When You Think It's the Peak, It's the Floor

Anyway, I was done with Lim Sarang for the day.

"Sarang."

"Yes?"

"You should get going too."

"...Going where?"

"The three-star SS special option."

"Oh!"

"For this one, could you turn your stream on and show it only to me?"

"Of course."

"No—everyone. Sarang doesn't stream. She's a regular person. I'm the one sponsoring this roll, so I'm the one who has to see it."

"She's on hiatus."

"Enjoy."

The only times Lim Sarang turned a broadcast on were when we were doing something together and I actually needed her screen along with mine. Anything past that might be a real burden. She'd already stepped away from the entertainment industry for a while just to play like a normal person, and even appearing on my stream today had taken a lot of nerve. I wasn't about to tell her to go live on top of that and sit there reading the viewers' chat as it happened. My own chat was filtered hard and flying past, and still, every glance caught plenty of messages posted for no reason except to get under your skin. On this, I didn't bend.

The viewers seemed to feel how set I was, and some of them took my side, but there were still people throwing a fit. For once, I let them see exactly how firm I could be.

"Don't want to watch? Then get out, you little shit."

Other streaming sites might run differently. Windy Streaming, though, treats mutual respect between the streamer and the audience as the whole point. Lean on anonymity to spit out things you can't take responsibility for, and they crack down hard. Watching and chatting both require real-name verification before you're allowed to do either. Get banned from a broadcast and you can't even peek by logging out—you lose every piece of content on every related streaming site. Videos about me, clips, notices, all of it. You see nothing. Other accounts won't log in unless they're under your own name either, so a ban might as well be forever.

Dozens of people were banned in a flash, and for a moment the chat went dead silent.

"For the record, everyone who just got banned won't be able to watch even if Sarang turns her stream on now and then."

Some people might call it autocratic. Heavy-handed. So what.

"All right, then... I'll give you about a billion won, so give it one roll."

"Eh...? No. Siwoo, I have money too. I'll roll with mine first. And if it hits, I think it's better if I bill you after."

"Ah. Should we do it that way?"

I didn't care how we did it, but she looked uncomfortable taking the money up front, so I let it go.

"Then I'll go roll the option while I watch your stream. I want to rest with a cup of coffee."

"Okay. Good work today. I had such a good time."

"...Me too. Hehe... I'll text you the password once I go live!"

I made my way toward the auction house, taking my time.

A level-one badge, I'd heard, usually traded around 100,000 won apiece. That was Haven money too, so in real cash it came to about 40,000 won. Not what you'd call expensive. A level two, though—at 50 percent, needing two level ones—carried an expected cost of about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠400,000 Haven won, while the level twos that actually changed hands went for around 300,000. They dropped from field bosses level forty and up. Most players, by the free-to-play standard, just bought a level two off the auction house and used that. The middle tier, the ones who spent a little, bought three level twos and fused a level three. Odds were 30 percent. Not that expensive: about 900,000 a try, and at 30 percent the average came out around 2.7 million. The tier above that gathered four of those level threes—2.7 million in expected value each—and took a shot at 10 percent. One try cost 10.8 million, and at 10 percent that was a little over 100 million. Even by expected value alone, pulling a four-star ran you 100 million won, and you wore three badges.

Looked at that way, it almost seemed a little cheap for endgame users—old endgame, the ones running four-star unique-option SS. This was the same story as the class rolls. Would rich people really settle for four stars just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠because an expected billion won felt expensive? The tier above that climbed into a price you couldn't even guess at, so they settled because they had no choice. Badges were no different. Expected value, 100 million. You needed five, so 500 million. Run that at 3 percent and the expected value landed around 17 billion. That was the expected cost of pulling one level-five badge.

Next to classes, the odds were written out plainly and honestly pretty high, so it looked like something you could actually do. Then you tried it, and it wasn't. Expected value was only expected value. If it hit, wonderful. If it didn't, you could spend double or triple and still never see one. And you had to pull three. Just thinking about it was a death march.

Once the rumor spread that I was coming for badges, a rise in the price was a foregone conclusion. There was already a precedent. Only a few days ago I'd gone completely feral on the skill rolls and sprayed money everywhere, and if you didn't realize badges would turn out the same way, you had no business being in business. It wasn't only the merchants, either. Players who needed to pull badges would be buying in numbers too. When I'd bought into the skill rolls without any warning, the market more than doubled, and the people who got hurt were ordinary users.

Badges had jumped about 20 percent, and something like fourteen million of them were listed on the auction house.

"That's a ridiculous amount."

I ran the numbers. Needing 120 level-one badges for a single shot at level five only held if you assumed every fusion succeeded at 100 percent. A level three was 30 percent and needed three level twos, so the expected cost was roughly nine level twos. A level four was 10 percent and needed four level threes, which came out to about 360 level twos. A level five was 3 percent and needed five level fours, which landed near 60,000. Sixty thousand level twos for one attempt. In level ones, that swelled to 240,000. At 100,000 won apiece, that was 24 billion won.

"Not bad."

The problem was that another 20 percent on top pushed it to nearly 30 billion. I was almost impressed.

"There are fourteen million listings. How many would you even have to buy to push that up 20 percent?"

I had to decide. Wait, and refuse to buy until the badge market settled again? Or buy now, at a peak you could see from a mile off? The viewers told me to wait. I shook my head.

"Everyone. I promised, didn't I? If someone names a price above what a one-of-a-kind five-star item is worth, for no reason except that I'm the one buying, I won't purchase it. Normally I would—but I'm a streamer with the broadcast on."

"But this is a different story."

I hadn't been rich for long, but once the money showed up I started to understand why rich people say time is worth more than money.

"The price will fall. Sure. But what about the time I'd spend waiting? I finished the whole build just so I could equip these badges, and I killed the Slime King while putting out 89 percent of the damage. Am I supposed to sit here and do nothing until the badge price drops? Why do you think you're watching my stream?"

"Honestly, this rising price doesn't burden me at all. Why? Because it isn't like the skill rolls, where you just have to keep buying and buying until the thing finally ends. Make three badges, get them to level five, and that's it, right? Even if one of them runs you three hundred forty billion at the outside, we've already spent so much money that fussing over how much we gain or lose is ridiculous."

"I'll buy."

I walked into the bank with the words. Figured I'd be spending again today, so I slammed through an exchange of a hundred billion won. Somehow the units only seemed to be getting bigger.

"Thank you, VVIP!"

Under the bank president's lavish care, I headed for the auction house.

It went without saying that my goal was three level fives.

"I'd like to take this moment to say something."

I made a major announcement.

"Everyone who bought at a hundred thousand and is still holding—I acknowledge you. You've earned the right to make money."

I had no sour feeling toward people doing business on a spread like this. I knew it was trade that carried every loss and every risk. When to sell and take the profit, how long to sit on the stock ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠until it rotted—that was their choice. So I respected it.

"But those of you who listed just to skim twenty thousand won—you'll see a little profit, I'll give you that. But no!"

Amid the viewers gasping in admiration—

A thirty-second chat ban slipped onto FactsOnly in secret. Nobody else even noticed.