The Sweet Temptation of a Single Click

A single click is always right.

Ding.

The notification sound from the open chat finally snapped Minjun back to reality. Right. We were still talking. Ah—what should I say? Now that he knew his interlocutor was an absolute titan, a completely different level of pressure and tension weighed on him. It was just a text chat, yet his heart hammered. Since things had already come to this, he wanted to reel her in completely, but his brain refused to cooperate. He typed and deleted his message several times. Fortunately, the system's directing interface flared to life.

Minjun read the lines and set his fingers in motion. It felt incredibly cheesy once again, but since he was only typing it out, it didn't feel too sickening. A lingering doubt crept up—does she really like this kind of stuff?—but the result spoke for itself.

Ding.

A moment later, she replied.

Minjun set his phone down and stared at his computer monitor. It was at that exact moment.

Ding.

Appearance Enhancement. The highly intriguing name made Minjun's eyebrows slowly rise. He clicked it.

Minjun looked back and forth between the two buttons. He didn't doubt it for a second. This system was the real deal. If it said it could do it, it could. In other words, physical enhancement was truly possible.

The problem, as always, was money. In cash terms, the guaranteed General Enhancement cost 1.8 million won. With his current balance, he could afford it twice. On the other hand, the Probability Enhancement cost only 70,000 won, which sounded tempting, but it was an obvious trap. There wasn't even a success rate displayed. All it said was the vague phrase "Low Chance." It didn't even tell him how low. In the worst-case scenario, it could be one in a hundred million. An insincere option that didn't even properly disclose the odds—it reeked of a scam.

Reason told him to ignore it. Yet, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠somehow, his mouse cursor was already drifting toward the Probability Enhancement button.

Should I just give it a little taste...?

Click—

Silence. And then:

Ding.

"Huh...?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Minjun stared at the screen, completely dazed for a moment. A +2 upgrade for just 700 balloons. The regular price for a single upgrade was 18,000 balloons. This was an absurd, mind-blowing jackpot. But right then—

He hadn't even finished reading the message before his vision spun wildly.

Thud.

Minjun blacked out on the spot.

He opened his eyes about ten minutes later. He stumbled to the bathroom and stood before the mirror.

"Wait... what?"

He was different. The tip of his nose had settled slightly. What used to be slightly upturned was now set at the perfect, ideal angle. The youthful fat under his eyes—his aegyo-sal—had become defined. It wasn't that something new had suddenly appeared; rather, it felt as though what was already there had finally found its rightful place. His philtrum had shortened. His eyes were crystal clear, his skin flawless, and his lips held a healthier, more vibrant color.

Each change was subtle on its own. But when combined, his entire impression was completely transformed.

"...Whoa. Holy shit."

Minjun stared at the mirror in awe before frantically dashing back to his computer. He opened the Star Live window.

Just one more time.

Click.

"Ah...!"

Unfortunately, the second attempt was a failure. But it was fine. Even if he blew through all his remaining Star Balloons, he was already way ahead of the game.

In that case...!

Click.

Click. Click. Click.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

His Star Balloons melted away. Faster than the Arctic glaciers weeping from global warming.

30,000. 20,000. 10,000.

Every single click vaporized 70,000 won. His heart was tearing to shreds. He felt like he was going to cough up blood. He was doing absolutely nothing but clicking a button, yet high-end omakase dinners, luxury staycations, and overseas trips were flying out the window.

Yet his hand wouldn't stop. None of those things mattered. If only he could hit the jackpot...!

But in the end, his Star Balloons hit rock bottom in the blink of an eye.

His head burned. Psssshh— Hot steam felt like it was boiling his brain cells. Aaargh! Nooo! Screams echoed in his ears. It was the desperate wailing of his future self.

Rationally speaking, he had still broken even. If he stopped here, that would be the end of it. But rationality had already left the building. He immediately grabbed his phone and dialed Jeongwoo.

"Hey, Jeongwoo. Lend me 500,000 won."

— What...? Dude, are you gambling or something? You never do shit like this.

"Ah, come on. I'm trying to get some treatments done. You know, like aesthetics, skin clinics, stuff like that."

— Sigh. You poor soul. Do you think drawing stripes on a pumpkin makes it a watermelon?

"Hey, cut the crap! I'll absolutely pay you back within this month...!"

*Click—*

The call cut off before he could even finish his sentence.

But then:

Ding.

And then a KakaoTalk message arrived.

"Bastard. He was going to give it to me anyway. Heh."

