Footprints
"I couldn't log out in the middle because the situation didn't allow me to sleep at all."
"Let's hear what the situation was. Mr. Kim, you may leave now."
When the medical staff left the room, it finally occurred to me that a secretary and other people had entered my house without permission. My expression soured. There was the embarrassment of showing them my uncleaned, messy room, but it also felt unpleasant that they had walked into my home as they pleased.
"The tester contract also includes a clause about forcing entry in emergency situations. We judged this as an emergency due to the prolonged connection time."
Secretary Kim must have noticed the reason for my frown, because he addressed it first.
"Since that clause is correct for actual emergencies, I won't bring it up again. The reason I couldn't disconnect was..."
I explained to Secretary Kim how I'd accepted a request for mercenary rank, then encountered Tinkerbell fairies and a unicorn while gathering. I told him I couldn't sleep because I had to cater to the pair of them all night, and even after dawn broke I had to flee far away, leaving me no choice but to remain connected for an extended period.
I considered mentioning the fairy dust with its invisibility function or the rapeseed flowers that would let me obtain a large quantity of edible oil, but I kept quiet. Their tone when asking why I'd exceeded the connection time had been too unpleasant.
"Hmm. Given the special circumstances, I'll accept that explanation. However, if you connect for such long periods again, we cannot predict what bugs might occur."
"Bugs? Long-term connection can cause bugs?"
I asked in disbelief at the claim that bugs would trigger after more than eight hours of connection.
"Yes. It's absurd, but it's true. Due to the Youth Protection Act and Game Addiction Prevention Act enacted in 2032, the government's AI code activates to generate errors if anyone stays connected more than eight hours per day."
"What kind of bullshit..."
I thought it was nonsense, but a government agency steeped in political correctness when it came to games would absolutely do something this stupid.
If Secretary Kim was telling the truth, even the developers had no idea what would happen after eight hours of connection.
"Sigh. If that's what that idiotic law dictates, there's nothing we can do about it. Reality really is hilarious."
"Indeed. Therefore, please strictly observe the connection time limits. Oh, and one more thing. You submitted a report with your opinion regarding automatic character recognition. We've decided to release offline goods alongside the game launch. We'd like you to handle the related merchandise, Mr. Jinwoo."
"What? Me, in charge of the goods?"
"Yes. Specifically, a book-type good that teaches the language of Cliché World."
"Whoa. Instead of automatic character recognition, you're going to make players learn it like an actual foreign language?"
"Not exactly. Character recognition will be implemented once development progresses further. If we told users to learn it like a real foreign language before playing, they'd find it too difficult and quit."
"True."
"It's literally just merchandise. The book for learning the language itself becomes the product. Given how realistic the game is, the concept is to present it properly as knowledge acquired from that world."
"If it's framed as a concept, that sounds good. It would definitely become an otaku point that lets fans dive even deeper."
In Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, the elven language, hobbit language, and human language all appear in the books. Fans who learned them even began communicating with each other in those languages, which became quite the topic. However, because it was such high-level otaku behavior, it had never been attempted in games. Creating an original language for a game carried enormous risk.
"But is it really appropriate to entrust this to me? Would it be okay for someone who isn't even a linguist to do it? If I'm publishing a merchandise book, I feel like a cookbook about Cliché World cuisine would be more fitting."
"Ah, that's right. That was your major, wasn't it? There was a precedent back in the old WoW where someone actually prepared the in-game dishes and published a book. I remember that. In that case, let's do this."
Secretary Kim's eyes sparkled as if he'd just thought of something excellent.
"Let's commit to the concept properly. How about an otherworld travelogue presented as a book directly learned and transcribed from Cliché World?"
"Oh—that does sound interesting, but it seems like a ton of work and pretty difficult. Especially since I can barely manage English."
"Yes, it will certainly be challenging. But consider this: your name, Park Jinwoo, will be permanently engraved on merchandise released simultaneously with the game. It will be recorded in gaming history."
It could certainly seem like an annoying, pointless task. But if it meant leaving his name in gaming history, it was worth doing. Every gamer harbored the desire to leave their mark on the games they loved.
In the past, a video from the game Battle Field showing a player blowing up a plane and then boarding another one had become an enormous sensation. That clip was used as the opening for a new series' main trailer. The gamer who uploaded it had cried tears of joy knowing his play had been recorded in gaming history. When the story behind it spread, that gamer became a worldwide topic.
For a gamer, leaving footprints in a beloved game was the most joyful and honorable thing imaginable.
And this was for the official merchandise of Changing's ambitious new title. Not as a tester who couldn't officially leave his name, but as the creator of official goods—having my name remain in the game sparked genuine greed.
"After the language book, we'll officially release the Cliché World cookbook in the style of an adventure journal. What do you think?"
"I'll do it. I'll create the Cliché World language book under the name Jinu. Should we draw up a separate contract? Will I be paid?"
"Of course."
"Kekeke... The priest has disappeared! Is he somewhere else? Kekeke..."
"Kekeke... No, he's gone. I can't sense him anymore. Maybe he left. Kekeke."
"Kekeke... The fat one is coming this way. Kekeke..."
"Where did that human priest go? Yesterday he gave us that human food called alcohol. I want to drink it again—where is he?"
"Kekeke... The fat one left, I said. He was called by his god. Kekeke..."
"Damn. Still, he left us with a ton more of that yellow-scented grass."
"Kekeke... The fat one ate half the yellow-scented grass. It'll all be gone in a few days. Keke..."
"Kekeke... I've decided to believe in God Sadalla. Om Mani Padme Hum! Kekeke..."
"Kekeke... Me too! Me too! If we believe in God Sadalla and keep chanting Om Mani Padme Hum, the grass will grow back! Kekeke..."
