This Body Has Appeared!

Let's turn back time for a moment.

When Lee Shin was busy perfecting his perm-haired nerd look in the heart of New York, Korea was gradually beginning to sense his absence.

It was almost comical that the absence of a guild representative would make headlines. Normally, a representative wasn't someone who sought the spotlight. Like any top executive, their virtue lay in managing and supervising their subordinates well, speaking as little as possible, and staying out of the public eye.

At most, Han Jeong-do of the Kirin Guild—who also served as raid leader—appeared in the media frequently, but even he believed that too much communication diminished one's dignity.

That is, until Lee Shin showed up.

From the bottom-tier leagues, Lee Shin had never hesitated to stand in front of cameras. He gladly played the clown for his guild, shaking his body enthusiastically to the rhythm of fans chanting "Jjaranda, jjaranda."

It was unprecedented.

Perhaps that was why the other representatives collectively protested his behavior, demanding he maintain the dignity of his position. Lee Shin had laughed in their faces and flipped them off.

Of course the wording had been cleaned up considerably, but the gist was the same.

The eldest grandson of the Ido Group. The Mir Guild's dragon pearl. A man with off-the-charts charm. The beloved youngest of ten million Yongbungs. The father of the Woongjindan. The man who discovered Ido's talents. The undefeated warrior who had never lost once... and so on.

Lee Shin was a man whose titles could fill an entire A4 page. And these nobodies dared lecture him about dignity?

If his dignity could vanish just because he danced a little or played the fool, then it wasn't dignity at all—it was mere pretense.

Lee Shin was an honest man who showed himself exactly as he was. The result was being named "The Most Charismatic Representative" by Forbes.

Once Lee Shin's approach to communication proved wildly successful, the other guilds had no choice but to lift their heavy backsides and follow suit. What else could they do? When the number one guild's representative was working that hard to connect with fans, sitting back in silence left them with no defense against the backlash.

In a way, this cultural shift had also begun with Lee Shin.

Anyway, returning to the story—when the man who had appeared almost daily suddenly went into seclusion, the silence itself became newsworthy.

Where there's smoke, there's fire.

Some claimed they saw Lee Shin linking arms with a woman in Italy. Others insisted he was sick. Rumors flew that he was kissing an idol in Germany. No, he had cancer and was receiving treatment there. He was spotted eating pineapple pizza with an actress in Hawaii. No, he was recuperating in Hawaii. The hospital? It was Shinseong Group's granddaughter!

A miraculous summoning occurred simply by mentioning the character "Shin" from the word for shoes.

Of course, every single rumor was nonsense.

......??

Anyway, once these baseless rumors began spreading, even the fans started to worry.

Eventually, the jokes persisted far longer than expected, forcing the Mir Guild to step forward.

All of this happened in less than a week after Lee Shin disappeared. Was there any other representative who could draw this much attention simply by not showing his face for a few days?

They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Only in Lee Shin's absence did everyone truly feel the weight of his presence.

And when everyone's curiosity had reached its peak—that was exactly the right moment.

Lee Shin had arrived!

He had suddenly appeared in America. In New York, the city of the world.

The Mir Guild finally released the official statement they had been holding back.

When this news broke, Korea naturally exploded.

The media churned out articles like crazy.

The fans were horrified.

But the loudest uproar came from an unexpected place.

There were basic courtesies that had to be observed. One was respect for your opponents. Lee Shin had violated that principle.

The guilds who felt ignored ground their teeth. Their fans rose up in outrage. This fighting spirit spread to the raid teams, steeling their resolve.

In this situation—where the media, officials, rival guilds, and even their own fans viewed things negatively—the public opinion had reached a point that could not be calmed with a mere video message.

It was then that Lee Shin's arrangements, as if he had predicted this very moment, went absolutely wild.

Yu Ri-ra, wielding the F. Colt Revolver, had become a thunder god.

It was as if Lee Shin was speaking through her body:

Hey, did that get your blood pumping?

The guilds' strong condemnation of Lee Shin wasn't solely because they felt disrespected.

Internally, they used his absence to manipulate the narrative—destabilizing the Mir Guild, creating an external enemy to strengthen internal unity, and highlighting Lee Shin's arrogance to tighten their own ranks.

There were many reasons, but in the end, everything was within the palm of Lee Shin's hand.

By giving Yu Ri-ra a legendary weapon, he eliminated any variables in potential confrontations. By empowering SS-rank genius Guild Master Chae Dong-ha, he quelled any chaos in the front office.

Most of all, the timing was perfect for something to explode.

Healers weren't omnipotent. Humans weren't machines, and fatigue was bound to accumulate. Even machines wore down with heavy use. The current league schedule was unprecedented, leaving guilds without a single day ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of rest.

With mental and physical exhaustion reaching its limit, he had arrived at this worst possible moment.

The long-awaited second Competitive Siege Battle!

In a format that had devolved into who could harass the opponent better with their pulls, every problem that had been building up finally exploded.

