Exterminating the Parasites
“Shin, you’re really good at analysis.”
Those were the words his older brother had said to him back when Lee Shin worked as a GM in his childhood.
The status windows in GM were notoriously complex.
In most games, status windows existed to deliver information. They lowered the barrier to entry by presenting a character’s condition or various progress metrics in the most intuitive way possible—using just a few key words.
GM, however, did the exact opposite.
Its status windows were incredibly intricate. Nothing about them was intuitive. Staring at a black screen packed wall-to-wall with data would make anyone think, Why the hell do I have to study just to play a game?
Yet young Lee Shin had actually loved those infamous windows. He found it fascinating how scattered pieces of information assembled into a complete picture inside his head. He enjoyed the sense of superiority that came from seeing what others couldn’t. Most of all, he cherished the praise he received from his brother.
Perhaps those fond childhood memories were what turned Lee Shin into the hardcore gamer he became.
On the road down to Busan, the moment the takeover process finished, the long-awaited status windows finally opened before Lee Shin’s eyes.
Guild has been successfully registered.
The Guild Management Window has been activated.
“Whoa, now this is what I’m talking about. A guild has to be in this sorry a state before it can truly hit rock bottom.”
“Director?”
“Shh. Give me a second, hyung.”
From the tidal wave of information flooding his vision, Lee Shin instantly extracted, analyzed, and assessed the data, deriving countermeasures on the spot.
“Dong-ha hyung.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to have to get to work.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“It’s simple…”
If fans were the ones who had put an oxygen mask on the dragon lying in the ICU, then there were also parasites who had sucked the marrow from its bones and ultimately sent it there.
“Bring me the dewormer. We’re starting by wiping out the parasites.”
This was the very first thing Lee Shin had to do now that he officially owned the guild—exterminate these parasites.
* * *
At present, Lee Shin was looking at the ones he had labeled as ‘parasites.’
They had grown plump from feeding so well.
“Haha, ha… Transfer? What are you talking about?”
“I-I don’t understand.”
Every member of the raid team stared at one another with question marks floating above their heads. Not that looking at each other would produce any answers. No matter how hard bugs rack their brains, they’re still just bugs.
“Mm~ Exactly what I said. Transfer. Starting tomorrow, none of you need to show up at Mir Guild. Discuss the new guild with your agents. Oh, anyone without an agent? In that case, you’ll probably receive a personal call. Ah~ Look, someone’s phone is already ringing. That guy over there too.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the sound of vibrating phones erupted from every direction.
A few who hurriedly checked their messages turned deathly pale.
It was a one-sided notification of their transfer.
“Max Guild? Isn’t that the place we fought with over territory before? If I go there, I’m dead!”
“This can’t be real. Transfers don’t happen this easily, do they?”
“What the hell? Enchobi? Where even is that? A 5th League guild?”
Panic. Chaos. Total mayhem.
It had all started so rosy… Lee Shin was Lee Do’s grandson, and Lee Do had mountains of money, right? They had expected a natural renewal at the very least, maybe even a careful salary negotiation.
The kimchi soup they had eagerly gulped down turned out to be poison.
“I-I don’t accept this! How can you transfer us without any discussion?!”
“This is invalid! What kind of underhanded bullshit is this?!”
As invalidation protests erupted from all sides, Lee Shin scratched the back of his head.
“Hmm, everyone. You might not be aware, but transfers are strictly a front-office authority. It’s not something you get to interfere with.”
Tsk. People who should know better are acting like amateurs.
At Lee Shin’s firm attitude, the raid members switched targets and clung to their last lifeline—Yang Pan-seok.
“Hyung-nim!”
“Team Leader!”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“This is ridiculous! You said if we buttered him up, renewal was guaranteed…”
“……Quiet!”
Even though the situation had deteriorated this far, Yang Pan-seok desperately maintained his smile.
It was confusing and infuriating, but first came understanding the situation. Only then could he clean up the mess.
“Please explain. What exactly is going on here?”
Clap, clap!
“Excellent! To be able to smile even in a situation like this! Everyone, that is the attitude of a true pro. A pro must maintain their pace no matter the circumstances. Not flailing around like you all are.”
“Stop messing with us.”
“It’s a compliment. I’m being sincere. They say the one who laughs in sorrow is first-rate. Seems the rumors about your ability are true.”
“……Don’t test my patience.”
“Relax, relax. Alright, just drink this first.”
The refreshing sensation burst like crisp carbonation.
Even as the atmosphere crossed from confusion into outright murderous intent, Lee Shin casually savored the aftertaste of his beer. He flipped over a chair that had been knocked aside, sat on it backwards, crossed his arms, and leaned against the backrest while surveying his surroundings.
