Tutorial's End and the Next Target
Tutorial completed successfully.
From now on, some of the main directing functions of the VVIP Streaming App will be unlocked.
The floating text blinked in midair, and then a new interface, like something out of a game shop window, scrolled into view. With trembling hands, I picked up my cigarette again, lit it, and slowly read through the functions displayed on the screen.
There were no fantasy magic tricks like hypnosis apps or brainwashing from some third-rate webtoon. Instead, there was a lineup of vicious tools designed to most legally and cunningly wreck a person's life.
"...Fuck."
I let out a hollow laugh at the list of functions hovering in the air and the insane price tags mercilessly attached beside them.
Tutorial?
Yeah. So everything I did over the past month—completely corrupting those three prized bitches and even pounding their asses—was just a free trial to demo this app's features and taste.
On top of that, things went so smoothly because Yang Ji-hye and Jeong Su-jeong already had some favor toward me, but those auto-applied items played a big role too.
That's when I noticed a tiny line of text at the very bottom of the list, barely noticeable.
Customer support is always available, but a 10B KRW fee will be deducted per connection.
Consultation fee of 10 billion? Those crazy bastards. Charging 10 billion for one chat.
A regular office worker couldn't save that in a lifetime of just breathing and working, and they're saying to blow it on a ringtone.
But I didn't hesitate. To escape this shitty anxiety eating at my brain—the delusions of schizophrenia or deep web crime syndicates, all those horrific victim fantasies— I'd pay not just 10 billion, but 20, no, 30 billion right now.
Money can be earned again. But this unknown terror, if not resolved immediately, would drive me truly insane.
I jabbed my trembling finger irritably at the hovering support button in the air.
1,000,000,000 KRW deducted. Connecting to support agent.
Ding-.
A cheerful, cocky alert sound rang out, and a new popup appeared before my eyes.
It looked like a cheap customer service chat window from some generic online shopping site. Instead of typing, I raised a vein-popping shout into the air.
"Hey! What the hell are you? Who made this insane app? Fuck, is it the tax office? Or some deep web drug cartel? Answer me, you bastards!"
My voice echoed thunderously in the empty 100-pyeong space. The warm sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows clashed ridiculously with my crazy screaming at thin air.
Moments later, neat text appeared letter by letter in the popup.
Hello, customer. Per regulations, we cannot answer questions about our identity.
"What the fuck? You take 10 billion and won't even answer? Refund me, you bitch!"
However, we have one question for you, customer.
Another line of text appeared.
In your life so far, what do you think was the main culprit that made it the most fucked up and miserable?
"...What?"
The completely unexpected, out-of-left-field question shut my mouth just as I was about to yell.
The thing that made my life most miserable?
Suddenly, countless scenes flashed through my mind like a panorama.
My long-term girlfriend, whom I thought of like family, sighing at my empty bank account and coldly turning away, saying I had no future? Staying up all night on a film set, getting no pay, groveling to senior assholes like a dog, and eating shit? Catching the art disease while others got stable corporate jobs and cars—me wasting away in a semi-basement, smelling mold with my shitty little camera, worrying about tomorrow's cup ramen money?
My twenties were so full of pathetic wounds I couldn't pick just one. As I chewed my lip without an answer, the system pierced my silence and displayed the response first.
No need to answer. The correct answer is 'money' anyway.
It hit the bullseye, right in the sorest spot.
Poverty you can't overcome no matter how you struggle. The contempt from others and bone-deep sense of defeat it brings. The cold reality of capitalism that mocks romance and art.
We simply select those at the bottom of capitalism—those whose humanity has worn away from being mercilessly trampled—and among them, those with the 'twisted deprivation' that can most perfectly devolve into monsters when given money and power, and grant them this ability.
Twisted deprivation.
Yeah. I wasn't born a psychopath who enjoys shoving fingers up asses and trampling dignity. I was a normal guy who was affectionate, chased romance, and liked people.
But relentless poverty gnawed at my insides, and seeing the true disgusting faces of people bowing to money countless times twisted my personality into this.
