Dawn Training and Unexpected Revelation
The early-morning training session left Tarte with a clear sense of satisfaction. She had pushed herself harder than ever in the dead of night, and the results were there for everyone to see.
Blade Mastery (Rank: F)
When attacking with a bladed weapon, physical attack power and critical strike rate increase.
She shared the joyful news with the party members without hesitation.
“I practiced so diligently that Blade Mastery appeared. From now on, we’ll be able to fight even better. A priestess turning into a warrior… it actually doesn’t sound so strange.”
She turned to the mage with a satisfied nod.
“I got Magic Mastery too. The success rate and accuracy of spells go up, and the mana cost drops.”
Ninejibdaepokpal was already steadily climbing the ranks of a proper mage, but one person among them had received absolutely nothing.
Hyeolpung Geomseong.
Blood Wind Sword Saint. The frontline warrior who had swung his longsword with every ounce of righteousness he possessed. Yet not a single skill had manifested for him.
Tarte paused, frowning slightly as she considered the possibility.
Was there even such a thing as talent in skills?
If someone simply became skilled with the blade through hard work and a skill appeared as a result, what would the difference be? Two people putting in the exact same amount of training time—one would gain the skill, the other would not. That alone explained everything.
A weak word of encouragement would only wound him further, so Tarte chose silence.
“Muraebae-nim, where did you disappear to?”
As the sky shifted from night to dawn and the village chickens began to crow, Muraebae returned to the inn.
“I cleaned out the village. Gold, gear, potions, skill books—everything. I gained quite a few skills and bonus stats from it.”
“Lockpicking, thievery, pickpocketing, stealth.”
Muraebae had slipped into the darkness of the night and acquired no fewer than four new skills.
Among all the members who had trained through the night, his achievement was the clearest and most impressive.
He actually looked slightly pleased with himself—a rare sight.
To Tarte, it looked exactly like a large, well-fed dog who had stolen a bone, wagging its tail and waiting for a pat on the head.
“If we keep stealing from the village where we’re staying, won’t we end up on a wanted list? What if the quest gets ruined?”
She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, but the volume still carried enough warning to make Muraebae flinch.
“It’s fine. I’m just a thief stealing goods. What’s the problem?”
Muraebae’s optimism was grounded in actual logic.
In most games, sneaking into someone else’s house and taking their loot was treated as harmless. Only in a handful of titles with heavy player interaction did pickpocketing ever trigger real consequences.
The issue was that the world they were in—the Tower—was precisely one of those high-interaction games.
In Tarte’s opinion, the risk was simply too high.
“From now on, under no circumstances are you to show the stolen items to anyone in the village.”
Even though he had performed his role flawlessly, Muraebae’s shoulders slumped the moment the party leader offered even mild disapproval.
“We’re skipping breakfast. Right now, let’s head to the trial for obtaining the holy relic.”
Leaving the village in the middle of the night was clearly suspicious behavior. But Tarte had already weighed the alternative—getting searched by guards—and decided that departing earlier was safer.
She had seen the same careful strategy in countless other isekai stories and decided it was the correct choice.
The inn’s privacy mode had just turned off when they stepped outside, and the livestream broadcast flared back to life with its usual chaotic energy.
Viewers across the globe were screaming with delight at the sight of the beautiful priestess known as Strawberry Cream Cheese Tarte.
Tarte’s lips tightened as she read the chat scrolling rapidly in front of her.
The nickname “Strawberry” still sounded far too cute for her taste. She had never once considered that her in-game name might actually be a literal strawberry.
That was exactly why she had insisted the party call her “Tarte” instead of the embarrassing nickname.
“Please call me Tarte. In Korean, the name at the end usually carries the true essence of the word.”
“For example, in pineapple pizza, the important part is pizza itself.”
“No, the real crime is the idea of putting pineapple on pizza in the first place!”
Whatever the case, after her firm correction, the party had officially settled on “Tarte” as her title.
“I didn’t force him,” she replied calmly. “He chose it himself. Don’t overthink it. It’s just a game. We’re NPCs. This isn’t reality.”
Tarte drew a clear line between real-world crime and the virtual world they were now living in, while the other two members of the party stared at her in stunned silence.
Standing right beside her was the man who had just revealed his true identity.
“For the time being, I entrust Pixelpia’s full operations to Vice President Hyeonjin. Vice President Hyeonjin, when you see this broadcast, please create a Starfall bulletin board inside the company. It can be used to discuss the Tower and the game freely.”
Whether they liked it or not, this was a major crisis for the company. Yet the fact that the CEO was simultaneously broadcasting to the entire world was the perfect opportunity.
No billboard in existence was worth billions of won. Dojun had seized the moment.
His voice carried the calm authority of a man who had already calculated every possible outcome.
Tarte’s mind was still racing from the revelation.
“Hyeolpung Geomseong… the CEO of Pixelpia?”
She had known he was wealthy and busy, of course. But she had never imagined he was the actual president of the company she used every single day.
Because of the endless convenience features he had personally added to Starfall for all players.
“He kept this a secret the entire time?”
They weren’t close friends, but they had known each other long enough for it to feel strange.
Yet now she realized there had never really been an opportunity to bring it up. The party had been too focused on survival, and the topic of “hey, you’re actually a company president” had simply never come up.
Understanding and surprise were two completely different things.
“Did I ever insult Pixelpia in front of the CEO?”
Most customers complained about companies far more often than they praised them. Tarte slowly reviewed every interaction in her memory.
“I didn’t know,” she answered quickly. “That’s all.”
She had no intention of revealing how little they actually knew each other. It wasn’t necessary.
“I wonder if Ninejibdaepokpal is actually that impressive too?”
Compared to the busy businessman in front of her, the mage’s lifestyle looked almost identical to Tarte’s own—late nights, sudden offline mode, and no fixed schedule.
Even when Tarte had been pretending to be a college student, she had stayed online and played games during Daepokpal’s active hours. If anyone checked the friend list, they would see “online” and immediately suspect the lie.
But she had never done it with any real intention of deceiving anyone. She simply found the idea of admitting “I just play games all day and somehow survive” embarrassing.
She wasn’t a professional streamer. She wasn’t a pro gamer. Yet here she was, living off nothing but games.
It felt ridiculous. And just a little pathetic.