“Let me ask you the reverse. Do I have any ‘obligation’ to stay with you people?”
“Well…!”
Obligation.
Though their blood was boiling, the two letters of that word sealed everyone’s mouths.
They couldn’t come up with anything because there was nothing.
“Too difficult? Shall I lower the hurdle a bit? Tell me why I should take responsibility for you. Whether it’s logical, moral, anything goes.”
Perhaps because the hurdle had been lowered, the ones who had been silent as mute ducks began to mumble one by one.
Their effort to squeeze something out of their stiff brains was admirable, but most of it was useless.
Lee Shin skipped over those throwing tantrums at random. Claiming a sick old mother and wife at home? That was way too old-fashioned.
He also skipped those bowing and scraping, saying they were sorry. When asked what exactly they were sorry for, they had no idea.
The only two statements worth listening to were these:
“How can you process a transfer without any discussion with the parties involved? At the very least you should give us time to get our affairs in order!”
“I have devoted twenty years to Mir Guild! I cannot accept such a sneaky transfer!”
It was pathetic that these were the best arguments they could muster, but Lee Shin’s creed was to keep the promises he made.
He decided to answer as kindly as possible.
“Mm, correct. Normally transfers are conducted after sufficient conversation with the parties involved. However!”
That was merely courtesy or custom. Nowhere was it stipulated by ‘law.’
“And one more very, very minor detail. Even the courtesy I just mentioned only applies starting from League 2 and above. Sorry to say it, but you are all in League 4. So that doesn’t apply here.”
Next.
“Twenty years of devotion is wonderful. Truly admirable. These days young hunters hop around like migratory birds after just two or three years, busy raising their market value. Yet twenty whole years! Yes! Your loyalty deserves applause. However…”
Lee Shin’s gently curved eyes sharpened like blades.
“You clearly devoted yourselves, so why are the results in this state?”
Stats weren’t everything, but in the guild scene there were times when stats were everything.
If you wore the title of pro, you had to prove your worth with results.
Yet Mir Guild’s current position was League 4.
“Given these results, wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume there’s a serious problem with the ‘devotion’ you speak of? That’s what I think, anyway.”
“…….”
“…….”
Ding ding ding—! Down!
The raid members were KO’d by the merciless factual bombardment.
Denial, humiliation, resentment—every negative emotion swirled around them, but the moment Lee Shin presented the clear indicator called ‘results,’ the outcome had already been decided.
Yet when everyone else hung their heads in despair, one man spoke.
“Do you really think you can handle the consequences of sending us away like this?”
The ability to find an exit even in the most hopeless situation—that was the mark of a leader. In that sense, Yang Pan-seok was a rather decent leader.
Unlike the others who panicked when things went wrong, he had used that brief moment to assess the man called Lee Shin and perfectly caught the position he needed to take.
“The fans won’t stay quiet. To the new director, our devotion might mean nothing, but will the fans who spent the long dark age with us accept this situation?”
Bringing up performance was a fight he could never win.
So instead of results, he chose process. Instead of logic, he chose emotion.
Yang Pan-seok boldly played his strongest card.
The shield called fans.
And to this underhanded move, Lee Shin…
“Kya…! Taking fans hostage. To think I’d get to witness this in person.”
…was genuinely impressed. Sincerely!
To think he would encounter such devilish pettiness—not through monitor text, but with his own two eyes. He was so moved he felt tears might actually fall.
Did Lee Shin not know the character called Yang Pan-seok?
Of course he did. He had played with him enough to reach the ‘story ending.’
Useful stats, useful traits, decent looks, good marketability—an all-rounder tanker who could fit into any role.
Yet despite decent performance, Yang Pan-seok had a fatal flaw.
The “Hero Complex” and “Snake’s Tail” that came with excessively high self-esteem and the belief that only he was the best.
The “Blame Others” and “Thick Face” that made him shamelessly shift responsibility when situations went wrong.
And most critically, the “Sense of Chosen People” that appeared to care for fans but was actually rooted in a hunter’s sense of superiority.
Because of these five negative traits, Lee Shin’s evaluation of Yang Pan-seok was simple.
Trash tier.
Unless he wanted to use him as a villain who stirred up trouble, this guy was absolutely not someone to keep around.
“Alright. Finished with your attack? It’s my turn now, right?”
Sis, pass me that.
At Lee Shin’s gesture, the woman standing one step behind handed him a document.
She had been so unassuming that even the previously agitated members were startled. Lee Shin glanced over it briefly, then held it out to Yang Pan-seok.
“Here. Catch. This is my attack.”
The moment Yang Pan-seok looked at the document, his eyes widened so much it seemed they might tear.
Construction company rebates, kickbacks from equipment suppliers, manipulation of broadcasting rights and scouting— a list of every creative corruption route connected to the raid team.