Interestingly, the arrows of blame pointed in an unexpected direction.

Rather than blaming the Bureau for introducing Competitive Siege Battles, the community was directing its resentment toward the Kirin Guild and Han Jeong-do, who had created this hellish environment.

After the hellish second Competitive Siege Battle concluded amid all this chaos, the balance completely collapsed.

Meanwhile, how was the Mir Guild ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠faring in this mayhem?

They were soaring.

They had rotated their roster early. They had wisely managed their stamina according to the changed schedule. They built solid squads tailored to each match and even polished new strategies to match.

Everything Lee Shin had prepared since spring training was finally bearing fruit.

So it was no surprise when this headline appeared.

* * *

However.

Despite the Mir Guild's impressive performance, the Yongbungs couldn't smile wholeheartedly.

Victory was always right. Winning never got old. No matter how you won, victory felt incredible.

As everyone knew, the Yongbungs had feasted on these victories for the past several years. And they were still monopolizing them now.

Of course they should be happy as fans. And they were. Their hearts still raced on game days, they hummed on their way to work, looked forward to getting off, and felt chills down their spines wondering how their team would win today.

But lately, something was missing.

The thrill wasn't as intense as before. The emotion felt lacking.

On his way home from work, Park Seong-cheol (35, Toegail-jwa) pondered the nature of this emptiness along with his fellow Yongbungs and suddenly realized the answer.

Seeing himself sitting in front of the computer with wet hair after a shower.

The monitor reflected the Mir Guild's official channel. That's right—they wanted his live broadcast.

They wanted the live stream of their youngest, Mir's rookie, God Lee!

Yes. They all knew.

How could they not? Ever since Lee Shin left for America, the forums had become rivers of tears from people searching for him.

Park Seong-cheol tried to type "The Mountain King is a god and Lee Shin is invincible..." but the wave of longing forced tears from his eyes instead.

The longing hit him twelve times a day. It felt like Lee Shin would pop up on the screen at any moment and shout, "This body has appeared!"

I miss you so much, God Lee.

Park Seong-cheol was endlessly replaying Lee Shin's videos when Bae Ji-ae, standing by the door, saw him and moved her lips.

"You said you were just going to dry your hair. What are you doing, oppa?"

"......When is God Lee coming back?"

"He'll be back. Come out quickly, dinner's getting cold."

The menu was Park Seong-cheol's favorite—braised pig's trotters.

Perhaps because she was such a strong Lee Shin follower herself, Bae Ji-ae had prepared this dinner to ease her boyfriend's depression after Lee Shin left for America and remained gloomy.

"Sometimes I think you're more sentimental than I am, oppa. How long are you going to stay depressed?"

"You're not bothered by it?"

"Of course I miss him. Of course I want to see him. But it's work, isn't it?"

"You're talking about the gun? That wasn't even an official announcement."

"Even without an official announcement, it's obvious if you have eyes."

Their representative might be soft with his fans and family, but when profit was on the line, he showed no mercy.

"Would our God Lee move for money?"

"No way."

"Would our God Lee ever neglect the guild?"

"That wouldn't happen either."

"The conclusion is that he went to obtain something that outweighs money. And right on cue, Lira is flying around the battlefield?"

"You were smiling ear to ear. Lira unni......"

"That's how we won. Lira ended the game with a one-shot on the Sword Master. That gun is definitely a legendary weapon. At this level, as long as we don't lose, we should cut them some slack. Don't you think?"

"......You're right about that."

Some representatives valued equipment—which only required minor maintenance costs after purchase—more highly than hunters, who needed ongoing contracts.

Experts claimed that the relatively low number of rankers in the Taeyang Guild and even the Kirin Guild—Korea's top guild—owed much to the superior quality of their equipment.

In that context, a legendary weapon was a profitable deal even if it meant lending out several raiders. Coldly speaking, that is.

But.

"What can we do? I still miss him."

"Yeah, that's true."

Being a fan was something you did with your heart, not your head.

Stats or whatever—they just wanted to see Lee Shin soon. They wanted to see the shining face of their proud representative who had ended the long dark age.

Artifacts or whatever, they just wished Lee Shin would turn on a stream. They wanted to see that smile they had laughed and chatted with for the past several years.

The fans realized something anew through this incident. Lee Shin had already become someone they could not speak of coldly.

And the same was true for Lee Shin.

Vrrrr——!

At the very moment the fans were desperately longing for him.

The vibration sounded.

The community froze for a moment.

Park Seong-cheol and Bae Ji-ae, who had been eating, stopped moving their chopsticks. Both pairs of eyes turned toward the vibrating phone. Without needing to decide who would go first, they both reached out.

"!!"

"!!"

Their previously drooping eyes shot up. Their gloomy eyes sparkled, a flush rose to their cheeks, and their mouths had already formed huge grins.

The reason the cosmos blooms at dawn is because the sun rises.

Their sun had just risen.

Lee Shin was smiling brightly like the sun itself.