Wang-ko and V-Live
Wang-ko was, without question, one of Pangea TV’s major-league streamers.
A former Sudden Attack pro gamer, he had debuted as a broadcaster during Overwatch’s heyday, riding a wave of popularity on the back of his blunt, freewheeling banter and raw FPS talent. For a while he hovered in the mid-tier, averaging three to four thousand concurrent viewers. Then the opportunity that would rewrite his entire career arrived.
A new game dropped that threatened the twin fortresses of StarCraft and League of Legends that had long divided Pangea TV: PlayerUnknown’s Battlegrounds.
For Wang-ko, PUBG’s arrival was a godsend. Overwatch’s star was already fading; the new title didn’t merely fill the gap—it exploded into a full-blown cultural phenomenon. With fresh content like kill races and random squads, Wang-ko rocketed into the ten-to-fifteen-thousand-viewer range and claimed one of the handful of true big-streamer seats on the platform.
But he knew better than anyone that climbing to the top was easier than staying there. So he built a ruthless cartel culture—an apparatus designed to crush any potential rival before they could bloom. Any streamer who looked like a threat on the PUBG scene was systematically frozen out. The strategy worked spectacularly. First-mover advantage plus political savvy let him stomp promising upstarts into submission. Those who fell in line were absorbed into the cartel; those who kept fighting were simply cast out. The heavy-handed tactics and constant political maneuvering earned him the nickname “Dictator,” complete with jokes comparing him to the Supreme Leader of North Korea. Still, the method kept his major-streamer status intact.
But lately… something feels off.
Wang-ko’s instincts—the same “gut” that had never failed him even during the StarCraft boom—were screaming. Crisis was approaching. Half a lifetime spent living and breathing FPS games had sharpened that sixth sense to a razor edge. It had pulled him back from the brink more than once and kept him on the winning path. Now that same gut was flashing red.
Yeah, the PUBG scene’s gotten way too stagnant. No new blood, just a graveyard of veterans, and now the cheats are running wild on top of it.
That was the classic FPS life cycle. The skill gap between veterans and newcomers was so brutal that smurfing and stomping became everyday occurrences. Add unchecked cheat programs the developers couldn’t catch, and rookies died before they even finished looting, lost interest, and quit. A game that stops attracting new players has a dark future. Wang-ko had already lived through that exact death spiral with Sudden Attack and Overwatch; he recognized the warning signs immediately.
If some new popular FPS dropped that could replace PUBG, the problem would solve itself overnight.
The problem was that no such game existed. Plenty of shooters had launched, but they either flopped or only found traction overseas. Nothing that could catch fire in Korea. So Wang-ko’s worries only deepened.
Do I just keep grinding League for the time being?
That was the question circling his mind when a brand-new category suddenly appeared on Pangea TV: Virtual Streamers.
At first he paid it zero attention. Mid-tier streamer Ssa-yo had poured effort into some audition show; Wang-ko figured it would make a little noise and then fade. Instead the category refused to die after the audition ended. If anything, it ballooned once it linked up with Minecraft. Then the rumors got louder.
What? Kim Hak-do went all-in? The Minecraft category hit fifty thousand?
Fifty thousand was higher than PUBG’s usual numbers. Then came word that Rim-ani and Su-ppi had jumped in too.
This might actually be…
The final nail was the day Park Bong-sik toured Rena World and soloed over fifty thousand viewers. Watching that, Wang-ko made his decision: he was going to try Minecraft.
It’s not an FPS, but that doesn’t matter. Pangea TV is all about riding the wave.
Even a major streamer couldn’t fight the current. Years of experience had taught him that. And right now, Minecraft was the current.
“Hello, Rena-ttang. I’d like to join Rena World. I heard there’s some kind of residency application…”
“Oh? Wang-ko, hi! Application? Don’t even worry about that. There’s a special ‘Mount Tai’ track just for people like you.”
His entry into Rena World was arranged in a heartbeat. Wang-ko was a complete Minecraft novice, yet he felt neither worry nor the need to prepare. He already knew he had useful pieces waiting for him inside.
Su-ppi’s already there. And the other one… Oh-ha, right? Heat-Blooded Hyung connected us once and we played a few games together.
Both had solid footholds in Rena World. Oh-ha was a full-fledged company president; Su-ppi didn’t have a company but ran an adventure club that apparently carried real weight. He’d also heard both of them were rocking endgame gear. Still, their roots were pure PUBG streamers—and that fact alone was enough to erase any remaining doubt. Wang-ko logged into Rena World without a second thought.
“You’ve arrived, Wang-ko hyung-nim!”
“Oppa, you’re here?”
Sure enough, the two of them were waiting at spawn.
“Yeah. Long time no see, Su-ppi. And you’re Oh-ha, right?”
“Yes, hyung-nim. I’m Oh-ha. We did that kill race together back then.”
“Right, right, I remember. You carried us and we won.”
“……Hyung-nim, I was on the other team.”
A beat of silence. Before the chat could explode with every possible reaction, Wang-ko scrambled to recover.
“Joke, joke. Don’t take a bit so seriously.”
“Wow! As expected of hyung-nim. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t even react for a second.”
