Nightfall: The First Broadcast (Part 4)
In preparation for the stream, Winter had already “studied ahead” by playing through the early sections of Nightfall, so of course she had gone toe-to-toe with those werewolves herself.
Which meant she knew exactly how it went.
Tutorial monsters or not, those werewolves were blisteringly fast, viciously cruel, and so surgically precise in their tactics that swearing at the screen came as naturally as breathing.
Nightfall was not the kind of game where you could mow enemies down in an unstoppable rampage. You were all but forced to take them one-on-one, and rather than simply overpowering your opponent, you had to shut them down with practiced technique and razor-sharp strategy.
On top of that, in the tutorial stretch there was no way to power up a player’s build at all—no leveling, no swapping gear, nothing.
And in that state, he one-shot a werewolf with a single stroke?
Nor was Winter the only one rubbing her eyes, half-convinced they had betrayed her after watching the blow Yujin had just delivered.
The viewers, same as Winter, were left staring at the screen in open disbelief as Yujin cut the werewolf down in a single strike.
Nightfall was a fantasy game at its core, but when it came to dealing damage it leaned hard into realism. Land a hit on a vital point—the head, the solar plexus—and there was a real chance of an instant kill regardless of remaining health. Even if it didn’t kill outright, the damage far outstripped anything you’d deal to a normal body part. And if you timed a counter perfectly against an incoming attack, you could dump more than triple the usual damage in one go.
So even in the unleveled tutorial, if you countered at the exact right moment and carved through a weak point, one-shotting a werewolf wasn’t completely absurd.
The problem was that the person pulling off that ridiculous super play was someone who had never touched a VR game in his life until today.
Don’t tell me… that whole “I spent the last five years working as some kind of secret agent” story was actually true?
For the record, Winter and her parents had never believed for a second that Yujin had spent the past five years kidnapped in Europe and operating as some secret agent. The first time they heard it, the sheer joy of reuniting after five years had kept them from questioning him at all—but looking back now, the story had more holes than they could count.
Even so, Winter and her parents never pressed him for the truth. If Yujin had a past he wanted to bury badly enough to tell a lie that absurd, they were more than willing to pretend they hadn’t noticed a thing.
But the sequence of movements Yujin had just put on display… no matter how you looked at it, those were not the motions of someone playing a VR game for the first time today.
Don’t tell me… he’s that strong because, as a secret agent, he’s killed a lot of people?
And right as Winter’s misunderstanding—if it even still counted as one—was digging itself another layer deeper—
Shunk—!
The very person responsible for all of this misunderstanding kept swinging his sword with a completely unbothered expression.
“Kyaaaaaagh!”
Every time Yujin’s blade flashed in the moonlight, the werewolves’ screams tore through the air. Not the murderous howls of predators closing in—screams born of pure terror at the threat to their own lives.
“Awooooooo!”
As if thrashing through their final struggles, the werewolves lunged desperately, claws stretched toward Yujin. And he simply slipped past every frantic strike with almost insulting ease.
No—calling it mere evasion didn’t cover it. Yujin moved as if he already knew exactly what each werewolf would do, dodging with the unhurried grace of someone out for a stroll.
Even Winter, who knew nothing about martial arts, felt something click on pure instinct as she watched him. The steps he took and the cuts he made as he carved through his enemies were something precise and beautiful, like a single painted stroke.
Shunk!
A blade that looked like a streak of light sheared through the throat of the last remaining werewolf.
“Grrr—”
Something boiled up from the werewolf’s throat, and then its body crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Once again, a single stroke had been enough for an instant kill.
Click.
The moment Yujin sheathed his sword with that same unhurried motion, the chat—silent as if time itself had stopped—erupted into flames.
They had half-expected it and still couldn’t believe it—watching Yujin wipe out all five werewolves head-on sent the audience into a full-blown frenzy.
Nightfall was a game where even experts could die at any moment from a single small mistake. You staked your life on every trash mob, and if two or more enemies rushed you at once, falling back was the only sensible option.
So of course the viewers were cheering themselves hoarse. No streamer had ever managed anything close to a rampage in Nightfall—and Yujin’s lightning slaughter of five werewolves had just blown open a frustration they hadn’t even realized they were carrying.
Whoa that was insane!! None of the Nightfall streamers have ever shown a scene this cathartic lmao
“Uh… MissingHairtailNo1, thank you for the donation. Um, I appreciate the kind words. It’s my first time playing today, so it feels good that so many people are enjoying it.”
Remembering Winter’s advice—that you always had to thank donors and answer their questions—Yujin opened his mouth in a careful, stumbling rhythm.
NightfallTrashGame — 2,000 won
PhysicalIsKing — 5,000 won
TakeAllMyMoney — 10,000 won
ParkingKingParking — 3,000 won…
Maybe it was the rebound from that super play no other streamer had ever managed. The amounts weren’t massive, but people lining up to throw money at Yujin just kept coming.
And while Yujin was still picking his way through the chat, stammering out thanks to every donor, Winter took one look at the running total and let out a genuine gasp of admiration.
“Whoa… Oppa, you’re insanely popular. You’ve only been in the game ten minutes—do you know how much you’ve already pulled in?”
“How much?”
“A hundred and three thousand won.”
“…A hundred and three thousand? For real?”
He’d been casually assuming the total would land somewhere around ten or twenty thousand at most. Hearing the actual number hit him like a full-on culture shock.
“I made a hundred thousand won in ten minutes of playing a game? That’s exactly what I was supposed to get paid for showing up today.”
The chat only ever got this united when they had a target to roast, and under their gleeful needling Winter’s face went scarlet in seconds.
“Hey! Look, from my end that was a pretty generous offer, okay? How was I supposed to know?! That Oppa was basically an unclaimed lottery ticket!”
She looked flustered on the surface, but her viewers had always loved needling her like this—so in a way it was just another segment. Winter, for her part, kept them glued to the room with that same half-communication, which made the whole thing a mutual win.
“Anyway, Oppa—how did you even do that just now?”
“…‘That’? If you put it like that, how am I supposed to know what you mean.”
“Come on! You one-shot those werewolves with a single stroke! How did you pull that off?!”
Yujin blinked at her, as if there really was no secret worth hiding, and answered.
“Mm… honestly, there isn’t much of a secret. I blocked their attacks, and when an opening showed up, I stabbed. It’s actually pretty easy once you get it. You could probably do it too if you practiced.”
From his side, it was a completely sincere answer. All he had done was observe the werewolves’ patterns, commit them to memory, and cut their throats the moment a gap opened.
To Winter and the viewers, of course, it made absolutely no sense.
Listening to Yujin’s explanation, Winter and the chat were left with the same hollow, speechless feeling. Anyone could copy that with a little practice? He was the first person in the entire world to pull off a scene like that in Nightfall—and somehow he could say it like it was nothing?
But the hollowness only lasted a moment. Winter and the viewers both realized that empty-sounding answer was only possible because he wasn’t an ordinary person.
Someone who looked at the world through a completely different lens from everyone else. Someone who could do, as naturally as breathing, the things ordinary people couldn’t manage even if they died and came back to try again.
The world had a name for people like that.
Genius.