Seo-a Hides Her SSS-Rank Mending Gear

"Seo-a, listen to this. I am genuinely speechless. How does someone this basic even exist?"

"She really has no manners. Honestly."

I was rubbing my tired eyes and answering Rena-ttang's Discord call first thing in the morning.

I pulled my face away from the phone for a second, yawned, and checked the time. It had just ticked past 7:30 a.m.

On a normal day I would already have been up, but clearly the off-stream Ender farming had been too brutal lately. With my sleep cut short, the damage was spilling all the way into the morning.

"Seo-a, are you listening?"

"Yes, I'm listening."

Rena-ttang, on the other hand, sounded full of energy. After getting dragged through the mud over the Rena Universe mess and the company conflict, her self-esteem had hit rock bottom—but taking on the role of server admin had put her back in the spotlight and started restoring public goodwill. Of course she was in a good mood.

This morning, though, she seemed a little on edge.

From what she was telling me, ever since Decrescendo announced they were joining the Poko Server yesterday, a few small-time streamers had started acting restless. As the saying went, when the mullet jumps, the mudfish jumps too. Once the biggest name in the scene made a move, the small fry started wondering if any scraps might fall their way and suddenly got interested in the Poko Server.

"But you know this already. I made participation completely voluntary."

"Right. Being too controlling wouldn't look good."

Rena World had been billed as a free server from the start. Joining didn't mean you had to play Rena World exclusively. From day one, she'd said it was fine to treat it as secondary or tertiary content—something light to mess around with before signing off, while focusing on other things as your main. It had been an unavoidable choice. Nobody knew how successful the server would even be; forcing participants to make Rena World their primary content would have been absurd. No one would have applied ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to move in.

So she'd gone with the free-server approach. And now that very approach had her by the ankle. Two Decrescendo members were leading the charge, and small-time streamers were showing signs of peeling off—not for some other kind of content, but for the Poko Server, another Minecraft-focused project just like Rena World.

From Rena-ttang's perspective, of course her blood was boiling.

Honestly, it is a little much. If it were some other kind of content, fine—but the Poko Server is already locked into a direct rivalry with us.

Even I was on Rena-ttang's side this time. Basic professional courtesy said that even if you switched jobs, you didn't jump straight to a competitor. Rena-ttang already couldn't stand Ori-koong, the Poko Server's admin, and stacking that on top of the current mess only made her more disgusted.

"Ugh, if it were up to me I'd really… haah."

Irritation dripped from every word, but she couldn't touch Decrescendo, the ones who'd started it. Their weight on the Rena Server was too big, and their clout was real—push too hard and the backlash would hit her instead. She'd declared it a free server to begin with, so in principle she had no grounds to complain. And if she cracked down on the annoying little mudfish? People would immediately compare it to how she handled Decrescendo and accuse her of treating people differently based on status.

In the end, Rena-ttang couldn't do a thing. …Which was why she was venting to me at the crack of dawn. I'd taken a few of these calls, and now she seemed to think I was her personal counselor.

Still, what choice did I have? Right now I needed the power she held as server admin, so I had to keep her soothed. Better to be a little tired than to get on her bad side and earn her resentment.

There was already a small-time streamer who joined the Poko Server and got retaliated against. Officially they were kicked for some other reason, but everyone had a pretty good idea why.

A classic case of getting punished for being small fry. It could have blown up into a controversy, but at the time big corporate streamers were pouring into Rena World one after another, and public sentiment toward admin Rena-ttang was at its peak. In a community where mask-wearing was the name of the game, a nobody's sob story got casually trampled and ignored the moment the crowd turned against them.

The streaming world was pure wilderness—cold and merciless. And today, once again, I answered in a soft voice to survive right in the middle of it.

"I understand how you feel, Rena-ttang. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Really. They're just awful people."

An adult's business, conducted with a blank face.

The sudden spotlight on the Poko Server. Not my problem. That server was doomed no matter who joined. The issue had never been the participants—it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the admin running the place. So I tuned it out and focused on my own work.

