The Offline Meetup and the Gates of KUST
I barely managed to wrap up the surprise autograph ambush that followed my admission before the real offline meetup finally kicked off. It was all under the direction of the organizer, Kim Mu-sik… though seriously, who names their kid “Mu-sik”? Sounds like “no knowledge” or something. Anyway, the first item on the agenda was a visit to the arcade in front of Seoul Station.
The once-quiet little arcade was now packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Everyone fed coins into the machines and dove in. We’re talking Pong, Space Invaders, and at best Pac-Man or Galaga. Personally, none of it grabbed me.
“Ah, I’m dead.”
“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it there.”
“Move, let me try.”
The ancient arcade tradition of backseat gamers was alive and well. But with zero real technique on display, it all looked the same to me. Honestly, even I was itching to chime in with some advice.
“Ms. I-seo, aren’t you playing? There’s a free spot over there.”
Kim Mu-sik asked me quietly. I decided to be a little honest.
“I’m not really interested. If anything, it just makes me wonder how I could make something more fun than these.”
It might have sounded arrogant. But then again—what can you do about it? If you don’t like it, make something better than me.
“Haha, as expected from a genius. You really are on another level. Thanks to you, I’ve been incredibly inspired. I’ve even decided to study abroad in Japan next year. Which brings me to…”
What’s with the dramatic pause? What’s he trying to say?
“Are you… by any chance interested in Japanese pop culture? The subculture scene, I mean?”
Hell yes, of course I am, you bastard!!!
To summarize Kim Mu-sik’s pitch: a lot of people around him were interested in Japanese culture, but it was hard to get because the government actively suppressed it. So while he was over there, he’d act as a middleman for direct purchases of manga, anime, movies, and the like. If I wanted anything, just let him know.
“Wait, why are you offering this to me…? What if I reported you?”
“I’m a good judge of character. You wouldn’t do that, right?”
It was a little startling, but not a bad offer. For me, understanding the subculture of a world without games was actually necessary.
After burning two hours at the arcade, we all grabbed gukbap for dinner. Kim Mu-sik ordered the dumpling version and devoured it so enthusiastically that I made a mental note to try it next time. Afterward, we moved to a dabang. People settled at tables and chatted with whoever sat nearby. The scene felt more like philosophers debating than a casual club meetup—everything from small talk about daily life to technical programming questions.
At my table, the questions somehow all drifted toward me. I couldn’t exactly blame them. Especially the technical ones. The answers flowed out of me so easily that people at the neighboring tables started leaning over to ask me too.
“Alright, everyone, before we disperse… we have some closing words from the organizer!”
“Woooooo!”
“So cool!”
What was going on? We’d literally just come out of a tea house, yet everyone was hyped like they’d been drinking.
“First! To all our new members who came out today—thank you for making the effort!”
Suddenly every eye in the room locked onto me, followed by a round of applause. Hey, there are other new people here too. Why is everyone staring at me?
“To our longtime regular members! To Mr. Yu-seop who helped organize the schedule! And to everyone who joined us today! Thank you from the bottom of my heart! Let’s all meet again next time in good health! Dismissed!”
“Woooooooo!!!!!”
There hadn’t been anything especially flashy, yet the meetup somehow felt strangely fulfilling. With that, it was over.
The college admission results came out. I’d gotten into KUST—one of the top engineering schools in the country. In my original world, it would’ve been the equivalent of getting into KAIST. I had officially been accepted into its Computer Engineering department. A dragon had risen from a ditch.
The parents who’d been inspired by my success were probably making their own kids’ lives hell right about now… but that wasn’t my problem, right?
I paid the tuition with the inheritance and insurance money sitting in my account—money from parents I’d never even met. It felt a little uncomfortable using funds I had no real connection to, but what could I do?
I also successfully got into the dormitory. It wasn’t that far from home, but after two years of commuting alone in my original world, I knew I’d lose my mind from loneliness if I stayed by myself for four more years. That was the real reason.
