Cider Over Sweet Potatoes

With a heavy, mechanical *clunk*, the elevator doors slid open. A man and a woman stepped out, looking around to scan their surroundings as they walked.

"PD-nim, did you really manage to cast him?"

"Are you accusing me of bluffing?"

"No, it's not that... It's just so unrealistic."

"True enough."

Hot Potato. Just a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠few months ago, his name was only known to those deeply entrenched in online communities. But now, with his identity splashed across headlines following the acquisition of Leonplay, the name Hot Potato had literally become a hot potato.

As the resurgence of Epic of Seven—which he spearheaded—proved to be a massive success, the public's interest in him, already blazing, grew even hotter. And above all else...

"He's the complete package. Wealth, looks, talent—he has it all."

"Plus, he's the precious, golden young master of Taewung Group."

"Who would've guessed he was a third-generation chaebol heir before the Leonplay public disclosure went live?"

The Report on Bulk Holding of Securities. Commonly known as the '5% rule disclosure requirement.' It is a system that mandates any individual or corporation acquiring 5% or more of a listed company's total outstanding shares to transparently disclose their personal or corporate information. Having acquired a 61% stake, Hot Potato was naturally subject to this 5% rule.

"It was absolute chaos when his identity was first revealed."

"I've never seen our website crash before from a flood of casting request posts."

"Of course. There are few countries in the world as obsessed with chaebols as ours."

Kang Haeyeon, the chief producer of Na Honza Sanya, and camera director Kim Woohyun. They were heading to their meeting spot for an upcoming pre-interview with Kim Sung-woo. Their destination was Cafe Athena, an exclusive private cafe in Cheongdam-dong. It was the meeting place Sung-woo had personally suggested.

After stepping out of the elevator and walking down the hallway for a while, a lavishly decorated entrance with a sign reading 'Athena' caught their eyes. Guided by a staff member, they entered a private room styled like a seminar room, where a familiar face welcomed them.

"You must have had a hard time getting here. I'm Kim Sung-woo."

"Haha, not at all! We're the ones who should be grateful that you carved out some time for us in your busy schedule. I'm Kim Woohyun."

Woohyun bowed deeply, grabbing Sung-woo's outstretched hand and shaking it vigorously. Haeyeon let out a quiet chuckle at Woohyun's clumsy, visibly nervous display.

"Hello, I'm Kang Haeyeon, the chief producer of *Na Honza Sanya*. Thank you so much for agreeing to be on the show."

"Don't mention it. Thank you for the wonderful offer."

With a polite, practiced customer-service smile, I exchanged greetings with them as we sat down.

Oh, they're not playing around.

The camera director began setting up cameras in every corner of the room. They had mentioned that today would just be a simple pre-interview, so they wouldn't be bringing a full production crew. Since they told me to dress comfortably, I had shown up without much preparation either.

The reason I had recommended this private cafe, of all places, was simple: I owned the entire building.

"We're ready to shoot!"

To think my face would soon be broadcast on a major network variety show. The weight of this pressure was on a completely different level compared to when I did the joint stream with Su-hyun.

The image I establish here is crucial.

No matter who you met, wasn't the first impression always the most important? And the version of me shown through this broadcast would be my first impression on the general public.

How should I conduct this interview to avoid rubbing viewers the wrong way? I pondered it for a long time, but in the end, I decided the best approach was to just be myself and answer honestly.

"You can keep your eyes on this camera right here. I'll read the questions, but please make sure to look directly into the lens!"

Following her instructions, I fixed my gaze on the camera Woohyun was operating.

Whew, this is actually making me a bit nervous.

"Once I finish asking a question, please count to five in your head before answering! My questions will be replaced by captions in the actual broadcast, so we need to make sure our audio doesn't overlap."

"Understood."

"Alright, let's begin rolling! Could you please start with a brief self-introduction and tell us what made you decide to appear on *Na Honza Sanya*?"

She announced the start of the shoot in a gentle, melodic voice. Following the instructions, I counted to five in my head before opening my mouth.

"Hello, my name is Kim Sung-woo, and I've been living alone for six years."

Don't be nervous. Just do it exactly as planned...!

"The reason I decided to appear on the show is to promote the game developed by the company where I serve as CEO."

*Pfft!*

Sitting in the corner next to the camera, Haeyeon spat her coffee all over the floor.

