The Mysterious Game

"...So what am I supposed to do now?"

After packing my things and stepping out of the lodging alone, I muttered dazedly to myself.

My contract renewal had fallen through. I’d gone FA, but no team had called. Every tryout I’d applied for had been rejected.

Just like that, a 26-year-old second-division pro gamer with four years of career behind him and not a single playoff appearance to show for it was forced into retirement. Chronic wrist trouble I’d never properly treated and a herniated disc were just the icing on the cake.

***

"Take a season off and come back? You really think that’ll work?"

In the dim one-room apartment I’d rented with my savings, I laughed bitterly while on the phone with a former teammate.

He told me I’d be able to find a team next season. I didn’t know if that was because he was only twenty and didn’t understand how things worked yet, or if it was just clumsy consolation offered for my sake.

But for a player with no real selling points, a season away from competition was poison. In other words, I was done for.

"So you’re really retiring, then, hyung?"

"I did what I could. At this point..."

His voice was full of sympathy, and I laughed in response. Of course, it was a laugh that had nothing to do with how I really felt.

I didn’t think I’d done enough. I’d wanted more. Always more—always a higher place to reach. But effort was something everyone made. Talent was all that really mattered.

Now I understood that all too well, yet my heart still refused to let go of my life as a player.

What scared me wasn’t anything else.

If I gave up on this dream while still carrying such regret, would I ever find another line of work I could throw myself into with the same intensity? That was what terrified me most.

"Then are you going to stream?"

"You know I’m not built for that. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll study? I should at least finish college."

He mentioned internet broadcasting, the path most retired pros seemed to take these days, with plenty of former players already crowded into that scene, but I had never considered it.

I simply wasn’t the streaming type. If I’d had even a little of that star quality, it would’ve helped my contract negotiations.

"Ha... I really don’t know."

After the call ended, I was alone again, lying in the dim apartment and staring blankly at the ceiling.

Day 12 after retirement. It was about time I finished sorting out my feelings and started worrying about the rest of my life.

"If they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠win today, then we’ll finally have the pre-match interviews with the two teams advancing to the Summer Season finals. Interviewer Kang Suhyeon..."

Day 14 after retirement. After finishing a part-time job interview and coming home, I reached for my phone without thinking.

The video I’d habitually turned on was the live broadcast of the first division playoffs, starting today. Right now, in a place far from me, former teammates who were better, brighter, and more talented than I was were fighting for the honorable stage I’d wanted so badly.

"Fuck."

But after staring at it blankly for a while, I shut the video off and hurled my phone onto the bed—no, not onto the floor, onto the bed.

Pathetic and stupid, but honestly, I couldn’t stand it.

I’d thought I’d poured everything into this—time, health, passion, all of it—but there had been a wall I couldn’t get past. The despair of facing the brutal truth of my limits at only twenty-six. They said I had to overcome that to step up, but in the end I hadn’t been able to cross it.

I’d thrown away nearly half of my twenties, and all I had left in return was the label of college dropout, a vague and hopeless future plan, this one-room apartment I’d bought recently, and a small amount of savings.

But what made me angriest of all was that my fighting spirit was still burning. Now that I’d retired, that kind of thing was useless.

"Haa..."

After barely calming my breathing, I picked my phone up again.

The wrist of my right hand, the one I always used for my mouse, throbbed dully. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I clutched it and shook my head. If only my wrist had been fine. If only my back had been fine. That kind of excuse kept bubbling up inside me.

I was afraid that if I kept indulging those feelings, I’d end up resenting even the teammates I’d once fought beside.

"?"

That was when a mysterious notification arrived on my buzzing phone.

Sniffling for no real reason, I sat in the chair and checked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. It was a store app notice telling me that a game I’d pre-registered for had just been released and inviting me to install it.

Pandemonium.

Frowning, I checked the game’s name.

I had no memory of installing anything like it. I did play mobile games casually, but this was definitely not one I remembered.

"What the hell..."

I read the endless game description and let out an incredulous laugh aloud. There wasn’t a single generic line in it—no “This is a fighting game,” no “This is a card game,” no “We boast realistic graphics.”

Still, it had succeeded in catching my attention. I glanced at the developer’s name. I’d never heard of them. I checked the reviews and the star rating too, but since the game had only just launched, no one had rated it yet.

In the end, I pressed the download button.

Purely out of curiosity. I wanted to see what the hell this insane game was, a game with nothing for a profile picture except a black background, nothing for in-game screenshots, nothing at all.

If I’d bothered to pre-register for it, then they must’ve advertised on a major video site somewhere. It couldn’t possibly be a scam, could it?

And soon the download finished, adding the game’s icon to my screen.

I immediately tapped it and launched it.

Within the black screen, white text appeared, sliding into view.

And beneath those words, a red start button appeared. With a snort, I pressed it without hesitation.

"Welcome. You are a qualified player."

What appeared after the black screen was a lanky man in a black suit. The strange part was that he wore a big, pure-white rabbit mask over his head.

"I am your manager... Agares, as you might say."

"That mask is insane."

Slightly startled by the really solid dubbing quality, I laughed at the way he introduced himself. No matter how I looked at it, that rabbit mask was wildly out of place.

"Please don’t concern yourself with the mask."

"...Huh?"

I was still laughing when I froze. He was still looking at me through the screen.

Was this a coincidence? I shut my mouth, but so did he.

"You have clearly been recognized as someone with a desperate wish, which is why you were granted qualification and brought here."

Then he opened his mouth again. But his eyes remained fixed on me. Even though he was nothing more than a character in a game, I found myself averting my gaze for no reason. The suit he wore felt oddly old-fashioned, too.

"Through this game, you may yet achieve that wish. But there will certainly be a price. And merely playing will not be enough to earn such an opportunity."

He kept explaining, and I kept glancing around for a skip button and tapping the screen here and there, but in this day and age there wasn’t even a skip button.

"Of course, you don’t believe me. Perhaps right now you’d rather look for a skip button, mute the sound, or fiddle around with something else because you can’t be bothered to listen. So I’ll give you a chance."

After another remark that seemed to have seen straight through my behavior, a field for typing appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Feeling slightly flustered, I stared at the keyboard that had popped up and hesitated.

"I’ll grant you a single wish. However, it cannot be the thing you desire most as the purpose of this game’s participation."

"Geez..."

I typed in the words World Championship trophy, then erased them. It was silly, but I found myself thinking about it more seriously than expected.

Medicine that cures ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wrist injuries

After a moment of hesitation, that was what I typed half-heartedly. If a pill could cure a condition that would otherwise require a long treatment period and major surgery, how convenient would that be?

"Understood."

Then he suddenly grinned, tore open the message window that had appeared, and scanned it himself. It was a type of presentation I had never seen before.

"Take it, then. That is the reward for your 'entry fee.'"

"Agh!"

And in that instant—

The phone screen flared like a flashbang exploding, and something shot out of it and slammed into my head as I was looking down at the device.

"U-uhhh..."

Clutching my forehead, I tumbled backward out of the chair and writhed on the floor.

As I flailed there, something cold and glassy with liquid sloshing inside it landed in my hand.

I grabbed it and forced open my eyes, which had begun to water. Then my hand, holding the bottle, started trembling violently. My eyes, too, widened despite my will.

There was no way a refined old-fashioned glass bottle like this existed in my apartment. This was real. It had genuinely just shot out of my phone a moment ago.

"Please, examine it. A fragment of true miracle."

From the phone lying face-down on the floor came the amused voice of the rabbit-masked man, Agares.

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