The Double-Edged Charm
A few days of Lee Shin’s live broadcast had produced wildly polarized reactions.
First, the Yongbung-i who supported Mir Guild were completely intoxicated by the long-awaited dose of Lee Shin-brand hype.
The sight of a guild representative standing boldly in front of the cameras for his hunters—completely opposite to other leaders who responded to controversy with silence—was more than enough to renew the Yongbung-i’s vows of loyalty.
But that was only among the most ardent supporters. Outside that circle, public opinion was extremely negative. Downright cold, even.
His handling of the controversy wasn’t bad. Though he ultimately dismissed the claims as nonsense and brushed them aside, the mere fact that a guild leader had appeared on camera for his hunters was enviable to fans of other guilds.
That was where it should have stopped.
The positive image the public could accept ended there.
In this country, the future of one’s children was something you never touched.
Yet here was this man, toying with the most sensitive topic of all—children’s futures—on a public broadcast. There was no way Korea’s army of mothers would let such an unforgivable villain go unchecked.
With the controversy already ignited, the addition of the diss track made it impossible for him to receive any goodwill. It was no surprise that many people now viewed Lee Shin with distaste.
When Ryu Jae-seok and the other members of the Yido family, including their PR teams, began amplifying the chaos with viral campaigns, the reputation stat that had been hidden behind his maxed-out Charm (101) finally reared its head.
Eventually, the story even made it onto national television.
“What Representative Lee Shin has done is utterly unacceptable! It’s an embarrassment to the entire industry!!”
Professor Noh’s intense criticism sent cold sweat trickling down the announcer’s back.
“Haha, well… Professor Lee Jae-pyo, I don’t think we need to go as far as calling it an embarrassment—”
“A man who calls himself a representative is out here doing shameful streamer stunts, spreading baseless rumors, and now he’s even attacking fellow representatives in the same league! If that’s not an embarrassment, then what is? No, ‘embarrassment’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s a disgrace! A disgrace to the entire industry.”
The young announcer glanced at the cameraman. What do we do?
The cameraman was just as flustered. Hold on a second.
Their shock was understandable. This was a morning current-affairs program. In reality, it was the usual peaceful morning show disguised as serious news—where even discussions about the Federal Reserve’s interest rates would be followed by comments like “Oh dear, I suppose tomorrow’s dinner will have to be tofu kimchi.”
Yet the very Professor Lee Jae-pyo who was supposed to chuckle warmly and say “Tofu kimchi goes best with soju” was now ranting live on air, killing the mood completely.
“I am an honorary director of the Hunter Association.”
“Y-yes, I know that.”
“I’ve also been a hunter myself, and I’ve served as a representative for ten years.”
“Haha, there’s no need to be modest. With your achievements, Professor Lee Jae-pyo, you were good enough to be selected for the national team alongside the Three Kings.”
“That’s exactly why I’m angry. How dare a greenhorn representative with no sense of sportsmanship muddy the waters of this league?”
“Ha, ha, ha.”
The PD who had rushed over after assessing the situation clutched his head.
‘That old man’s rage button got pressed again.’
The rage button, of course, was Sanwang. Having always been overshadowed by Sanwang during his active years, the old man’s petty inferiority complex was now being projected onto Mir Guild’s representative for no good reason.
“He came in with some core and concept he must have heard somewhere. Then he criticized Baeksa Guild for building a rush composition around Chilseonggeom Bi-yeon as the core, didn’t he?”
“I-I wouldn’t call it criticism exactly…”
“Look here. What’s a rush composition? It means charging straight in to fight. What’s wrong with using a top-tier melee dealer like Chilseonggeom as the core for that kind of composition? If anything, not using her would be the stupid move.”
“W-well, that’s true.”
“Just because assassins have weak bodies? They can dodge attacks. That’s how assassins replace defense—with evasion. What are you even talking about without knowing anything? Tsk.”
The PD gave a hand signal to tone it down, but Professor Lee Jae-pyo simply sipped his water and looked away.
His inferiority complex was one thing, but what mattered more right now was earning the money that had been deposited into his account the day before yesterday. Since both his desired talking points and a perfect justification had been handed to him, there was no way he was hitting the brakes.
“While we’re on the subject, that so-called prophecy Representative Lee Shin mentioned was complete nonsense. I was so embarrassed watching it that I could barely stand it.”
“Haha, indeed.”
“The first point about how to clear Baeksa Guild—don’t fight Bi-yeon for fifteen minutes? Hahaha, do modern matches end with both sides saying ‘Let’s not fight’ and then politely parting ways? Have they all lost their minds?”
“P-Professor, please moderate your tone a little.”
“The second point is the same. One large object? It sounds like they’re planning for a long game, but how is that possible when they’ve already said not to fight? That’s a contradiction right there. The third point doesn’t even need mentioning.”
