The Power of the Cheat Key (Tanghulu)

Trying out my ultimate technique (Keyel) with the help of a cheat key (tanghulu) taught me one thing: this was a last-resort move, and I mean that literally. It was not something you could just pop out at any old moment.

When I first thought about it, I figured I could use it whenever my mana potion cooldown came back around… But setting aside the outrageous price of a top-tier mana potion that refills your mana to the brim in one gulp, using it that way was simply off the table.

Why, you ask? Because every time I summoned this monster of a creature, my entire ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body was left tingling and numb for at least a few minutes afterward. That meant unless I got a proper rest after summoning Keyel, I wouldn't be able to fight worth a damn.

The mana ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠burned in a single summoning was part of it, but I suspected the real problem was the level gap between us. In the world of Laika, level wasn't just a number for stat differences — it represented a being's very caliber, something that stood above mere numbers.

"……"

So until I'd raised my level enough, Keyel would have to remain a card I saved for the absolute last resort.

Then again, being able to pull something like this out at the early level 20s is more than busted enough.

Still, my mood was good. This expensive little thing… I'd confirmed beyond any doubt that it was worth every penny.

Delicious indeed. That means I've already recouped 30% of Keyel's production ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cost, you know.

Oh, come now.

I never fooled you in the first place?

"Heh heh."

Apparently the betting had been far more fun than the stakes themselves, because the Constellations who'd lost their money were clamoring for another round already. I had a feeling I'd make money if we did another one, you know?

Ohhh, of course, of course. Whatever you say.

But then again, this should go without saying.

Not everyone had lost, after all.

Yes — there were friends like this one too, who had successfully earned their keep by living up to their name.

Thank you, thank you. Though I have no idea how much I won this time, you really shouldn't put too much faith in me, you know? If you blindly trust my bets, then……

Huh? Understand what, exactly……?

"……"

I had no earthly idea what exactly this blacksmith friend of mine had understood, but good is good, so I decided not to press the matter any further.

At any rate, thanks to our dear Constellations, my wallet was nice and full again…

"Hyung-nim, clean work!"

"Great. Let's do a quick reorganize and head straight to the next one."

Our original, most important goal — leveling up (and I mean that for real this time) — was proceeding smoothly as well.

"Sounds good!"

And so, on the first day of my dungeon date with Leo —

Ding ding ding — a string of notifications later, I'd climbed a whopping three levels in one go, reaching level 25.

10 a.m., the fourteenth-floor conference room of the HBC Sangam-dong Headquarters.

Standing in front of a dying tablet and a mountain range of paperwork, Jungmin splashed cold water on his face in a futile attempt to wake himself up. The all-nighter cramming had left him looking like he might keel over at any moment.

Ugh… I should've started just one single day earlier.

What he'd crammed was none other than the document review for the first wave of Hunter's School applicants — work that was supposed to be done before today's meeting. In truth, he should have started a full week ago; instead he'd begun two days prior, so the current wreck of his condition was entirely his own fault.

What can I do, I'm dying. Sue me.

Being tired didn't make the tiredness go away, so the sighs kept pouring out on their own.

Still, at least I've got something to show for it.

Thwack!

Jungmin slapped down the last reviewed document, leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes close for a brief moment. After two straight nights of only three hours' sleep each, he had somehow managed to comb through the data of over three thousand applicants. And quite a few genuinely interesting candidates were now flagged and tracked.

So his body might be dragging, but his heart was light. No — if anything, he was actually looking forward to today's meeting. Honestly, the quality of the applicants had taken him by surprise.

Who knew this many monsters would apply…

Valedictorians from government-certified academies, ex-mercenaries from overseas, even holders of unheard-of, outlandish Unique skills. Word had leaked outside that HBC was burning a record-breaking budget on this show… but even so, with such strict eligibility requirements in place, he'd never imagined this many people would throw their hats in.

And it didn't end there. In three days, the second wave of applications would come flooding in as well.

"Mm."

Blinking his gritty, dry eyes, Jungmin glanced at the calendar without really thinking about it — and naturally, his mind drifted to his friend Gunyul.

Lee Gunyul, you little punk… You can actually make the application window, right? Tell me you can.

Something in his gut said yes, which was why he'd nudged him toward it. But honestly, Jungmin wasn't confident Gunyul could hit level 30 in time. He'd seen it with his own two eyes when Gunyul had hit level 20 in an absurdly short span — but the stretch from 21 to 30 was a wall of an entirely different height.

And even if he did manage to reach 30 within the deadline, the worries didn't stop there.

For acceptance itself, I figure it's doable if he leans hard on how fast he hit level 30. The real question is how many rounds Gunyul can actually survive.

It was a genuinely good opportunity that had landed on him by luck of timing… and Jungmin just hoped it would help his friend as much as possible. If Gunyul could shine in the early rounds at least, his hunter life would get a whole lot smoother…

Shaking his head with a rueful grin, Jungmin realized why: having combed through every single first-wave profile, even Gunyul's survival in round one now felt uncertain.

Today's meeting would firm things up, but as it stood, the average level of the Hunter's School 3 mentees looked like it would land at a minimum of level 40 and above. Gunyul, by contrast, couldn't possibly break past 30. And between level 30 and level 40 lay a considerable gulf.

Well, if he flunks out in the prelims and becomes an extra, so be it. Nothing I can do about it.

Is he somewhere hunting like a madman right about now? Or has he just given up entirely and started scrubbing floors?

