The Vultures Can't Write Without Lies
The tabloid hacks can't write a single article without fabricating nonsense. The arcade was always packed, and it had become quite the hot topic on Mytel. The electronic music that went into the rhythm game drew serious interest from the electronic music club, while the ahead-of-its-time BGA caught the eyes of the video editing club and the subculture club. Treated like a holy site by all three groups, the arcade never had a single day when the lights were off. For the record, the arcade's name had officially changed to KIN Arcade. The sign featured the KIN logo tilted at a sharp diagonal, making the wordplay blatantly obvious.
"I-seo. Hey, how do you even clear the final pattern on Blue White? I've never gotten past that part."
Pattern. The term for the predetermined sequence of notes that fall along lines corresponding to each button. No matter how good the song is, if the pattern is garbage, plenty of people will refuse to play it. Patterns are the single most important element in rhythm games because they directly shape the "play experience"—the core of the whole thing.
I had learned that the hard way. In the beginning, I'd mindlessly copied the note patterns I'd seen on a computer back in my previous life, only to taste bitter failure and rewrite everything from scratch.
"For that one, you need to switch your hand placement like this to play it comfortably. That way you can hit the drum section tatatata without any trouble."
The biggest difference between playing on a computer and an arcade is the button layout. Unlike a keyboard where the keys are in a straight line and can be rebound however you like, arcade cabinets have multiple buttons fixed in a zigzag pattern. That often requires changing your hand position—what we call hand placement. You have to design the falling note patterns with that in mind if you want players to feel that electrifying blend of brain and physical skill, that perfect marriage of brain muscle and actual muscle memory.
"Heee. I'll have to try it next time... Oh!"
Eun-ji suddenly clapped her hands together as if something had just occurred to her.
"Speaking of next time, you're still not wearing any makeup at all, are you?"
Shit. I'd stepped on a landmine.
"...Isn't sunscreen enough...?"
"You think that'll cut it?"
Before I knew it, I was standing inside a cosmetics store.
"No no no, I said sunscreen is fine—"
"Why would you let a face like that go to waste? It's not like you're trying to scam anyone."
"I keep telling you, I'm not interested in dressing up...!"
"Letting this face rot is a national loss. If you actually did your makeup properly, the arcade's sales would jump by at least half, you know?"
"I have zero intention of being some kind of poster girl?!"
But there was no resisting the giggling hands of women on a mission. Before long I was being forcibly made up, while listening to comments that sounded like they came from Eun-ji Mk. 2.
They're all in cahoots, damn it.
Once the makeup was finished and the hands finally stopped moving, a store employee shoved a mirror in front of me.
"Eh...? Is this... watashi…?"
It was the first time I'd said that line since the moment I woke up in this reincarnated body. I couldn't help it. Even I had to admit the reflection could make most celebrities look like background extras.
"...Why the hell are you wasting your time touching computers?"
"..."
The employees were all standing there with their mouths hanging open, speechless. Even Eun-ji's eyes had gone perfectly round.
Yeah, I get it. Even by my own standards, I looked like a Miss Korea contender. If I stepped outside right now, I'd probably be crowned the greatest Miss Korea of all time. At this rate, I could probably aim for Miss Universe.
"Since we're already here, let's go look at clothes too. I can't stand this anymore."
Just how many landmines am I going to step on today?
It looked like I wasn't getting back to the PC bang before sunset.
"..."
Here we go again. The moment I tried to walk past the arcade and enter the PC bang, everyone turned to stare at me with their mouths wide open. This wasn't just self-consciousness on my part. People who should have been staring at the rhythm game screens and studying hand placements were all looking out the windows instead.
From their perspective, the seats outside the arcade were probably the winning spot today.
"...I-seo unnie?"
Even Jeong-a couldn't hide her shock. I was starting to get tired of these reactions.
"A god has finally descended upon this mortal realm! You primitive humans— KYAAAAK!!"
"Please stop with the cringey cultist act..."
I smacked Kim Jeong-jun on the head before he could fully transform into a zealot and flopped down into a chair. The sensation of my chest jiggling instantly soured my mood even further.
At first I'd thought it was great, but these monstrous lumps of fat were nothing more and nothing less than self-insert bait. I mean, come on. It's not like I'm going to date any guys, so what's the point of having something men go crazy over? It's just a penalty that makes my shoulders hurt. Sitting in front of a computer and coding is clearly what suits me best. Why would I go out shopping under the damn sun? Nerds have their own way of life.
With that settled, I was looking forward to pulling an all-nighter and enjoying the weekend. The blue dawn of a peaceful morning found me leisurely sipping coffee while unfolding the newspaper that had been delivered in front of the arcade...
"PFFFT—?!"
God damn tabloid hacks again. I had no choice but to fight back.
Let's set aside the fact that they took photos of someone else's store without permission. The article described the arcade like it was some kind of delinquent hangout, and the attached black-and-white photo had clearly been manipulated with contrast so it looked like a back-alley spot where thugs smoked cigarettes.
"Tsk."
Since the only mass media available in this era were newspapers and TV news, the propaganda that arcades were the root of all evil worked like a charm. People started showing up just to spit on the arcade entrance. If that saliva got on the glass, I'd have to wipe it off with a rag again. Everything about this made my stomach turn. My shoulders, neck, back of my head, skull—there wasn't a single part of me that didn't hurt. Aaaargh.
