The Offline Brawl Challenge

I opened my eyes to a real-life meetup challenge.

Morning sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, filling the room. The fatigue completely gone meant I'd slept like a baby.

Just as I stretched and tried to get out of bed—

-BAM!

"Hey! Kang Tae-ho! You up?"

The door flew open like it was about to break, and Ha-eun barged in. Hair rollers in her hair, smartphone in hand—she looked ready for battle. Same energy as last night when she was flailing cushions at me.

"Ugh, come on. Knock first?"

"Knock? That's the issue right now? Where's my elf pic?!"

At the crack of dawn, she's on this again. What a nagging brat.

"If you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't hand it over, I'll tell Mom to serve nothing but steamed broccoli for your breakfast."

Childish threat, but deadly effective.

Surrender it is. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my smartphone from my pocket.

VIP emergency contact line. I fired off a quick text to the Japanese Hunter Association hotline I'd gotten in Osaka.

Eventually, I got through to the Japanese side and snagged the elf photos.

The second the image files hit the messenger, I flung the phone behind my back.

"Here, take it."

Ha-eun's hand, about to smack my back, froze in mid-air.

"Whoa? You actually got it?"

She scooped up the phone from the floor, her nose twitching excitedly. Swiping through the screen like a horny orangutan.

No matter how you slice it, how's someone with that brain working at a big corp?

"Whoa, insane. Look at those pointy ears. That pale skin for real?"

"Wipe your drool."

"Hey, can I post this on my YouTube? Thumbnail gold."

She flopped onto the bed, already grinning like a fiend. Obvious plan: some cheap clickbait title like 'First Ever Elf Photos Revealed!'

I itched to smack the back of her empty head.

But hey, I forgot to take pics at the Osaka Gate, so maybe a tiny bit my fault.

I'll let it slide this once.

"Gonna suck up those sweet views. Love ya, oppa!"

"Gross. Get out."

I waved her off and turned away. She finally sent the pics to her phone, humming as she left the room.

Morning drama drained me—time to eat. In the living room, the TV blared morning news. Anchor's grave face, but the content? Wild.

"They've got all kinds."

I let out a disbelieving chuckle. When the hell did I save any bald guys?

The world's gone collectively nuts.

Watching this worthless news any longer might corrupt my brain too.

Sigh, annoying.

Gave up thinking. Back to the game.

Into my room, plop into the chair. Wiggled the mouse at the screensaver monitor.

Whirr—screen lit up.

But something was off on the monitor. That was my prime farming spot from earlier. Should've been just my character, but some rando was there spamming skills.

Fancy effects exploded, sweeping away my monsters.

I slapped the keyboard.

Excuse me? What'd this punk just say?

This game's got legit spot fees. I'd shelled out plenty of in-game cash to rent this zone.

But the reply? Priceless.

Ignoring me, he unleashes a wide AoE like it's nothing.

Threat to pin him to the boards? Nada.

Ah, blood pressure rising. Wanna see who wastes more time?

I made my hanging character jump down the rope. Positioned right on top of his, mashed skills too.

On screen, characters tangled, scrabbling for last hits on monsters.

Chat flooded with asterisks from filtered curses.

Our childish pride fight dragged on—then flash from the portal. New characters poured in. All with the same guild mark under IDs. His guildmates.

They circled my character, mass-slaughtering monsters. Overwhelming firepower—mine couldn't even get close, just swinging in the air.

Keyboard mashing got me mockery.

They're probably roasting me in their group chat, cackling. Their snide laughs echoed through the monitor, pissing me off more.

But I'm an adult. 32-year-old intellectual. Can't let no-face kids shorten my lifespan.

Deep sigh, gripped the mouse. Too dirty, too cheap—I'll bail.

Controlled my character to portal out to a quiet spot.

Then Mom's voice from outside.

"Puppy~ Dinner time!"

"Yeees—"

Living room: Table overflowing with side dishes, enough to break a leg.

Flashback to that horrific portion torture. Reflexively snatched the smallest-looking rice bowl.

"Mom, my digestion's off lately. Just a little."

Inhaled it, set down spoon, stood.

"Thanks for the meal."

Bolted to my room without looking back. Locked the door, sighed in relief.

Back to desk, climbed into chair. Glanced at screen—couldn't believe my eyes.

Those guild punks swarmed my character. How'd they track the channel? Circling it, dancing as a group.

One's head popped a system message.

Ding-ding—ominous sounds as my precious popularity plummeted.

These fuckers ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crossed the line.

Community? Spine chilled.

Their community: Massive anon board where 90% of players hang.

Minimized game, opened browser. Clicked bookmarked community.

Main page loaded—real-time best post #1 slammed my eyes.

Views exploding already. Trembling mouse-clicked it.

Post body: 'AFK punk whines it's his spot so called guild to teach him' summary + screenshots.

Comments? A circus.

Blood pressure skyrocketing.

Logged into community account. Fingers shook typing password—messed up twice, finally in.

Straight to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠comments.

Refresh—replies flooded.

Mockery filled the screen—reason snapped.

Short legs kicked wildly from the chair.

"Fuck, gonna lose it."

Nosedived into monitor, typing madly.

Logic useless. They weren't listening—just enjoying the sandbag flail.

Every reply's ping grated my nerves.

Continuing keyboard war? Just hurt my fingers.

But backing down? Rage insomnia tonight.

Gripped mouse hard, Alt-Tab to game.

My character still mobbed by monkey pack. Fireworks over head, trolling.

Right-clicked the poster's ID.

His dance stopped. Then bubble over head.

Short text oozed kid snark through the screen.

"Ha, fuck."

Curse slipped out. Veins bulged on mouse hand.

Brats hiding behind anon, yapping. After I bled saving their asses in Gate Shock 3 years ago? Wanna slap past me.

Fingers typed before brain. Hit enter—oops, too late.

32 and calling IRL PK in game? Laughable even to me.

But dice rolled. Immature? Lid's off.

Chat quieted. Stunned? Lasted 3 secs.

Mockery poured like fuel on my rage.

Leader smugly replied.

Incheon Bupyeong. Not far.

"Gotcha, punk."

Glared at monitor, grinding teeth.

Fired that, stomped PC power button off.

Whirr—screen black.

But my gut burned black.

PC heat felt scorching. Room silent, but their laughs buzzed in my ears.

"Haa..."

Flopped face-down on desk, heaving rough breaths. Cold desk on forehead, but heat lingered.

Snarky texts flickered before eyes.

Bupyeong underground fountain. 2PM.

Tomorrow's spot burned in my brain.

"See you tomorrow, punk."

Tomorrow, fold that kid in half.

Only my huffs filled the room. Rage'll keep me up tonight.

Snarling, crawled to bed, yanked blanket over head.

"Tomorrow for real, fuck..."

My muffled grumble echoed pathetically under the covers.