That sadistic thrill I felt rolling Yang Ji-hye, Lee Ji-hee, and Jeong Su-jeong like cheap whores wasn't innate—it was the explosion of years of built-up resentment and rage at the world when it met the weapon of absolute power.
This shitty system pierced my festering wounds and inferiority complex exactly and chose me as its pawn.
"Twisted deprivation? Perfect monster? Bullshit, fuck! So you're saying you're some omnipotent gods or what?!"
No need to be curious about what we are. Believe we're gods, and we are gods; believe we're aliens, and we're aliens.
From your common-sense perspective, all this is just absurd fantasy anyway. Just enjoy this fantasy and reap the benefits, customer.
So goddamn polite and dry.
But beneath those words lurked the arrogance of an absolute being looking down and mocking a pathetic worm like me.
Whether you continue using this app is entirely your choice. If you don't want to, feel free to close the screen and stop now. We don't force it.
"What? You really mean I don't have to? No penalties or anything?"
Yes. We respect your free will. However, there are two minor rules for system maintenance.
First: If no 'directing (streaming)' is conducted via the app for a month or more, your qualification is deemed insufficient, the ability vanishes immediately, and transfers to another person.
The text paused briefly, then displayed the core line.
Second: The basic monthly fee for this app is 50B KRW. If unpaid by the designated billing date, no remaining debts or legal liabilities, but the ability cleanly vanishes and transfers to another.
I gasped like someone who'd forgotten how to breathe.
Don't use the functions or can't pay? Lose the ability and back to that gutter life. Back to scraping by on ten thousand won, juggling two or three jobs—the pathetic, miserable Han Siwoo existence.
What penalty could be more fucked and terrifying? The flimsy regret I'd felt moments ago—60 billion in hand, losing touch with reality, my art this and that, wallowing alone—evaporated from my head without a trace.
I have to survive. No, I'll exploit this ability thoroughly, feast on it, and reign as master of this shitty capitalist society forever.
I stared at the holographic window in the air, slowly organizing my thoughts. Yeah, fuck it. Just use this app as a business tool from some god to make money.
But that doesn't mean I have to shove my humanity into the gutter and live as a monster 24/7. Separate it completely.
This shitty app is only for making money and maintaining power. When night falls and the basement cameras roll, shoving into those cunts' holes, I'll be the world's cruelest, most depraved psycho director.
But in the sunlight? I'll do the art I always wanted. Now capital overflows. Art films, photos I crave—produce my works in perfect quality without money worries, as the passionate artist Han Siwoo.
And all the people coming through this studio. Even those exclusive whores Yang Ji-hye, Lee Ji-hee, and Jeong Su-jeong barking like dogs under me every night.
In the light of day, I'll treat them as the witty, kind, mannerly old charming Han Siwoo. Smiling with morning coffee on arrival, patting shoulders if they look tired—a warm big bro and boss.
Thinking it over, this is the answer. If I act like trash 24/7, beating and cursing, those bitches become mere machines spreading legs out of fear and debt.
But ravage their asses like subhuman at night, then by day be the world's kindest, capable nice guy respecting their dignity? That insane cognitive dissonance and gap.
That'll make those rag bitches not just see me as owner, but madly love and obsess over me as a real stud—the most perfect, vicious training method.
Once my thoughts reached there, the sticky unease and shitty comedown crushing my head washed away like a lie.
No need to be swayed by the app or fear the unknown system. I'll dominate the rules, design them thoroughly, and exploit them.
I smirked and closed the 10-billion support window without regret.
4 PM today. Time for the woman I booked from Gangnam to handle the overall interior and streaming setup for this 100-pyeong mansion's first floor studio. Cha Su-ah, the top interior designer who's the hottest in the industry.
Prestigious university architecture grad, black bob cut, massive tits and hips but freakishly narrow waist. Arrogant bitch with a sky-high nose from her own talent, infamous in the industry for being rude.
To cough up that 50B monthly sub right away, time to cast the line busily.
I lounged arrogantly on the massive leather sofa in the center of the first floor, glaring at the hovering function list.
A new sunny fish tank is ready, rules perfectly set. Now to dig up that haughty designer's hidden underbelly and kick off business thoroughly.
Without hesitation, I brought my finger to the hovering 20-billion purchase button.