The Rookie... Right?(3)

“This is a problem...”

Hidden behind the cargo truck, Yeongho frowned as he idly twirled his pistol in his hand.

He had located the enemies, but for some reason their movements still felt blurry and indistinct. A faint headache throbbed behind his eyes, dulling the edge of his Battle Sense.

I’m starting to feel worn out. It’s only the second match, so why am I like this?

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

He didn’t realize it himself, but the thought of broadcasting in front of thousands of viewers had kept him taut with tension the entire time. The amount of focus it consumed was simply different from the days when he played games happily with only his son beside him.

“Damn, what do we do, Hyeong-nim? Want me to go in as bait or something?”

“Hmm. Hold on a second.”

Choi Pinam, who had seen Yeongho’s skill firsthand just beside him, suggested that even if he died, it might be worth buying Yeongho some time.

But Yeongho felt his senses were duller than before, and even if an opening came, he couldn’t be certain he’d be able to bring all the enemies down. That hesitation held him back.

He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to force his sensitivity back into focus however he could.

Then, with a prickling sensation running up his lower back, an alarm rang in his mind.

“Ghk!?”

Was it sudden danger instinct?

The last scraps of his concentration were wrung out dry, and in an instant his senses snapped sharply into place. In his mind, he could see it clearly: two teams closing from opposite angles, both tucked behind cover, each of them drawing a grenade almost at the same time.

If grenades came flying from both sides in a situation where his space to dodge was limited...

“H-Hyeong-nim!? Wh-what are you—”

The intuition struck him like prophecy: stay here and die. Without another thought, Yeongho hurled himself out from the truck.

Pa-pa-pa!

Bullets ripped into him as he moved, sending his health gauge plummeting.

That was only natural. While one enemy threw the grenade, the others kept up suppressive fire without pause.

But Yeongho ignored all of it and crossed both arms, pistol in hand, entering a state of total concentration.

Two muzzles, aimed in different directions, spat fire.

One bullet struck the top of a grenade that had just left a hand, twisting its trajectory and slamming it forcibly into the ground.

At the same time, another round buried itself squarely in the wrist of the player on the opposite side, who had just pulled the pin and was about to throw.

The hand, suddenly afflicted by a brief stun, lost all strength and dropped the grenade right onto the floor.

“Huh?”

“Wh-what!?”

“What the hell!”

After the stunned players blurted out a few words, a few seconds passed.

The notifications kept streaming upward.

It had been Yeongho’s shots that caused the whole thing, but on the system’s display, it was judged as though the owners of the grenades had committed suicide and team-killed each other.

No one died instantly.

There were still a few seconds before the grenades went off, which was enough time to get out of the blast center.

Really, if they’d reacted fast enough, they could have picked up the dropped grenades and thrown them away, reducing the damage even further.

But apparently no one had that kind of reflexes or judgment.

That left four enemies in critical condition.

Three others remained who still had some health left and could keep fighting.

“Ugh...”

By contrast, Yeongho still had health remaining, yet he was sprawled on the ground and couldn’t move.

Was it because he had pushed Battle Sense to its limit? He hadn’t even been running around wildly, but he was breathing hard and his head was pounding, his whole body demanding immediate rest.

He could barely twitch a finger.

Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to carry the entire fight by himself after all.

“Raaahhhh!”

Rat-a-ta-ta! Rat-a-ta-ta!

Choi Pinam’s rifle swept back and forth, spraying bullets at the remaining enemies.

Yeongho was the one who’d shown off such insane presence, but Choi Pinam’s raw mechanics were nothing to laugh at either.

Even against three enemies who were already barely hanging on, he had more than enough skill to finish them off.

Thanks to that, even the enemies writhing in critical condition were reclassified as dead, and in a single instant, Choi Pinam had racked up seven kills.

At the same time, celebratory fanfare and the first-place notification appeared on the screen.

“Shiiiiiit! That’s sex, baby! Gyaaaah—”

- Holy shit lol was that for real? He shot the grenade out of the air?

- LMAO Choi Pinam was just hiding and then ate all the finishing blows

- Godfather!! Godfather!! Godfather!! Godfather!!

- That was insane, I thought I was watching a movie

- And this guy’s the rookie? Then what the hell does that make my hundreds of hours in Baea??

- I should ask my dad to play games with me too ;;

Choi Pinam’s booming cheers and the chat window burning hot with excitement.

As dozens of donation alerts stacked up, the space shifted and Yeongho returned to the waiting room, where he sat down on the floor and caught his breath.

His whole body felt hot and listless, as if he’d caught a cold.

“Godfather-nim got 17 kills, and I got 12! This round was basically no different, right? Hey, don’t curse at me. You wanna get banned? Yeah, sure, I’ll admit I scavenged a little. Jealous? You guys want to ride the bus too?”

Even Choi Pinam’s voice, yammering away next to him, sounded like it was echoing from deep inside a cave.

“Hyeong-nim? Our viewers are saying they want to ride the bus too. Should we fill the room with two digits of participants this time and run it again?”

“Huh? Y-yeah...”

Only after Yeongho answered on reflex did he understand what that meant—and panic set in.

There was no way he could keep playing.

But after only two matches, could he really bow out saying he was tired?

While he was worrying over it, Choi Pinam, unaware of the situation, was spinning a roulette wheel and recruiting participants.

“Huh...?”

“Eh? Why’d you leave? Hyeong-nim?”

Then, along with an alert he’d never seen before, the game abruptly kicked him out.

After reading the message, Yeongho spoke in a baffled voice.