Tong-dari-chicken had sent over his picks for the VRC maps we'd use as backgrounds for the Christmas carol video. True to his reputation as a VRC specialist, the maps he'd shortlisted after a quick joint tour were stunning. I piled on the praise, then called in Otte for a short meeting.

Otte was a well-known name—the person who'd handled filming and editing for the videos used in the Wooga-dol audition's third-round concert. He'd worked on content for major Rabbit TV streamer Woowakgood and actively collaborated with virtual corporate crews; a real expert in the field. So I'd commissioned him early this time too. Better the devil you know—someone you'd already synced up with once would only do better. Christmas was peak season in our industry, which made locking down talented creators early essential.

"We'll need to actually shoot it, of course, but if possible I'd love to use this outfit on the map we looked at earlier. And for this part, what if we have the two of them split apart and Mayo suddenly pops up in the middle—something like that for the composition?"

Experts really were different. Just looking at the locations, scenes were already playing out in his head; he rattled off ideas in an excited rush and then looked at us with eyes full of anticipation. Well, that kind of enthusiasm was a good thing.

"We need at least a first draft by the 20th at the latest. Lock in a firm schedule. We've only got ten days left."

"Hmm, got it. I'll talk to the crew today, check everyone's schedules, and set the timeline."

"Great, I'll wait for your message."

I sent the two of them off, wolfed down a quick meal, fired up the stream, and logged into Rena World.

I ignored the sudden building-critique protest and focused on the chat talking about my current specs.

That's right. I was hiding my power right now. If this were a web novel, the chapter title would be something like Seo-a Hides Her SSS-Rank Mending Gear.

I was doing the Ender farming off-stream, quietly and carefully. If my specs suddenly skyrocketed overnight out of nowhere, it would raise all kinds of suspicions. So I was upgrading little by little, at a pace viewers could accept as reasonable.

Of course, even that "reasonable" level still made me the undisputed number one on the server. After putting in this much work, it'd be a crime if I weren't.

I'd outfitted Mayo with gear almost on par with mine. Meanwhile, to dodge suspicion, Miho and Lucy were walking around in plain diamond gear with zero enchantments. It was an act—making viewers believe the two of them had sacrificed their own gear and enchantments to push ours, enabling this kind of growth. In reality, their main jobs were fishing, building, and setting up farm plots, so they didn't need good gear in the first place. Quality equipment was for me and Mayo, the ones doing the mining and adventuring.

Especially once we had full diamond armor sets, mining stability improved dramatically. Falling into lava didn't mean instant death anymore—the damage scaled with your armor rating. In diamond armor, you wouldn't die on the spot, which meant you could either climb out yourself or, in a real emergency, force-quit and live to fight another day. Force-quit to avoid the instant death, then call someone for help.

For Mayo and me, that someone was each other. The rescue method was simple. First, cut the VOD to find the coordinates of the force-quit spot and pass them to the other person. All you needed for the rescue was several buckets of water. Arrive at the coordinates, dump water to harden the lava into obsidian. Mine out that obsidian, then lay blocks around the area before more lava flowed in, gradually expanding a safe zone. Roughly a 3x3 block area centered on the force-quit coordinates—there could be a slight coordinate error, after all. If you logged back in and got stuck inside a block, you'd take damage and might die anyway. Finally, lay water across the floor. The moment you reconnected, the lava fire stuck to your body would go out, and you'd make it back safely.

That was the method for saving someone who'd fallen into lava. Mayo and I would mine diamonds and, in between, take on these little rescue side gigs. Finding customers was easy. Rena World was packed with Minecraft newbies. And even veterans could slip up and fall in for a split second. So rescue requests came in several times a day.

When they did, I'd kindly hop into that streamer's broadcast and type in chat.

The victim would make a face and complain about the highway robbery, but in the end they always paid up. Even a rip-off beat watching enchanted gear melt into lava.

And so our crew's little business thrived—with a clear conscience.