He chuckled, feeling glad to have at least one good friend. But he didn't even have time to laugh. He immediately headed to the Star Balloon recharge page and hit the purchase button.

Ding.

"Fuck it. Let's go. I've got Rabbit on my side."

Even if he lost all of Jeongwoo's money, it was fine. He could easily recoup it if he just sweet-talked Harin, the biggest whale on his stream. He knew it was a trashy way of thinking. But thinking like this took the pressure off.

Sorry, Harin! But you'd prefer your oppa to get handsome too, right!

Click—! Fail.

Click—! Fail.

Click! Click. Click. Cl...ick... Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail—!

"..."

Jeongwoo's one million won had melted away. In an instant. It took barely a minute.

His brain boiled. It felt like it was liquefying. A massive wave of stress gave him a splitting headache. But it was still fine. If he stopped here, it wouldn't be a disaster. Sure, it stung, but he could easily make this much back and pay him off. But if he pushed any further, that would be a real problem. He had to stop here. If he didn't want to betray Jeongwoo's trust.

Wait... No, that's not right. Can't I just squeeze more out of Rabbit...?

But then, a certain set of figures flashed in his mind.

Average monthly income: ~430 million won. Peak monthly income: 1.1 billion won.

The true identity of 'Gloomy Rabbit' was Lee Harin, the undisputed queen of VTubers. She was filthy, unimaginably rich. Honestly, a million won was pocket change to her.

If I brew a few more cups of chamomile tea for Rabbit, I can easily pull in five million won. Yeah. It's not out of reach.

With hope surging anew, he opened his phone. Mobile banking. Check balance. Living expenses. Rent. Food. Transportation. Money he absolutely should not touch. Under normal circumstances, that is. But he had Rabbit.

Rabbit, I believe in you...!

He convinced himself he was just spending the Star Balloons she would donate in advance. Leaving behind a bare-minimum emergency fund of 300,000 won, he deposited every single cent. And he started again. This time, he even prayed. These things required a sense of reverence. Yes, his previous failures were simply because he hadn't been desperate enough.

Please, God. Buddha. Allah. Gods of heaven and earth. BTS, Bong Joon-ho, Son Heung-min, Jay Park...! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Just once. Seriously, just once...!

Gathering all his energy. Gathering all his hope.

Click—!

. . .

"Fuck...!"

Slam—!

It was a keyboard he had always treated with utmost care. He cherished it so much he wouldn't even eat food in front of it for fear of getting it dirty. Yet, he had just slammed his fist onto it. He had beaten his meat plenty of times, but slamming a keyboard in rage was a first in his life. That was how furious he was. Even his living expenses were completely gone.

Mom, I'm sorry...! Jeongwoo, I'm sorry...!

His hands trembled at the thought of the money he had lost. But apologies aside, he felt incredibly wronged. On a human level, this was just wrong. It was such a brutal, unfair streak of bad luck that he wondered why the UN hadn't stepped in to intervene.

Right. If I failed this many times, the next one has to be...!

Suddenly, a famous meme of a miner came to mind. Success was right around the corner. The peak was in sight. But because of one—just one—missing swing of the pickaxe, they give up on everything. Even though success is right there, even though diamonds are right in front of them, they turn back in despair. In that instant, all their effort goes down the drain. That was how most people failed. He refused to be like most people.

Just one more time...! Seriously, the absolute last time...!

Chanting "the final, final, absolute final try," he exchanged even the 300,000 won he had set aside for food. To be precise, it was 280,000 won. At 70,000 won per click, he had exactly four chances left.

And so, the first one.

Click—!

"Fuck...!"

Click—!

"Fuuuuck!!"

Cli—ckkkkkkk—!

"Aaaaargh!"

The third failure happened in a flash. He could barely breathe. At this point, the outcome was obvious. Utter ruin. Complete destruction. Total collapse. A pathetic loser. A failed leveraged investor. A failed speculator. A failed gambler. A brainless youth, or a "resting youth"—except he hadn't even rested. Every single derogatory label was pointing directly at him. With absolute clarity.

Yet, gasping and sobbing, he gripped the mouse until the very end. Hope had already vanished. He felt like he'd rather be swiftly euthanized. In a state of total self-abandonment, he clicked. Do whatever you want. Just kill me, world.

Click—

Silence. It was long. And then:

Ding.

"Huh...?"

Jackpot. It was the exact result he had been waiting for. But before he could even celebrate, he lost consciousness.

*Thud.*

Minjun's body went limp and slid onto the floor.