He was kneading his stiff, aching shoulders with these thoughts when —

"Yah, Lee Jungmin. What in the world are you wearing?"

The sharp voice from the next seat shattered his reverie. The seat at the head of the conference room, where a Main PD nameplate sat — belonging to PD Kang Se-yeon, his senior colleague by a single year, known in this industry as the Witch of Viewership Ratings.

"I grabbed whatever was on the floor at dawn, half-asleep. Cut me some slack."

"Anyone walking in would think I'm working you so hard you can't even go home. You trying to get me in trouble?"

Clicking her tongue, Se-yeon grabbed Jungmin's collar and gave his shirt a rough, brisk brushing-down — less the tender touch of someone straightening a friend's attire, more a disciplinarian homeroom teacher cracking down on a student in violation of dress code.

"Look at those dark rings under your eyes. Honestly, you're a slob."

Grumbling, she nudged her plate of sandwiches across the table toward him, her eyes never leaving the documents in front of her.

"Eat it. Fast. If your stomach growls mid-meeting and kills the flow, you're dead."

Nearly six years they'd slogged through the trenches together — mentor and partner. To Jungmin, Kang Se-yeon was an exhausting superior and a friend-of-an-unni all at once. Though even he had to admit, a boss at work could never truly become a real friend.

While he was chewing on that thought and taking a bite of his sandwich, the conference room had somehow filled up. And then, a few minutes later, the last person slipped in and pulled the door shut behind them.

Click.

"Alright, enough chit-chat. Everyone's here? Briefing starts now."

The moment Se-yeon's eyes went sharp and she began twirling her fountain pen, the junior writers and assistant directors who'd prepared the briefing went rigid. Jungmin, too, sank deep into his chair and folded his arms.

"Then, I'll begin the briefing with the candidates who've completed first-round vetting!"

With a trembling voice, the first profile appeared on the large monitor.

A photograph of a man filled the entire screen. Gleaming platinum armor, and… a mana gun stamped with the [Segwang Group] logo — a weapon that probably cost as much as a decent apartment.

Groans and sighs erupted from every corner of the conference room at once.

Watching the scene, Se-yeon smirked and pointed at the corner of the screen with her pointer.

"'Skill unverifiable.' What's this about?"

The assistant director running the briefing put on a pained expression.

"Level-wise, he's among the very top of the applicants…"

"And?"

"Honestly, we can't credit all of that to his own ability."

"So it's gear-carrying, is what you're saying."

"Well… not exactly that either, but there's really nothing like combat footage attached that would let us verify his actual skill…"

Truth be told, despite the careful phrasing, not a single person in that room believed Kang Min-woo had actually reached level 47 on his own merit. Even granting the hunter industry's convention of counting money-splurged gear as "skill," the sheer financial flex of Min-woo's equipment was beyond the pale.

His signature item, in particular — the mana gun — was famous. It was an artifact whose stats should have locked it behind a level requirement of 70, until Segwang Group poured money into runecrafting like it was water and famously drove that requirement all the way down to the 30s.

"Because of pressure from Segwang, our advertiser, we put him at the top of the list… but honestly speaking, I'm not confident how many rounds he'll survive."

"Well, we can't cut him anyway, can we?"

"That's true, but…"

Se-yeon furrowed her brow and drummed the end of her pen against the desk. Her gaze slid naturally to Jungmin beside her.

"Yah, PD Lee. Your take? A parachute hire like that is prime material for a forum-bombing."

Jungmin chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich, staring at the smug young lord on the monitor. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠To summarize the awakened-community's consensus on him…

A guy drowning in money, lacking in skill, stuffed to the brim with ambition for glory. Of course, you couldn't take public opinion at face value — but then again, no smoke without fire.

So the youngest writer's worry was entirely understandable.

But… Jungmin's thinking ran a little differently.

Even in variety shows, you absolutely need your designated fall guys.

He'd reviewed the files himself: the applicants already contained plenty of the 'real deal.' Which meant that, in Jungmin's eyes, a character like Kang Min-woo was actually a precious resource.

Because no matter how much you chased realism, the most important thing in entertainment was the fun.

And audiences… they went absolutely insane for the moment when the 'real' one blows the 'fake' to pieces. That was the picture painted in Jungmin's head.

"Seonbae, you know this already, don't you?"

"Know what, exactly?"

"Even setting Segwang aside, we have to pass that guy no matter what."

"Why's that?"

"Because if he drops out in round one, it's boring as hell. We'd have to intervene as producers and drag him back in, kicking and screaming."

"Hmm."

"Just picture it. A kid draped in tens of billions of won worth of gear… getting stripped bare by some dirt-poor underdog, the look on his face as his mentality crumbles. That right there is catharsis."

"So instead of 'relative deprivation,' it would actually give viewers vicarious satisfaction?"

"Exactly, that's the idea."

At Jungmin's answer, Se-yeon nodded with a grin.

"True — as kindling, he'd burn nicely."

"That's the spirit."

Granted, with Segwang Group at his back they'd have to tread carefully around the production side of things… but Jungmin wasn't worried about that in the slightest.

Quite the opposite — we'll be the ones fighting to keep him alive, and as public opinion turns uglier and uglier, the exact picture we want will fall into place all on its own.

Since no one else raised any objections to Jungmin's reasoning, the confirmation went through quickly.

"Good. Kang Min-woo passes. Next."

While the writers scrambled to take notes, the next profiles flashed onto the screen in quick succession.