"I-seo! I'm here...?"
Jeong-jun and his friends walked into the PC bang together, then froze the moment they saw me.
"I-seo's dead!"
"I'm not dead..."
When they asked if they could look at the newspaper in front of me, I gave them permission.
"During the day it extorts the snot-covered money of children, and at night it addicts young people, stealing what little money they have. The scene is reminiscent of the low-class gambling culture of pachinko... We must have a proper discussion about the speculative nature and addictive qualities of arcades that have long been pointed out..."
Is this a newspaper article or some old man's rant? Shockingly, it was printed across an entire page—page four, no less. The situation was so infuriating it was impossible not to get mad. Jeong-jun and the club members who arrived late turned bright red, and I could almost imagine steam shooting out of their ears.
"This is bullshit! Let's call the newspaper company right now and—"
"...At the point where the editorial department allowed that article to run, any protest we make to them won't work. Even if they issue a correction, the damage is already done. People's perceptions won't change that easily."
"Then what should we..."
"We'll write our own editorial. And send it to a rival newspaper."
It was time to show them what public opinion warfare looked like in the 1990s.
The newspaper that ran the hit piece was the king of established papers, Dongjo Daily. And the rising new newspaper we needed to recruit as our ally was Kyung-han Daily.
To be honest, they weren't exactly trustworthy either. I'd subscribed once before and immediately canceled after they filled two whole pages with hardcore anti-communist editorials.
"Still, they're taking Seo Taiji and the new culture seriously these days, so it might be possible. If it doesn't work, we'll just say we expected as much."
I sent the column typed in Word under the name of KIN Arcade, printed it out, and mailed it to the newspaper. A few days later, a single letter arrived. It basically said, "Come to Kyung-han Daily and let's talk."
It wasn't far, so I ran straight over. When I showed them the letter, they let me in immediately.
"Ah, you're here. I'm Kim Han-gyeol, head of the editorial department."
My first impression was that he felt like a businessman. To put it less kindly, just another guy in a plain suit.
"This is not mere entertainment, but a game that adds interactivity to music, making it easier to approach and understand. The narrow view that calls it 'entertainment'—"
"Wait, why are you reading my column out loud...?"
As we talked, it became clear he'd been quite impressed by my piece; he even recited parts of it. It felt strangely like having my elementary school diary read aloud, which left me with mixed feelings.
"Well, I like it. I've been thinking we needed to cover the recent controversy around arcades anyway, and here comes the perfect opportunity."
"Then...!"
"However, I have one suggestion. In exchange for running this column as an editorial, how about you write columns for us on a regular basis?"
"How regular are we talking?"
"You can decide that yourself. If it's too much pressure, how about every two weeks?"
"That works perfectly for me. But why such a generous offer...?"
"From what I can see, Miss Yoon I-seo, you're going to be huge. Though from what I've heard, you're already quite big."
Kim Han-gyeol had an exceptionally good eye for people.
The next day, an editorial by the name of Yoon I-seo appeared in Kyung-han Daily. And it ran without a single line of content censorship.
The editorial was full of provocative, arrogant content that even took direct shots at a major newspaper. It seemed Kyung-han Daily had suffered quite a lot at the hands of Dongjo Daily. Otherwise they wouldn't have allowed such an open attack.
For a moment, let's change perspectives. The people reading this editorial had wildly divided opinions. Anyone who read newspapers regularly ended up arguing with people reading the rival paper whenever they met or during breaks.
"Doesn't it make no sense that unhealthy culture like arcades still exists?"
"You're wrong! I went there myself, and far from being unhealthy or delinquent, it was filled with people purely enjoying music! At the very least, the arcade that started all this is nothing but a cradle of pure new culture!"
The incident that would later be called the Arcade Gate had already begun.
The debate over arcades spread like wildfire in the blink of an eye, eventually flowing into the broadcasting world. And there were people watching that debate very closely...
"Um... PD-nim...?"
"Yeah, Writer Kim. What is it?"
"You know how we said last time that we've run out of debate topics? I just caught wind of something absolutely perfect. What do you think?"
"Let's see... What is it? Not another story about the Orange Tribe, is it?"
"No, it's completely different. Dongjo got humiliated after calling it a 'degenerate arcade.' Let's use this to boost our ratings."
"...Writer Kim, you're getting this month's incentive."
"Yesss! Thank you so much!"
A current affairs debate program that had been suffering from a total lack of material had just bitten down on a hook without any bait. Meanwhile, Yoon I-seo, who had just started happily firing up her public opinion war alongside Kyung-han Daily, could only tilt her head in confusion.
That didn't mean she disliked it. On the contrary, she was thrilled. She'd already prepared all the materials, so she spent her time running a virtual debate simulator in her head. Because it was a TV debate, the entire country would be watching live. A single mistake could mean the entire public opinion war would start off on the wrong foot. With that in mind, Yoon I-seo handed all her ongoing music work over to Lee Eun-ji and devoted herself to sharpening her arguments.
One week passed—long if you thought about it, short if you didn't—and finally, the day of the debate arrived.