"Keke. But no matter how much we chant, it doesn't grow. Still, the incantation does roll off the tongue nicely. Kekeke."
"Kekeke... Gods are always stingy. If we keep singing and nearly give up, that's when they'll grant us a blessing. Kekeke..."
Thus, rumors began to spread that strange incantations echoed through the swamps of Hool Lake.
The contract advance for publishing the official language tutorial book came to ten million won, but it looked like my day was about to get even busier. Still, I made time to exercise, learn the trade at the magic workshop, and loosen up my body at the medieval reenactment club. When I finally logged in, it was deep night. Yanne sat by the campfire with Call.
A girl, a dog, and a campfire creating the perfect atmosphere—it was the ideal camping scene. The sight was so pleasant that I simply soaked in the ambiance for a while before deliberately making noise as I rose.
"Master, you're awake?"
"Yeah. What did you have for dinner?"
"I just ate some dry bread."
She had probably eaten the tasteless dried bread because she worried that any smell might attract other animals.
"Call didn't react at all?"
"No. It seems the fairies we saw in the swamp yesterday didn't follow us."
"That's a relief."
I sat beside Yanne and stared into the flames. The thought of spicy ramen broth suddenly came to mind. Cup ramen eaten while zoning out at a campfire was its own kind of delicacy, and I felt a pang of regret that I couldn't have any.
Even if I kneaded dough to make noodles like kalguksu, without red pepper powder or soy sauce I couldn't recreate that spicy flavor. In the end the only option was soup, but I'd grown tired of the butter-roux version since I'd eaten it so often.
Then I remembered the thyme and unrefined brown sugar. If I couldn't have spicy, maybe sweetness would satisfy me instead.
I took out the table and gas burner, along with the large quantity of dried bread I carried. I also brought out hardtack that was even drier than the bread.
"Master, are you going to eat hardtack too?"
In the military, soaking hardtack in milk was considered a delicacy, but the moment you stepped out the base gates, hardtack became a nuclear-level no-taste supply item. I'd tried every trick imaginable to make that stuff palatable.
"I'm not eating it plain. Just like how I grilled that smelly jerky, I'll teach you how to grill tasteless dried bread until it's delicious."
First I put butter and brown sugar in a small bowl and stirred them together with a spoon to create sugar butter. I spread it on one side of the dried bread and placed it in the frying pan. While that side grilled, I spread sugar butter on the other side as well.
As the sugar butter melted and soaked into the bread, it quickly turned a deep brown. It looked almost burnt, but that was exactly what brown-sugar toast was supposed to look like.
Once both sides were done, I transferred it to a plate and let it cool and harden. I finely chopped the thyme and sprinkled it over the toast so it would set together.
The sweet aroma of caramelizing sugar butter made both Call and Yanne swallow visibly, but I wouldn't let them touch it yet.
"Brown-sugar toast is good right now, but it's even better once the sugar butter cools and hardens. It forms a coating, so you have to wait."
At the word "wait," Yanne's hands fidgeted, so I decided to give her something to do.
"Put this sugar butter on the hardtack in small amounts."
I had her place the remaining sugar butter in neat dollops atop the hardtack. Then I set the pieces in the frying pan over low heat and left them for a while. The pan's heat warmed the hardtack, letting the leftover butter oil seep in. When that heat reached the sugar butter, it began to melt.
The slowly melting sugar butter trickled down, soaking into the hardtack. Once about half had melted, I turned off the heat and scattered chopped thyme over the top.
"Master! The butter sugar on top hasn't fully melted!"
"That little bit left behind is what gives it texture when you chew."
"Oh ho. So making things with butter and sugar is a dish that goes all the way and then stops at the perfect moment."
"Exactly. Sweet dishes need that. Going all the way actually makes them worse."
When the brown-sugar toast seemed fully cooled and hardened, I scraped the cross-section with a fork.
Scraaape— Scraaaape—
"When the solidly hardened sugar butter makes this sound as you scrape it with a fork, it's perfect."
"That's amazing!"
Yanne took the fork and scraped the toast herself to check if it had hardened properly. Then we each picked up a piece.
The texture was perfect. The outside was crunchy from the hard sugar coating, while the inside of the bread had absorbed the moisture from the sugar and butter, giving it a wonderful chew. It was the very definition of sweet and satisfying.
"Wow! It's so delicious. The sweetness rushes in—wow—and fills my whole mouth, then the refreshing herb flavor pushes that sweetness away again."
"That's the thyme we obtained from Hool Lake. When you sprinkle it on sweet foods or meat dishes, the clean herb taste refreshes the palate."
"I love it. Eating too many sweets usually feels cloying and heavy, but this thyme completely clears that away. Can I try the hardtack with sugar butter on it too?"
"Of course. Eat as much as you want."
The hardtack had the sugar butter sitting on top like a luxurious decoration that hadn't fully melted. The true charm of that partially melted sugar butter revealed itself the moment you bit down.
"I-it crunches! There are sugar granules crunching!"
Yanne was fascinated not only that the rock-hard hardtack had softened, but by the novel texture of the less-melted sugar butter crunching like powder. The sweetness was like ten spoonfuls of honey mushroom condensed into one.
"It's clearly the same sugar butter I spread on the toast, but the one on the hardtack tastes sweeter! Why is there a difference?"
"Because the base ingredients have different textures. Hardtack is denser and naturally crumbly. When you chew it, the clumped, less-melted sugar butter gets chewed along with it, so it feels relatively sweeter."
"Even with the same ingredients, the cooking method changes everything."
"Exactly. You have to develop an eye for understanding the relative properties of ingredients like that before you can make proper dishes. Think you can handle it next time, Yanne?"
"Yes! Next time I'll make it for you. I think I can do it well!"