Certification
One million views.
On Yourspace, where subscriber counts and view counts rarely correlated, a video would need at least ten million subscribers to guarantee every single upload crossed the million-view threshold.
But that was a realm most creators could never hope to reach. In today's landscape, where even surpassing one hundred thousand subscribers was considered a tremendous success, it was all the more unattainable.
Of course, the lack of correlation between subscribers and views also meant that a creator with a small following could, through sheer luck, ride the algorithm's wave and have a few videos rack up impressive numbers.
But to put it another way, that was essentially close to random. It was never the norm.
Harmony did not fall into that category.
She was a word-of-mouth case.
As natural as it was, the fact that people watched streamer Harmony's broadcasts didn't mean they watched only her. Most people subscribed to dozens of streamers whose content matched their tastes, hopping between them whenever one went live.
Among those streamers, some shared similar tastes or had countless other reasons to host what was called a "collab stream," and through these networks, viewers and streamers wove their webs, expanding each other's audiences.
And it was through that very web that Harmony's Dark Zone gameplay began spreading in every direction.
It was inevitable that it would spread. Dark Zone itself was already famous, but more importantly, it was a game her fellow streamers played frequently.
And what she had experienced wasn't a simple blooper. It was closer to the kind of incident that could have turned her broadcast into an absolute disaster. It had nearly done so.
Yet what should have ended in the worst possible way had instead survived in the most dramatic fashion.
Among the countless elite enemies that even the most skilled players avoided — the Hunters, who were never to be engaged at close range — Eugene had appeared like magic at the moment Harmony needed help most, and dispatched one with just two axe swings at point-blank range.
A single restrained but devastatingly heavy strike. Limbs snapping like dry twigs with each contact of the tomahawk's blade. Even a Hunter was no exception.
And then came the educational moment everyone had wanted.
The entire sequence — setup, development, climax, and resolution, with justice served all compressed into one moment — was the kind of thing that simply couldn't help but spread everywhere. Hoping it wouldn't was close to absurd.
Like a single drop of ink falling into a fishbowl and slowly diffusing, clips from the encounter were shared by over ten thousand users across the internet, re-edited, and scattered to other streamers, to Yourspace, and to gaming websites.
It would have been strange if the view count hadn't climbed.
One person showed it to another, and those people passed it on to more. The chain reaction, spanning both streamers and regular viewers, grew exponentially without taking long. The quick ones captured the Yourspace reaction and uploaded their own videos, greedily siphoning views.
Those slightly slower, or who approached it from a different angle, began making analysis videos instead of reaction content. Three days passed in this way.
Dark Zone-related websites and Yourspace channels were gradually burning bright.
A rather burly avatar. Against the backdrop of a Dark Zone HQ safe house, a figure sat behind a tactically arranged desk and addressed the camera directly.
The appearance was oddly reminiscent of an armed news anchor, but this was Unreal's own established filming style, refined through countless trial and error as the operator of a Dark Zone information channel.
As he spoke, subtitles and edited images and video clips appeared and disappeared in sync at the bottom of the screen.
"There's been quite a lot of news lately. In-game patches, tips submitted by subscribers, and countless incidents. With so many people playing this game, I can't afford to look away for even a moment."
A brief pause.
"Anyway, let's not drag this out. I'll get right into it. First, let's tackle the weapon balance patches that most of you care about most. To begin with..."
Given that Dark Zone served millions of concurrent players, an enormous amount of content flowed through Unreal's words. From the wide variety of firearms across all PVE content to how they applied to PVP players who enjoyed that mode.
The details were endless. Even when he condensed major changes into single sentences, time melted away slowly.
Then came various other changes, announcements of new raids, and introductions to the numerous events tied to the game's seasonal calendar.
Since he wasn't just covering one section of the game but addressing all major changes, the runtime inevitably stretched.
But Dark Zone's content volume was so vast that even this was shorter than reading the official patch notes and announcements directly. In reality, Unreal's overview was hardly long.
"...Ugh, this is tough. Next up are the minor bug fixes. I can't go through these one by one, so I'll just list them on screen.
But to summarize briefly for you all: I can confirm that this update contains no bugs or malicious glitches that would affect players or the game's core systems."
He took a brief breath.
At any other time — or under normal circumstances — he would have delivered his closing remarks here, thrown in a casual "see you next time," and cut the edit. After all, separate from delivering news to others, he was also just a gamer.
So normally, this would have been the point where he started playing the game. But not today.
He looked straight at the camera and quickly added:
"And next up is the player feedback segment. As always, you all sent in all sorts of amazing videos... but I think most of you are probably looking for something specific."
With a single gesture, a video clip popped up in mid-air.
"Anyway, as many of you have requested — let's analyze the gameplay of a user named Eugene, who's been generating a lot of buzz lately."
Most of the footage was from Harmony's perspective, though a few clips from other angles were queued up as well.
A clean compilation of Eugene's activities over the past week appeared on screen.
"Before we dive in, I should mention that this analysis was made possible with the cooperation of streamer Harmony and user Eugene."
With another gesture, the video played and then paused, with text overlaid on top.
"Let's start with the UN Headquarters clip... Yes. Stable stance, no aim point shake during movement. Grip style adapts very fluidly... And he doesn't hide behind car doors. Looking at this, it seems like he just knows a lot fundamentally.
And as you can see, he's providing excellent cover for his teammates. Even announcing reloads to his team verbally... Wow, that's not easy to do. There are so many things people overlook during combat, but I don't see a single omission here.
And next... Wait, is this even a possible engagement speed? This is the first time I've seen someone fire single shots this fast. It looks easy to watch, but in reality, it's extremely difficult. And maintaining accuracy at this speed? Is that even possible?"
The analysis shifted from surprise to awe.