“Uh... it says my account has been suspended.”

“Hah? Suspended?”

Only after he shared the alert exactly as it appeared could everyone understand what had happened.

- LOL no way, he got falsely banned

- Did the guys who died to Godfather-nim report him?

- LMAO if that happened to me, I’d probably report him too tbh;

- Damn, this rookie’s only played five matches and he got banned because he’s ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too good lol

- When famous people get unfairly targeted, a bunch of idiots spam reports and the system auto-bans them. Game companies usually release them after investigating.

The VR system left no room for unauthorized external programs to interfere.

That was why, unlike the old online games, there was no such thing as reporting someone for using hacks.

However, reports for bad behavior were possible.

And very rarely, if a player exploited a bug that was internal to the game itself, that could also be reported.

Yeongho’s situation was that enough reports had piled up accusing him of being a bug user that the game company had temporarily suspended him for investigation.

“What, they ban you just because you’re good at the game!? My Hyeong-nim, huh!? ...Okay, fine, maybe he was a little more than just good.”

- LMAO he said it and immediately backtracked

- It’s unfair, but I kinda get it lol

- If I were the one getting stomped, I’d be yelling, “What the hell is that bug?!” and reporting him too lol

- This isn’t like some old-school game with aim hacks or something; it really is unbelievable lol

“But for that many reports to trigger an automatic suspension, it’d have to be not one or two people but dozens all reporting in a short span, right? Does that even make sense? Ah, well... I guess it does.”

On average, Yeongho had been racking up well over a dozen kills per match.

And most of those kills had been in scenes so outrageous they made people want to scream that it had to be cheating.

From the perspective of the players on the receiving end, reporting him for using a bug didn’t seem strange at all.

Over five matches, dozens of reports sounded entirely possible.

- If you’re just gonna keep making excuses for him by yourself, shut up already lol

- So what now? Even if it’s known to be a false ban, they won’t lift it today.

- Famous streamers usually get those kinds of unfair bans reversed within a day.

- Those guys have fans filing complaints, so it gets fixed fast. If you’re just a regular person, it can take a while.

- Then let’s complain too, damn it. I’m contacting customer support right now.

“Tsk. What do we do, Hyeong-nim? Since we can’t keep playing Baea right away, should we look for another game or something?”

Shaken by the unexpected situation, Choi Pinam asked for Yeongho’s opinion.

From his perspective, he’d want to keep the momentum going by switching games if he had to.

“Since it’s come to this, can I stop here? I actually think I might not be feeling too well.”

“Huh? You showed monster-level skill like that, though...”

Honestly, for Yeongho, who was already exhausted, having a proper excuse to step away was something he was grateful for.

“Ah! Dad’s nose is bleeding!”

“Oh? Here, take some tissue. You really don’t seem to be feeling well. I couldn’t tell when I greeted you, but you do look a bit worn out.”

At Seonhui’s cry, the manager hurried over and handed him tissues after spotting blood welling at the tip of Yeongho’s nose as he came out of the capsule.

This time it was only a tiny amount, not even enough to run down, but after seeing blood again while gaming, Yeongho couldn’t exactly feel good about it.

Every time I play VR games, this happens. And this exhaustion too... is my body getting worn down by my abilities in virtual reality?

As he pinched his nose for a moment, Choi Pinam, who had come out after him, spoke up.

“Whew, you really went through it today. Sorry we couldn’t treat you better after bringing you in.”

“No, not at all. I’m the one who’s sorry I couldn’t stay longer.”

“Heh heh, no, Hyeong-nim. Still, since it’s a shame, please give us another chance next time! The viewers loved it today.”

“Haha. I’m just a normal middle-aged guy, though. I’d worry the viewers might not want me showing up all the time.”

At Yeongho’s smiling reply, Choi Pinam immediately went serious and waved both hands.

“Absolutely not! I’m serious, not just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠saying this to be polite—please come back again. Honestly, if you started broadcasting right now, I feel like you’d do better than me...”

“Huh? Haha...”

After repeating his plea several more times, Choi Pinam finally left after seeing them off, since he still had a broadcast to continue.

Just as when they’d arrived, his manager came along as well, saying he’d drive the two of them home.

“I’ll calculate everything cleanly and transfer your payment by sometime next month. Sometimes people cancel their donations, and we can’t always receive the cash right away either.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“How much is it, manager-nim?”

At Seonhui’s innocent question, the manager seemed to do a quick calculation before answering.

“Well, the mission money and donations during the time you appeared—”

While Choi Pinam and Yeongho had played those two matches, the coins that had piled up came to roughly 2.5 million won.

However, converting coins to cash meant paying a platform fee.

That varied by company and again according to a streamer’s contract terms, but on average, you could expect about 30 percent to be taken out.

After subtracting minor tax issues and splitting the remainder in half...

“It’ll be a little over 800,000 won.”

“Huh? That much?”

“Wow! Jealous. Dad, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠give me some allowance.”

The amount exceeded expectations, leaving him a little stunned.

He had been on the show for less than two hours.

For a middle-aged man who had thought he’d spend his life going only between home and work, earning more than 400,000 won an hour was enough to leave him floored.

Internet broadcasting really is... If you’re popular, the money must be incredible.

Suddenly, something Choi Pinam had said a little earlier came back to him.

- Honestly, if you started broadcasting right now, I feel like you’d do better than me...

...No way. There’s no way that could happen. But still, broadcasting... game broadcasting, huh.

All the way home, one small, persistent thought kept tickling at Yeongho’s heart.

---