“……”
“Everyone, strategy in this league is a living creature. You never know when or how it will change, or where it will move. Declaring such strategies as clear-cut answers is nothing but a sign of incompetence. It shows just how shallow Representative Lee Shin’s strategic understanding really is.”
That felt good.
He could have gone much deeper and torn everything apart, but even Professor Lee Jae-pyo didn’t want to risk losing what few broadcasting opportunities he had left. So he stopped there.
For his final line, he delivered the remark he had prepared in advance.
“A broken cart is always the noisiest. Just watch.”
In that moment, he positioned himself at the forefront of the anti-Lee Shin faction.
Time passed, and the 21st round began.
Twenty minutes before arriving at the stadium.
Lee Shin was holding the mic on the away bus for the first time in a while. He had been a little worried about how the strategy team—having been thoroughly chewed up and spat out by the recent controversy—would be feeling, but…
“You all look good. I’m glad no one’s looking down after getting hit a few times.”
With his elbow resting on the armrest and his chin in his hand, he looked around with a languid smile.
“I have nothing strategic to say. We already talked plenty about that before we left. Instead, let me tell you something interesting. Do any of you like games?”
GM. What he was about to discuss was the game he loved most.
“Among the game’s stats, there’s one called ‘Charm.’ It’s the stat that lets you receive more attention from others through communication and interaction.”
In GM, Charm produced positive reactions in various ways. Beyond the obvious advantage of appearance, it enhanced the persuasiveness of speech, drew empathy from others, and helped gather attention and popularity.
“The higher your Charm, the more your social stats, including Reputation, rise. That makes sense—even outside the game, charming people are always welcomed wherever they go.”
“But here’s the thing. Once Charm exceeds a certain threshold, something strange happens. Surprisingly, Reputation starts to drop.”
Charm and Reputation were inversely proportional.
When he was young, Lee Shin couldn’t understand it at all. If Charm was popularity, then Reputation was praise and criticism. Shouldn’t higher popularity naturally bring more praise? Why was he getting criticized instead?
He had wondered what those nerdy developers were thinking when they designed it that way. But as he grew older and experienced real social life, he finally understood.
“Charm and popularity don’t always have positive effects. Think of it like a drug. In moderation, it’s beneficial and keeps life healthy, but in excess, it destroys people.”
If you become intoxicated by the drug called popularity and stop putting in effort, you’ll fall behind.
Just as the saying goes—“fans create antis”—the more fans you have, the more haters appear to torment you. Or you might break under the gradual loss of freedom.
They had already gotten a taste of it over the past few days.
Park Jeong-seok’s face twisted in displeasure, while Lee Hye-jung’s body trembled. Yu Ri-ra wore a blank, carefree expression, and Park Su-bin, dressed in his coat, looked rather proud instead.
If it was already this bad after just a preview, how much worse would it get once their fame and popularity truly skyrocketed, just as Lee Shin had said?
“People will keep talking. A casual comment you make at a random restaurant will get screenshotted and posted online. Your hazy past will come back to haunt you. Even the smallest glance or gesture will become controversy.”
This was the fate they had to bear now that they had become national stars, not just regional ones.
“That’s the world you’ll be living in from now on. That’s why—”
This was what Lee Shin wanted to say.
“Build your skills.”
They weren’t celebrities. They were hunters.
Hunters who were constantly put to the test.
That was why popularity? Charm? Reputation? Controversy?
In the end, the only thing that could nullify all these complicated problems in one shot was skill.
“If you want popularity, build your skills. If you don’t want to be criticized, build your skills. If you don’t want to get dragged into ridiculous controversies like this one, skill makes all of it irrelevant!”
Reputation and everything else could go to hell.
In the end, in this world of GM—where stats existed, traits existed, and potential was quantified—the most important thing was “skill.”
And the one who proved that best was—
“Me. No one else but me, Lee Shin, standing here right now. That’s the proof.”
The finger pointed at none other than Lee Shin himself.
Lee Shin’s gently smiling face.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? Build your skills.”
Right on cue, the bus came to a stop.
“And prove it.”
The doors opened, and the thunderous cheers of the fans poured in.
“Alright, let’s go.”
─ “Good afternoon, viewers. This is caster Baek Seong-je, here to bring you the 21st round match between Mir Guild and Baeksa Guild. We’re currently in Daegu, not Busan—at the ‘Ido Condinal Center,’ Baeksa Guild’s home stadium. As always, I’m joined by commentator Choi Moon-seong.”
─ “Hello! Wow, another massive matchup today—the Second Ido Derby!!”
─ “The key point to watch in today’s match is something that’s been the talk of the town lately. How accurate will Lee Shin’s prophecy turn out to be!”
─ “Representative Lee Shin boldly claimed that even if they knew about it, they wouldn’t be able to fix it. Baeksa Guild has ignored the prophecy until now, but today, we’ll finally see how it all plays out.”