What? Was there a problem?

"Wait, hold on! You appeared on the show to do *what*?"

"Me? To promote my game."

"..."

What's her deal? I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stared back at her as if asking what was wrong.

"Cough... Ahem! Moving on to the next question! Have you ever watched *Na Honza Sanya* in the past and thought to yourself that you'd like to appear on it one day?"

"Ah, can I be completely honest?"

She glared at me with wide eyes, as if asking why I was even posing such an obvious question. Did I do something wrong? Well, she wanted honesty, right?

"To be frank, I had never watched *Na Honza Sanya* before I received the casting offer. So no, I've never really thought about wanting to be on it."

Her hands began to tremble violently. It looked like she had a sudden onset of hand tremors.

"Ah... haha...? I see... Well, you mentioned earlier that you've lived alone for six years. May I ask how old you are?"

"I'm twenty-five."

"So, Sung-woo, you've been living on your own since you were nineteen?"

"That's correct."

"Living alone at such a young age must have come with many inconveniences. If you had to pick the single hardest experience of living by yourself, what would it be?"

The hardest experience of living alone, huh?

I had countless such memories, but the problem was that all of them occurred before my lies became reality. Honestly, I couldn't think of a single difficult thing about living alone right now. If I had to squeeze out some sort of struggle...

"Living alone is so comfortable that I think I've gotten incredibly lazy. Dealing with that laziness is probably the hardest part."

"Ah... ahaha..."

"...?"

I looked at her, bewildered by her awkward, hollow laugh. Was my answer funny?

Regardless of my confusion, she clutched her forehead and let out a low groan as if she had a massive headache. Beside her, the camera director was pinching his own thigh, desperately trying to hold back his laughter.

The pre-interview was off to a rocky start from the very beginning.

Chief PD Kang Haeyeon and camera director Kim Woohyun, who trembled like anxious puppies every time I opened my mouth, were truly peculiar people. The pre-interview didn't take as long as I expected, and I answered every single question with absolute, unvarnished honesty. By the time the shoot wrapped up, both of them looked completely soul-crushed, but hey, that wasn't my problem.

Returning home, I leaned back on my sofa as usual and began monitoring Epic of Seven. The Epic of Seven Creative Contest was a roaring success, drawing in massive crowds, and the game itself was sailing smoothly under a wave of glowing reviews.

I wonder if Su-hyun is still streaming.

Curious, I logged onto Tweety and searched for 'Suming'.

PVP. Player vs. Player—a mode where two or more real players clash against each other. Epic of Seven actively promoted its PVP content, the 'Arena.' In fact, the planning team had frequently submitted proposals to officially turn the Arena into an esports league. It was indeed a well-crafted piece of content, far too good to let go to waste.

I burst out laughing at the sight of her roaring like a wild beast.

The Warrior was a class that typically followed a sword-and-shield build. While the raw damage of each individual skill was incredibly high, its short reach and poor hitboxes made it a character with a notoriously high difficulty curve.

However, if you managed to close the distance just once—just a single time—the story changed completely.

True to its concept of delivering heavy, devastating blows, almost all of the Warrior's signature skills possessed generous hitstun frames. On top of that, the Warrior's passive trait, *Indomitable Will*, allowed players to cancel and chain their signature skills together.

Once a Warrior successfully closed the gap, the victim would be subjected to a relentless barrage of cancel-chained skills and continuous hitstun, leaving them with no choice but to take their hands off the keyboard.

Watching the 'E-Ajumma' play Warrior was always a treat.

[“...”]

But no matter how well she played, Warrior was still garbage in PVP. While it was a top-tier, broken class in PVE, it transformed into a slow, useless piece of trash the moment it stepped into the Arena.

By the way, why was she so quiet? Usually, this kind of silence meant...

*Dun-dun-dun—*

The standard in-game background music faded away, replaced by an epic, orchestral ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠theme that sounded like she was about to hunt a dragon.

Just as I thought. 'E-Ajumma'—short for Epic of Seven Ajumma—was one of Suming's ultimate trigger words.

Once you got chat-banned like that, there was only one way to get unbanned.

A chuckle escaped my lips. This kind of banter with the viewers was definitely the highlight of her stream.

But wait... I really didn't like that guy's username.

What? *SweetPotatoOverPotato*?

If he was a frustrating sweet potato, then I was a refreshing glass of cider.