24. The Low-Level Full Set

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I was feeling thoroughly pleased with myself.

"Alright, everyone. So tell me—who was right? I told you the holy water could wait, didn't I?"

Preparations were genuinely almost finished. All that remained was the gear—and I didn't even need to go looking for a weapon.

"They say the items are ready. I should tell them to leave the weapon out."

Before long, the users Lim Sarang had called began arriving one after another, each of them carrying equipment.

"I asked every one of them personally to sell, so the prices might sit a little above market."

"That's fine."

"And if it's uncomfortable for the people watching, I hope you'll understand."

"They're all saying it's fine, though?"

The prices landed roughly where Lim Sarang had first quoted them.

"Thank you."

"Oh, please, not at all. I ought to stay on your good side—you never know when I'll need a favor myself. I'll enjoy the stream."

"Thank you."

"Good luck! What an honor. To think I'd see the day my item made it onto a broadcast."

Four items in all.

With the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠item level so low, the options themselves weren't especially impressive. But it was five-star. And that was precisely why people hunted for five-star gear among everything else.

"Whoa."

I was startled by the options myself. I'd already thought the stats hanging off the Slime Hat alone were excellent, but the two options pinned to the stars showed effects that actually deserved to be called special.

"These start showing up from four-star?"

"Yes. That's why four-star items and above are expensive no matter the level."

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nodded. Haven Online had a reputation as a pay-to-win disaster, but the phrase didn't have to be taken as pure condemnation. For the players opening their wallets it was a system that set their teeth on edge, yet from the company's side it also meant they'd built the game well enough to earn it. Games that shoved monetization down your throat in the ugliest way heard the same curses and still couldn't hold their users. Haven Online was different. People spat pay-to-win garbage while cracking their savings, dumping whole paychecks into it—there were even those who sold their houses just to buy a house inside Haven Online.

Addiction. And a nudge so carefully tuned it never had to force you. It only had to leave you thinking, on your own, that you ought to spend. You could be stronger than the person next to you. If you just spent a little more. It had been that way ever since the class gacha.

"They really thought this through."

The expected cost of a three-star wasn't that heavy a burden for someone who'd been playing games their whole life—a month or two of an office worker's salary. A burden if you insisted on calling it one, sure, but the return dwarfed anything a one-star or two-star offered. And once you remembered this was an account you'd be carrying for life—right, just think of it as the price of the account—you could bring yourself to pull the trigger.

From there, the whale-tier users were handed four-star as their next choice. An awkward expected cost. A billion won: get lucky and it might come early, get unlucky and you could sink far more than that. A borderline. But you could see, plain as day, that it was decisively stronger than three-star. And plenty of people simply hated the idea of raising a character on the same level as ordinary players. They'd drawn that line carefully, without yanking it absurdly high. Well made, I thought. And thinking it through left me with a question.

"Wait. Then why doesn't my staff have any special options?"

"That one's one-star, though?"

"What?"

"Earlier, when you picked it up. After it bound to you, it changed to one-star."

"You're kidding."

What is she talking about now? I pulled the staff up at once.

"Unbelievable."

"Ah."

Seemed I was the only one who'd missed it. Still, set beside a five-star item, the base options were far superior, so I had no real complaint. And since the staff came with a growth quest of its own, I suddenly had something to do. Not bad at all.

"Right. Let me check the rest, then."

Four items in total. I wasn't covered in every slot, but I was satisfied.

"Wow. I could just keep wearing these straight through, couldn't I, Sarang?"

"Yes. Low-level gear you can wear all the way to about forty. Of course, picking up equivalent five-star pieces every ten levels would raise your specs a little, but the cost..."

"Unless the difference is huge, I'll keep using these. You went to all that trouble to get them for me."

I equipped them on the spot. They were all different pieces, so the look wasn't exactly pretty, but the feel of wearing them was deeply satisfying. Haven Online was virtual reality, which meant you actually felt things—cold, heat, the turn of the seasons—so armor was one of the genuinely important factors. No discomfort when I moved was a pass from the very start.

"Oh. The Slime Hat. I can't even tell I'm wearing anything. It's incredibly soft."

I broke into a run, then threw a punch.

"Fwish. Fwish."

"Fwish. Fwish."

At last—truly, truly, truly—every last preparation was complete.

My stats had climbed enormously.

No wonder my body felt light.

I took up the staff.

"Shame, though. A mage ought to wear a robe. Like you, Sarang."

"Want me to lend you mine?"

"...If you take it off, there's nothing underneath, is there?"

"Pfft."

I hadn't exactly said it for Lim Sarang to hear. Call it a private little fantasy. In the thin slice of knowledge I possessed, a proper mage—the canonical image—was someone just like her: staff in hand, robe on her shoulders. She'd asked, and I'd turned her down. On the stream it probably just looked like a loose robe, but from where I stood right beside her, bare skin flashed into view beneath it now and then. Surely she wouldn't be wearing the robe with nothing under it. Then again, you never know.

"I am not, okay? I'm disappointed. Looking at me like I'm some kind of pervert..."

"Ah."

Face gone red, Lim Sarang rushed to defend herself and flung the front of the robe wide open.

She wasn't actually wearing nothing underneath—a white tee and hot pants clung to her figure. An odd, unbalanced outfit, maybe, but because it was Lim Sarang, it suited her.

"Thank you."

The words slipped out before I even realized I'd said them.

"What is wrong with you. Seriously."

Lim Sarang let it pass with a snort of laughter.

"Thank you so much for all your help today."

"Don't mention it. I came because I wanted to."

Now it was time to part ways. Taking Lim Sarang all the way into a dungeon with me felt, the more I thought about it, like overdoing it. She'd come to help me set my gear. If we went in together, it wouldn't land the same.

"I ought to repay you somehow..."

"Oh, stop, really. I'm rich too, you know! Not like you, but still."

"No. That won't do. I'm not someone who doesn't know his manners."

"No, really, it's fi—"

"Let me buy you a meal."

"...Pardon?"

"Accept my friend request."

While she stood there flustered, I fired the request off at once.

I ground my teeth, ignored the raging chat, and waved at Lim Sarang once she'd accepted.

"See you next time, then!"

Embarrassment had me ready to bolt when—

"W-wait, Siwoo!"

"Yes?"

"Could I... take just one photo?"

"..."

I made the best choice available.

"Where should we take it?"