The Constellation's Game [Laika]
We ended up sprawled across that café booth for the better part of four or five hours, cackling like a pair of idiots.
The place was nearly empty to begin with, and we still felt self-conscious enough to order dessert twice more just to justify our continued existence there.
From the barista's point of view, I'm sure it looked absurd—two grown men with this much to say to each other. Not that I could've explained that ten years of empty space was what had turned us into this.
That said, it wasn't as if we spent the whole time on idle chatter, either.
Talk long enough with an old friend and the conversation inevitably circles around to how each of you actually makes a living(?).
And that was where the real surprises started.
"Hold on."
"What now."
"So what you're telling me is… you hit level 20 two weeks after you even started as a hunter?"
"Twenty-two, thank you. And if it hadn't been for that quest, I'd be at least five levels higher."
Jungmin, for his part, looked genuinely thrown when he heard about my recent situation.
In fact, he seemed far more stunned by this than he'd been by the whole story of being dragged off to another world for ten thousand years.
Two weeks of anecdotes alone had his pupils practically quivering.
"Wow. What the hell? You're not bullshitting me about that, right?"
Turns out my level was the problem. It was simply too high for the short span of two weeks.
He looked so completely unable to believe it that I pulled up the Bureau's hunter app and showed him the synced level data myself.
Granted, it didn't display the date of my very first login. But it did show the date of my official hunter registration, along with my level.
"Wow. Okay, that's… almost legit."
"What do you mean, 'almost legit'?"
"You were level 9 two weeks ago. So really we should call it three weeks."
"……"
Technically I'd hit level 9 on day one, meaning it had actually only taken me a week to reach 20—but there was no point saying that when he'd just refuse to believe it, so I let it go.
Anyway, once Jungmin had verified my hunter registration, his eyes suddenly went bright and glittery, and he leaned in.
"Hey. Two weeks, three weeks, whatever… this kind of pace? Your talent is actually insane, dude."
"Sure, whatever you say."
"Look at you, learning how to flex while I wasn't watching."
"What's that supposed to—"
"Most people take a hundred days just to crawl to level 20, and you did it in two weeks, and you're calling yourself untalented? That's not humility, you bastard. That's flexing."
That remark made me flinch for a second.
Was it because the fairy had gaslit me for so long?
Even at this very moment, I genuinely didn't think of my talent as anything special. But listening to Jungmin, it dawned on me that my standard had always been the 'hero' benchmark—and by the standards of ordinary hunters, this might actually be respectable talent.
"So anyway, so what. Does it actually change anything?"
At my pushback, Jungmin put on a meaningful expression and continued.
"Of course it changes something."
"Hm?"
Then his face grew a shade more scheming still.
"Hey, you… ever think about going on a variety show?"
What kind of lunatic nonsense was this now…
"I thought you said I need to make money."
"I did, and that's exactly—"
"……"
He worked as a PD in the entertainment division of a broadcasting station, apparently. Would a station like that actually have any use for a newbie hunter like me?
Jungmin's expression was unusually serious—unlike him. Maybe, knowing my financial situation, he was genuinely trying to help…
Hmm.
But if that was the case, I'd almost certainly never appear on a variety show.
Spending that time hustling inside a gate would earn me more, nine times out of ten.
It's not like I was some celebrity. Best case, a variety appearance would net me two or three hundred thousand won. If that.
But hearing my reasoning, CEO Jung opened his mouth again with a look of pure exasperation.
"Hey, Lee Gunyul."
"……?"
"Do you have any idea what the base appearance fee is for a hunter variety show?"
How would I know that?
"Five million won. That's the floor."
Excuse me?
"A major network show starts at fifteen million. And if it's a real-variety format shot inside a gate? Multiply that by three."
"……!"
The moment the words left his mouth, my pupils began shaking uncontrollably.
Five million won alone was enough to make my butt leap out of the chair. And that could become twenty million? And then someone would multiply that by three?
"And get this—the show currently in planning has already locked in Sword Princess for the cast."
"Then that means…"
"Major among majors. That's what I'm saying."
The calculation finished itself in a flash, and before I knew what my hands were doing, I had seized Jungmin's in a death grip.
"Hyung-nim!!"
Hunter-Entertainment.
Known in short as H-Ent, the show-business industry built around gates was, at this point in time, the steepest and most major growth curve on the market.
And at the center of that industry sat a large public terrestrial broadcaster sponsored by the Gate Management Bureau. Its name was HBC.