“What did you say earlier? That the core of a guild is its hunters, and that the guild’s motto is to spare no investment in raising their abilities?”
According to this list, they should put Yang Pan-seok’s name in the ‘Hunter’ column. The core of the guild was Yang Pan-seok, and they must spare no investment in growing Yang Pan-seok’s wealth.
And whenever that motto was even slightly threatened, Yang Pan-seok’s ultimate move appeared.
“For the fans! To repay the fans’ support! Sigh, so busy, so busy. The fans have lives too, so please let them rest.”
The composure had vanished from Yang Pan-seok’s face now that he was backed into a corner.
The mouth that had always shouted about fans now growled ‘Fuck, fuck…’ repeatedly, and those righteous eyes gleamed with the viciousness of a beast looking for a way to survive.
Finally, he stared straight at Lee Shin.
Should I kill him?
Yang Pan-seok had always lived off his image more than his skill. If this came out, it wouldn’t end with mere criticism.
Criminal punishment. Lawsuits… The deeper his thoughts went, the clearer Lee Shin’s neck appeared in his vision.
Killing intent filled the space.
The raid team wavered. ‘Shouldn’t we stop him?’ ‘You stop him.’ They remained flustered until the end.
It was then. The female secretary standing in front of Lee Shin, her face dry and emotionless, slipped her hand into her pocket.
The situation was on the verge of exploding.
Yet Lee Shin’s reaction was—
“Pfft. What a pathetic show.”
He laughed. He sneered as if it were ridiculous.
Lee Shin rose from the chair with a rustle.
“Sister, step aside.”
“……”
“Quickly. Don’t make me say it twice.”
For the first time, the female secretary showed agitation as she moved aside.
Some unknown pressure. Was it just her imagination? Lee Shin’s back looked unusually large.
Lee Shin now stood before Yang Pan-seok.
Even though they were close enough that Yang Pan-seok could kill him if he chose to act on his dark thoughts, Lee Shin remained perfectly calm.
“Two choices lie before you. The first is to raise that hand and stab me.”
Want to try?
When Lee Shin took one step closer, Yang Pan-seok unconsciously retreated.
He had tucked his tail.
“Just as I thought. Of course you would.”
From “Blame Others” to “Sense of Chosen People.” The common thread running through this guy’s traits was strong-weak-weak-strong.
He blamed others because they were weaker. He held a sense of superiority because they were weaker.
Then what about an opponent who seemed stronger? For example, Lee Shin—the eldest grandson of Lee Do Group, the greatest corporation in the country?
He was certain the man couldn’t do a thing.
“Then there’s only the second choice. Neatly vomit up everything you swallowed earlier and quietly accept the transfer.”
“Kgh……”
“What? You don’t like it? Or do you want to wear handcuffs instead?”
With his hands clasped behind his back, Lee Shin’s bright face drew closer to Yang Pan-seok.
“You can do the math too. Since it’s come to this, you might as well salvage whatever scraps you can. Right?”
The moment he lost the initiative, the man was finished. All Lee Shin had to do was decide whether to grill him or fry him.
And that decision was ‘transfer.’
He had considered every angle, and this was the best outcome.
Making a big fuss would only bring losses on multiple fronts.
Revealing Yang Pan-seok’s corruption would expose the guild’s own weaknesses, which would immediately lower the guild’s value.
Even if they could somehow get past that, selling Yang Pan-seok and these idiots at a proper price would become impossible.
After all, what front office would throw their most expensive player straight into the trash? Every single one of them was money.
To Lee Shin they were trash tier, but to lower leagues this level was still a welcome gift. Therefore he had to sell them while they still held some value.
“I really am weak to affection. Even taking care of trash like this. So, how about it? Made your decision?”
“……”
“Good. I’ll take that as agreement.”
Lee Shin patted the shoulder of Yang Pan-seok, who had given up on everything and slumped, and smiled brightly.
Then he turned and shouted.
“You all heard that, right? You’d better remember it too. I have a full list including the coffee mix packets you people secretly took for yourselves, so check it, pay the taxes you owe on your own, and keep your mouths shut. And if this matter gets noisy later on?”
Then—
“I’ll use my grandfather’s name to make sure you all get properly fucked.”
At Lee Shin’s final warning, everyone froze solid.
Satisfied with their reaction, Lee Shin smiled and clapped his hands.
“It went on a bit long, but I believe that’s enough explanation. It was a short time, but quite entertaining in many ways. With that in mind, this round’s on me. Eat and enjoy as much as you like. Well then……”
I sincerely wish you luck on your future paths.
With that, Lee Shin and the female secretary left the premises. Inside the devastated hall, Yang Pan-seok and his group remained motionless for a long time.
* * *