Gawol (1)

This was the age of the great streamers.

A full-dive action VR MMORPG. Streaming aimed at a global player base. Advanced technology had conquered even the barriers of language, and a market that had been growing since the early twenty-first century had at last entered its golden age.

Being good at games — more precisely, being good at Infinity Black — had become the equivalent of being good at school. When a cousin showed off a Seoul National University student ID in front of the relatives during the holidays, proving your game tier earned you the same applause. Landing a spot in a famous siege guild put you shoulder to shoulder with the elites who walked into major corporations.

Can't get a single word from the textbook into your head? If you can't raise your grades, raise your tier! And if even that won't work, go hunting!

Every high-ranking player coveted a path into streaming or pro gaming. Because it paid. Because it was a road that could deliver massive wealth and fame in the same breath. Being good at the game and planting a foot in neither of those worlds was, by any common sense, incomprehensible.

And on that point, the celestial ranks of Infinity Black held one existence that defied all understanding.

"Ah, thank you for the donation, GoFarmSulpang. I was planning to focus on farming for a while anyway. Next season's almost here, so I've got to prepare properly. Everyone's probably busy right now, right?"

"Huh? Sulpang. Did you just see a white dot on the minimap? Or was I imagining it?"

"A white dot? I don't think I saw anything… We're not even hostile with any guilds right now, so it should be fine, right? Who'd pick a fight at a time like this?"

He was about to dismiss his party member's concern as needless worry when a single unease surfaced in Sulpang's mind. Because, come to think of it, there was one. One freak who would pick fights without the slightest regard for the power structure that would be reshuffled next season.

The vicious stream sniper that every high-tier streamer ran into at least once. An assassin player who made a habit of field PKs, ranked-game sniping, and teabagging on top of it all.

Nickname: Gawol.

And sure enough, the unease was about to become reality. Only a few seconds after the white dot — the marker for another player — had appeared, the archer party member standing a short distance away was murdered without so much as a scream.

With the ranged dealer dead, who came next was obvious. An assassin appeared out of nowhere among the party members and flashed a hazy arc of steel.

At the sight of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the assassin, a chill ran down Sulpang's spine. Silver hair visible through a black hood. A distinctive longsword with no luster to its blade. A frame smaller than average and a low stance — the gaze looking up from below was cold beyond measure.

The assassin stabbed the party mage through the heart, slit their throat, and kicked the corpse aside. Even as he privately marveled at that clean efficiency, Sulpang felt heat rising to his head. It was the feeling of having been subjected to something fundamentally unfair.

Infinity Black had a death penalty, and the person who had most recently handed that penalty to Sulpang was the Gawol standing right in front of him.

"Why… why me again?! I just died not that long ago!"

It was no use. No amount of pleading would stop the assassin's blade. He was going to die either way, so he had to put up some kind of resistance. Sulpang charged with his shield raised.

It was useless. Gawol leapt lightly over the charge and drove a dagger into a gap in his armor. For a knight's durability, it was a hit he could have weathered easily enough — but the brief stagger was the problem. A blade was already at the back of his neck.

A voice-modulated tone spread out as if mocking him.

"No reason. You just happened to be close. And it looks like you've been making a lot of money lately."

"The money's just money you refuse to make yourself…"

A wet sound. Sulpang's screen went black. The last thing that filled his eyes was the chat window exploding out of control.

A long, fading whir. The cooler that had been spinning hard came to a stop with a deflated sound. It was the sound I hated most — the moment the game stopped and this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠damned reality came calling. Like a debtor handed a contract for a loan they could never repay. Time to pay the price of a sweet dream out in the real world.

From the assassin Gawol back to Han Daeun, I became a pathetic weakling all over again, no better than a debtor.

"Ramen. Why is there no ramen… Ah. The last pack was the one I ate last time, wasn't it?"

The strength drained out of my body. I sat on the edge of the bed and groped for my phone. The blanket and pillow were such a mess that I couldn't see it, and even sliding my arm under the pillow turned up nothing. That meant it was wedged somewhere between the bed and the wall.

Found it.

The ramen I'd ordered in advance apparently wasn't arriving ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠today. It had clearly been scheduled for Thursday, but at some point the delivery date had shifted to Friday. And this was the country's top logistics company. If I starved to death today, the cause of death would be this company's shipping delay. They ought to be ready for that. My room had plenty of dust — I could leave a dying message without even spilling any precious blood.

"Ugh… Something other than ramen. Is there anything else?"

Of course there wasn't. My entire living radius was this dark, narrow room, and I'd been living like this for quite a long time. Which meant I had the food situation memorized down to the last detail. Opening the fridge on a hollow hope only earned me the greeting of cheap bottled water and soda.

For now, maybe just drink something. I was too hungry. If something sweet hit my mouth, my mood might improve a little. Why were people designed so that they only ran on food?

A cola briefly filled the hollow, but my body still wanted a real meal. It was inevitable. I always pushed the game to the limit and only logged out when I truly couldn't take it anymore. Being in reality meant my body had hit its critical point.

Delivery food was a pipe dream. With my wallet, I couldn't even fantasize about it. It was a truly miserable thing, but… at times like this, the only option was a trip to the convenience store.

My empty stomach growled as if to hurry me along.

"I know. I'm going. I'll go, okay? Just give me a second to prepare myself."

Going outside took a great deal of courage for me.

One hand gripped the railing; the other gripped the handle of my crutch. The crutch went down the stairs before I did. My body could only follow once the crutch was properly braced to support me. When I was ready, I sent the broken leg first and let the good one take the next step. It was a process that allowed not a single moment of carelessness. I had almost no muscle to speak of, so even holding the crutch was exhausting.

The sensor lights that were supposed to illuminate the dark kept shutting off over and over. Until I waved a hand or the crutch to turn them back on, what lay ahead of me was an abyss with no bottom I could see.

Yes. I had a disability. A disability that meant I could not stand in this world on two feet. Using my left foot the way other people did was something I had not been granted permission for — and on any day I broke that absolute rule, a terrible pain came down like divine punishment.

On top of that, the one-room I lived in was on the third floor of a building with no elevator. That, too, was unavoidable. Apartments might be everywhere on the Korean peninsula, but all that had been permitted to me was a dilapidated old house.

One wrong step now and a horrific disaster would unfold, no question. I would scream — kyaaak, kyaaaaaak — unable to bear the pain, and that sound would boom and echo down these stairs. Then the whole neighborhood would get to watch ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a cripple who couldn't even get down a flight of stairs, sniveling and crying.

So even if it was slow — carefully. Safely. For me, the road to the convenience store was like dragging myself out of a thick, clinging swamp.

But what I truly hated was not this body of mine.

"Welcome."

I opened the convenience store door, and a male part-timer greeted me in a dry voice.