“……Am I a mic right now?”
“Misunderstanding, hyung-nim. This Oh-ha is filled with nothing but loyalty toward you.”
He’d heard she was a small-time streamer, yet the banter clicked better than expected. Satisfied, Wang-ko briefly considered his options and chose Oh-ha over Su-ppi as his tour guide. A male streamer he could freely boss around felt more comfortable for this kind of thing. Plus the viewers wanted a fresh pairing—he and Su-ppi had already been seen together way too many times.
“Then I’ll start by showing you Oh Ha Company!”
Wang-ko might have been a Minecraft beginner, but he still had enough drive to watch a few YouTube videos beforehand. That preparation let him properly appreciate the buildings Oh Ha Company had raised.
“What is this? Are you all architects? These look great.”
“Hyung-nim, look this way—there’s more. Some are still under construction.”
Oh-ha laid out her grand vision: keep expanding the builds until they formed a true megacity, ultimately larger than Seoul itself, all centered on the Pokémon Center.
“Hello, I’m Ka-ang.”
“I’m Rin-ka.”
He exchanged greetings with the virtual streamers under Oh Ha Company, then the tour of Rena World began in earnest—checking out other companies’ architecture and putting faces to the major streamers.
“Hello. I’m Elsa, construction manager of Lethal Company.”
“Lethal Company… this is Hak-do’s place, right? You’re building something insane here too.”
“Haha! We’re supplying almost all the materials for this.”
Do-zney Castle’s completion rate was climbing steadily. The outer walls were nearly finished; interior work was next. That progress had required one more loan from V-Live Company, pushing Lethal Company’s total debt to forty million Rena. What would become of Lethal Company’s future?!
“Next is Partner Company.”
“Nyang-ah! I heard you’re having a blast here.”
“What, Wang-ko oppa showed up too? Is everyone doing Minecraft now?”
After touring the Hanok Village at Partner Company, they moved on to Tofu Company, where they found Rim-ani constructing a “Snow Globe.”
“Ugh, what. That oppa came all the way here? Go shoot some guns instead of showing up.”
“You little brat, you wanna die? If you’re happy to see me, just say so. Acting cold doesn’t make you cute at all.”
Rim-ani and Wang-ko had a long, tangled history—especially the heated clashes during MCK. The tour continued after that. They passed through the now-leaderless and largely defunct Bad Potato Company, swung by the Rena government offices, and finally approached the last company on the list.
“Hyung-nim, this one’s a bit of a walk.”
“It’s fine. Looking at the scenery while we walk is nice too.”
That was the honest truth. Think about the games he’d played for years: all day long shooting guns, throwing grenades, leaping up at the sound of footsteps. And now this peaceful atmosphere, this pure healing vibe. People said men got obsessed with camping once they hit a certain age. Wang-ko was feeling something very similar.
Minecraft… I like it more than I expected.
He’d come because it was the trend, but liking the game on top of that was even better. In high spirits, he even started humming as he followed Oh-ha. At last they arrived at V-City.
“This is the company founded mainly by the virtual crew V-Live. Both the first and second Purge Day winners are part of it…”
While listening to Oh-ha’s explanation, Wang-ko took in the view of V-City. Unlike the other companies that prioritized massive landmark builds, this place actually felt like a clean, proper town. Modern houses sparkling with quartz. Even though it sat far from Seoul, it somehow evoked the exclusive vibes of Pyeongchang-dong or Hannam-dong.
“But I don’t see anyone around.”
“Hmm, let me check the map… Ah! They’re all underground. This way, please.”
After a bit of searching, Oh-ha led him in a particular direction, entered a building, and guided him to a ladder discreetly installed in a corner of the wall.
“What is this, some kind of secret passage? It’s so dark I can’t see a thing.”
“Just a little farther down, hyung-nim.”
She was right. Bright light soon appeared below. Wang-ko climbed down vigorously and finally touched solid ground. He looked around at once.
“Whoa! What is this?”
The space was a cavern of unimaginable scale—like the secret underground base of some clandestine organization. Strange red-glossed plants and every kind of crop were growing there. But before any of that registered, Wang-ko caught a suspicious “smell.” The same thick, heavy air he only ever felt while playing PUBG. Just what was this place…
“Hah!”
In that instant he spotted them: laborers racing across the endless fields, harvesting crops. From a towering watchtower-like structure in the center, someone was shouting down at the workers.
“Ran-chu-nim? You just walked past a tomato that fell right next to you. Huh? Ichi-rin-nim, are you going to plant those beets without matching the spacing? Wow. Ju-2-nim, impressive. You’re not seriously going to work like that and still collect full hourly pay, are you?”
“I’m sorry!”
“I’ll do better!”
The startled laborers moved even faster. Wang-ko, staring blankly at the scene, couldn’t help shouting.
“Wh-what the hell is this? Is this hell?!”
Wasn’t Minecraft supposed to be a healing game? As confusion washed over him, Oh-ha approached with a polite cough.
“This is V-Live Company. The special feature of this company is… well, exactly what you’re looking at.”
“…….”
Wang-ko’s eyes began to tremble.