s only for simple stuff.
Precision tech? The tiniest variance spells massive quality gaps. Ever hear about semiconductor yields? Tough processes mean frequent defects, churning out worthless rejects.
And at this level, virtual machines are pinnacle precision engineering. Micro-errors translate to huge performance swings.
If cheap junk lags my senses by 0.1 seconds?
Ugh.
A nightmare straight out of midsummer.
Prime-me could’ve diced anyone 0.1 seconds slower before they even registered.
Never, ever risk sensory lag.
Better shell out for the priciest than roll those dice.
And honestly? It wasn’t even that expensive.
240,000 dollars, right?
Just a smidge more than new subordinate Director Cha’s salary. Meaning Director Cha’s worth less than one VR rig. Director Cha, you’re cheaper than a virtual reality console.
“Guess I’ll grab some games for now.”
Broadcast start date and format TBD. Per Miley, wait for Director Cha to finish building the support team.
Doesn’t mean I can’t game in the meantime.
I grinned and dove into virtual reality.
The helmet enveloped my head, the world shifting smoother than in California.
A pristine white void.
I flexed slowly, testing.
“Arcade machines really are beat-up cheapos. Synchronization feels on another level.”
Nearly flawless sync.
Now for fine-tuning to iron out the last kinks.
That should nix these tiny sensory hiccups, restoring my prime body fully—at least in VR.
I pulled up the settings menu, tweaking as I moved. David Kim had prepped me with manuals, so no sweat.
Adjustments done.
“Wonder if there’s a decent action game around?”
I opened a browser window.
First up: the trash-game community.