The very station where Jungmin now worked as an entertainment PD.
"Obviously not every hunter variety show operates at this scale. The figures I gave you are strictly HBC's standard."
According to him…
By domestic market share, HBC accounted for nearly half of the entire pie.
"It can't be helped. Under current law, you simply cannot shoot content inside a gate without the Bureau's cooperation. To put it bluntly, the only broadcaster that can show the inside of a gate in real time is a public one—us—so naturally the station's size ballooned."
"Hm? So if it's not HBC, filming inside a gate is completely impossible?"
"Possible with Bureau approval, like I said. Just nowhere near as freely as we have it."
"Ah, I see."
"Plus, to shoot inside a gate, the entire camera crew has to be awakened, right?"
"Huh. Now that you mention it."
"Which means it's not easy for just anyone to break into this market, no matter their size."
Right now, 'hunters' were the object of everyone's admiration, and it went without saying that the less-awakened among the public burned with curiosity about what actually happened inside those gates.
So capital pooling around hunter-related video content was, on reflection, only natural.
And yet something still didn't add up for me.
"Even so… a level-20-something hunter like me? Honestly, we're a dime a dozen."
"Right?"
"So it's not like every one of those people collects appearance fees in the millions, is it?"
"Of course not."
Jungmin nodded, then—thirsty from all the talking—drained his americano in one go before opening his mouth again.
"That's exactly why I asked whether the two-weeks-to-22 thing is really true."
"Hm?"
"Because only if you actually fit the requirements can I push you in myself."
"Require… ments?"
"A hunter whose first gate entry was within the last 200 days."
"Well, obviously I qualify."
"And whose level exceeds 30."
"Aha…?"
"That's the baseline eligibility to apply as a mentee contestant."
By the time I'd heard all this, I was nodding along.
Hunters who'd hit level 30 within 200 days… there really wouldn't be that many eligible players.
"That said, even if you really did hit 20 in two weeks, it won't be easy. You need to be at 30 by the evaluation cutoff."
"When's that?"
"About ten days from today."
"Oh, that's plenty."
"……You do realize 21 to 30 takes longer than 1 to 20 did, right?"
"Of course."
Truthfully, if you counted every player who'd reached level 30 within 200 days, the number would be substantial. Most of the current top-tier players would meet the bar even without being rankers.
But among players who hadn't yet reached day 200? Those meeting the condition would undoubtedly be rare.
And with that, the appearance fee Jungmin kept throwing around started sounding more and more plausible.
"Meeting the requirements doesn't guarantee you a slot, mind you. They'll only take the hundred most competitive applicants."
A hundred…?
That many?
"What counts as 'competitive,' exactly?"
"It's a composite thing. Overwhelming talent as a hunter, or a good look for broadcast. Or a killer backstory, maybe?"
"Hmmm."
"Still, you've got the requirements met, so if you just apply, your odds are sky-high."
"Why?"
Jungmin flashed a shit-eating grin and beat his own chest with both fists, thump thump.
"Because I'm here, obviously."
"……?"
"I just got confirmed as sub-PD and FD for Hunter's School 3."
"Wait, that show's called Hunter's School?"
"Yep."
"That sounds like an idol audition program."
"Exactly right. It literally is that format."
"……"
CEO Jung rattled on about the show in high spirits, and thanks to him I came away with a very clear picture of what this thing actually was.
So basically—a survival program where rankers mentor aspiring hunters and scout out talent.
And the longer his story went on, the stronger my resolve grew: I had to apply for this show. No question.
Hunter's School, apparently, was a variety program of staggering volume. Far bigger than I'd imagined.
Big enough that an appearance fee that had seemed like a joke started sounding perfectly reasonable.
"Come on, Gunyul, let's do it. Winning's going to be a long shot, sure, but if you just survive two or three rounds, you'll walk away with twenty or thirty million. And if you make it to the main rounds shot inside an actual gate, you could genuinely pull fifty million per episode…"
Whew.
Forget everything else.
Every time I heard a number, my heart started pounding.
Fifteen million an episode?
Fifty million in the main rounds?
Wait.
Hold on. What if you actually win? Do they pay out more?
"What do you get for winning?"
"Obviously there's a prize."
"How much?"
"300,000."
"Huh?"
"300,000 LP, you punk."
"……!"
Somewhere along the way I must have become a true Alterion native, because the words three billion won stirred my heartstrings less than the words 300,000 LP.
Dammit.
Winning that thing…
How exactly does one go about doing it?