But as time passed, his expression grew more serious. His words became fewer, and the frequency of shallow inhales — the soft *shhh* sound — gradually increased.
Various thoughts were running through his mind. The information he'd been given beforehand stated this user was playing in Hardcore mode, but none of these movements were something achievable in Hardcore.
There was one thing many people overlooked.
The weight of the name "Hardcore mode." It wasn't simply reduced assists. It was literally the same as throwing a random person off the street into a battlefield.
Players accustomed to assists that mimicked countless soldiers' movements to support them to the extreme didn't understand this well... but Unreal himself had once tried Hardcore as an experiment, and the results had been truly miserable.
Is this even possible?
How on earth?
Several hypotheses surfaced, and Unreal cautiously opened his mouth.
"...Umm, well... this is incredible. I'm really curious about what this person actually does. At the very least, I'd say they're connected to the military or deeply involved in this field..."
The chat window on the right filled with messages like "That's it?" — but even that wasn't the full extent of what he'd already said.
To be half-convicted, there was a high probability that user was something beyond what people could imagine.
The most plausible guess was that they were a special forces operative undergoing Third Arm technology trials, or a PMC operative — not just a subcontracted grunt, but a former soldier that private military companies fought tooth and nail to recruit.
In reality, that was possible — in the US, Rangers, Navy SEALs, SWCC, or higher up, DEVGRU or Delta Force; in the UK, SAS; in France, GIGN, and so on. But...
Was I reaching too far?
He pulled out the most moderate possibility from his mind.
"...Well, they could be someone who ran a tactical shooting range in the US or something. I'm not sure about the details. I don't want to dig too deep beyond this point."
It was a remarkably vague conclusion for such an enthusiastic analysis.
But it was hard to blame him — other Yourspace channels, even those run by former special forces operatives, hadn't come up with any definitive answers either.
In reality, it was a complete mystery. Eugene hadn't revealed anything directly, and with only circumstantial evidence from their actions, it was impossible to determine for certain.
In the end, their analysis served only as a fuse that sparked more questions rather than providing clear answers.
And to make matters even more heated, the Desperado team — the five-person squad that had been wiped out by Eugene in one minute during the last Uncontrolled Area incident — had finally obtained Eugene's permission to upload their video, and the situation was escalating further.
The Eugene-related video uploaded to a channel whose average view count hovered around five thousand broke through two hundred thousand views and continued its high-altitude flight,
causing a flood of aggro, praise, and criticism to erupt simultaneously, leading to an explosion in the comment section and repeated chaotic situations.
Amid all this, as discussions about Eugene intensified, subtle suspicions began creeping in one by one.
Hacks.
The hack that had supposedly been eliminated — with Dark Zone's VR connection devices and computer networks completely separated, and measures taken to prevent any files from being mixed into the device network — was meaningless to the aggro and extreme-hater crowd.
Like throwing plastic and styrofoam onto a well-burning fire to produce toxic smoke, they rode the swelling public sentiment and brought out various conspiracy theories.
The lowest-quality kind of gossip — but precisely because of that, easily attention-grabbing — all sorts of hypotheses and rumors swept through everywhere, and naturally, they weren't ignored.
Attempts to refute or logically argue against them were frustrated by sheer irrationality, and the so-called keyboard wars generated in the process drew in even more people, creating a vicious cycle.
And so — or unfortunately — their goal was achieved, and quite a few places began to burn.
It was a magnificent mess, fitting for August weather.
Even so, I wasn't so disconnected from modern society that I'd completely abandon monitoring public opinion on the internet.
To be specific, I simply didn't care enough to be swayed by the chaos of countless people online. That was all.
Not like in the past, when I lived a life closely tied to phones and computers.
But this stance, while it could be called neutral in a generous reading, was in reality closer to naive. Simply put, it was negligence — abandoning things that should have been attended to.
If things resolved themselves naturally when left alone, that would be one thing. But things like this, if not properly corrected, would grow and spread on their own, eventually damaging the social reputation of anyone involved.
And if not only I but also Harmony — who had done nothing more than play a game with me — suffered because of it, then sitting back and doing nothing would be irresponsible.
In any case, the core of the public opinion was whether I had used hacks.
Many people were firmly stating that this was realistically impossible, but without direct proof from the person involved, complete certainty would never be reached.
So I just needed to prove that I hadn't used hacks. But...
I can't think of a particularly good way to do that.
At the same time, Harmony on the other side began pouring out messages as if she'd been waiting for this.
The chat room was nearly flooded with a waterfall of words, and I almost felt dizzy, but the gist was simple: she would handle the promotion and broadcast setup, so I just needed to prepare the proof comfortably.
For a moment, I wondered if I should really accept such kindness, but her next words hit the mark perfectly.
Anyway, things were progressing far beyond what I had anticipated.
After a few minutes of discussion, we decided to postpone the broadcast until after securing proof that I hadn't used hacks and organizing it in a way that could be shown to others.
Still, the sooner the better. And even better if it happened before all the baseless rumors started causing direct damage.
I hadn't expected to be contacting these people again.
After a brief moment of respite, I picked up my phone.
My contact list had grown slightly but was still desolate. Near the bottom were two names I hadn't contacted even once since the physical measurements.
Lee Jin-chul, deputy manager of Icarus Korea's PR team.
Han Seol-ah, employee of Icarus Korea's PR team.
I clicked the upper one and held the phone to my ear.
A familiar voice came through.
My chosen approach was simple.
"Hello. This is Lee Eugene. I had a physical examination with you last time. Is it a good time to talk?"
"Ah, yes. Hello. It's been a while since you called. What's the reason for contacting us today?"
"Well, it's about..."
To prove I hadn't used hacks, all I needed was official certification from headquarters.