The vacation passed without much excitement. No computer meant no coding, no game development, and no PC communication. Some might ask why I didn’t just buy one, but since I’d have unlimited access to them at university in a year, I didn’t see the point.
Instead, I spent the break focusing on the bigger picture. Not just deciding what games to make, but drafting a roadmap for growing the entire game industry and trying to predict the obstacles I might face.
The most immediate priority was computer games, but after visiting the arcade during the meetup, I realized arcade games needed development too. After all, fighting games, shooters, and rhythm games all had their roots in arcades. Computers wouldn’t be powerful enough to run them smoothly for a long time. Besides, games like DDR or MaiMai used specialized hardware that was far better experienced in an actual arcade than jerry-rigged to a PC.
Most important of all was society’s relationship with games. After the Atari Shock, the public perception of gaming had been driven straight into the gutter. It was as bad as the otaku hate in my original world or the game suppression in Korea—maybe even worse. There had even been people in the club calling me a child of Satan.
I was completely bound by social perception. That was why every game I’d released so far had been completely stripped of violence or sensuality. If I suddenly dropped a game full of chainsaws and shotguns where you massacred demons without any buildup, I’d be socially crucified. Maybe even physically.
In my original world, I hadn’t exactly stayed quiet in the face of that suppression. I’d fought back hard. But all I’d earned for my trouble was intensified crackdowns and public ridicule, not any sense of achievement or relaxed regulations. Feeling that massive wall again, I experienced real fear for the first time since arriving in this world.
The hot-blooded ambition of fulfilling the dream I’d once given up had lasted only a moment. The wall felt even more enormous than before.
Still… it would work out somehow. The gods wouldn’t have sent me here if it was impossible. Maybe the invisible perks of being a reincarnator would take care of it. Yeah. Let’s go with that.
The boring vacation finally ended, and the entrance ceremony arrived. There wasn’t much to it, but course registration was literal hell.
We had to sign up using the computers in the school’s computer lab. The line stretched from the lab entrance, down the hallway, across the stairwell, and spilled outside the building. It was impossible to guess when I’d actually get my turn.
People tired of waiting started boiling ramen to fight the boredom, dancing in place, or playing card games with the new friends they’d already made. I felt a twinge of disappointment that they were using regular playing cards—if those had been Yu-Gi-Oh cards, I would’ve jumped right into a duel.
After an hour or two, the boredom really started to hit. Had my brain been so thoroughly pickled in dopamine that I couldn’t handle normal waiting anymore? The restlessness was unbearable.
“Huh? Foxie-nim?”
Someone called my old nickname. Why was that name popping up here of all places?
“Wow, fancy seeing you here! Are you a freshman too?”
A skinny guy with glasses. Not bad-looking, actually. It was the same person who had snatched my autograph first at the signing.
“…Ahaha. Uh, nice to meet you.”
Sorry, but I couldn’t remember his name. I thought I’d heard his nickname before, but that was gone too.
“Oh, did I not introduce myself last time?”
Whew. Lucky he interpreted my awkwardness in the best possible way.
“I’m Kim Jeong-jun. Is it okay if I speak casually?”
“Ah, yeah. That’s fine with me.”
“Whoa~ I never expected to run into you here of all places.”
Kim Jeong-jun’s eyes were sparkling. The same overwhelming respect I’d seen when he got my autograph seemed to radiate from his entire body.
“This line isn’t moving at all. At this rate we’ll still be here when the sun comes up.”
“It’s always like this during registration. The computer lab only has so many machines, and the turnover rate is terrible. Sometimes we really do stay until sunrise. It would be amazing if we could register from home computers.”
“This is brutal. Haah… I’m so bored…”
“It’d be perfect if we could play something like Tetris while waiting.”
Kim Jeong-jun gave me a playful wink. Ah, I missed smartphones so much it hurt.
By the time I finally finished my course registration, the sun had already climbed high above the mountain peaks.