Sori Hwa cautiously entered and lay down in the virtual reality capsule V12.
The V12 was equipped with a Royal Commando chip, a gift from Jo Cheol-gon.
The interior felt plush, like a memory foam seat.
She pressed a nearby button to close the capsule’s lid, then closed her eyes and reopened them to find herself in virtual reality.
This was her first virtual reality experience.
The initial landscape was nothing but a black background, with only Sori Hwa herself standing isolated within it.
This was likely the lobby for selecting games.
Before her, the Royal Commando game icon shimmered like a hologram.
Presumably, touching it would initiate the game.
“Oh, ohh…!”
Sori Hwa turned her arms over, marveling at the sensation.
It felt entirely natural, as if she were truly moving her own body.
As a test, she performed the Ice-Shattering Pole Fist and the Profound Wind Flash Shadow Kick.
Though her swinging arms and legs appeared slender, the sounds and momentum they generated were sharp and formidable.
After completing each technique once, Sori Hwa nodded, seemingly satisfied.
“This is it.”
Honestly, ever since learning martial arts, her body had always yearned for an outlet, as there was nowhere to properly use her skills, but using them in virtual reality seemed perfectly suited.
She had not anticipated it would be this enjoyable just entering the lobby without even starting the game.
Having warmed up her body, Sori Hwa approached the Royal Commando icon and extended her hand.
As her hand made contact, ripples spread across the icon, and she felt herself being drawn in.
Boom! Bang!
Sori Hwa, who had closed her eyes due to the intense sensation of being pulled in, opened them to the sound of fireworks.
Looking up, she saw fireworks exploding in the sky.
[ Welcome, new squad member! ]
A red carpet unfurled with a flourish, accompanied by the welcoming message.
It appeared this screen was designed to greet new users.
The background, once filled with black, was now teeming with the world of Royal Commando, rich with mana.
There were chimneys emitting mana, the crackling sound of wood burning, and discarded weapons including guns and swords.
She could even feel the sensation of wind brushing against her cheeks.
“……Wow.”
Sori Hwa exclaimed in admiration, looking around.
Despite its name, Royal Commando, which might suggest a military FPS rife with guns and grenades, was distinctly a hyper FPS where each character possessed skills and mana.
Moreover, its setting was not contemporary but a near-future world.
Although this was Sori Hwa’s first time logging into the game, she was well aware of it, as most streamers had at least ‘taste-tested’ (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘jjik-meok,’ referring to trying something briefly or casually.) it.
[ A tutorial for new squad members is available. ]
Yellow text flickered above a nearby barracks.
However, Sori Hwa did not enter.
She looked to her side and saw the game’s menu options: Social, Skins, Achievements, Settings, and so on.
Only the ‘Social’ option glowed red.
[ A friend invitation has arrived. Would you like to check it? ]
Touching ‘Social’ brought up a notification.
Upon confirming the alert window, the nickname and BattleTag of the person who added her as a friend appeared.
[ RealJoCheolgon#3798 ]
She recalled the message she had received from Jo Cheol-gon.
Both the ID and BattleTag matched.
Besides, who else would send a friend request to an account she had just created?
After accepting, she exited the social window, closed her eyes, and murmured,
‘Log off.’
With that command, the ticking sound of time echoed, ‘Click, click.’
After precisely five clicks, Sori Hwa opened her eyes in the real world.
With a soft whoosh, the memory foam seat returned to its original shape, and the capsule door automatically opened.
She had only briefly entered to check if Royal Commando was functioning, as Jo Cheol-gon had requested.
Truthfully, she wanted to try the tutorial and tinker with the settings, but Jo Cheol-gon had explicitly told her not to touch anything at all.
Exiting the capsule, she turned on her phone to find a message from Jo Cheol-gon.
– Is the game working well?
– Yes, it is. Thank you again.
– Oh, no problem at all. I was the one who asked for the favor.
Just stand by, and answer when I call you.
Sori Hwa glanced at the clock.
It was 6:30 PM.
According to Jo Cheol-gon’s broadcast announcement, the stream was scheduled to start at 7:00 PM.
He had mentioned he would spend about 30 minutes chatting casually (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘nogari,’ referring to idle talk or casual chat.) and watching video donations (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘yeongdo,’ short for ‘video donation,’ where viewers pay to have a video play on the streamer’s screen.) before moving on to the main content.
This meant Sori Hwa would appear on the broadcast around 7:30 PM, leaving her with an hour to spare.
– I didn’t think much of it until yesterday, but I’m so nervous now.
– LOL, it’s fine. You can really just be yourself. I’m good at handling these things.
Sori Hwa placed a hand on her dainty chest and took a deep breath.
Her own body, yet the soft, gentle sensation felt unfamiliar every time she touched it.
[ Jo Cheol-gon: Broadcast Announcement ]
[ Stream 19:00 ON / Part 0 Casual Chat / Part 1 ??? Guest Interview ]
She re-entered the cafe to check the broadcast announcement.
It didn’t mention a collaboration with Wadeulwadeul.
‘Was this the streamer’s ‘savvy’ (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘sseuk-kiri,’ referring to a streamer’s unique talent or savvy in building anticipation.) for building anticipation?’
– Is the stream ending after just Part 1 today?
– The chivalry of the martial world has fallen to the ground, tsk tsk.
– Who’s the guest? Not that girl who was flirting with you last time, is it?
– Who is it, dang it, hurry up!
– Why is this guy suddenly doing a collaboration?
As expected, the comments showed no one could guess the identity of the guest.
Jo Cheol-gon was known as a ‘lone wolf’ (TL Note: Refers to someone who rarely collaborates with other streamers.) in the streaming world, rarely collaborating with other streamers.
Collaborations were typically reserved for MCN events or platform functions.
It was only natural that a guest appearance by Jo Cheol-gon would attract significant interest.
Time flew by quickly as she waited with a nervous heart, browsing through the cafe.
Before she knew it, it was 7:00 PM.
[ Jo Cheol-gon Live On ]
Jo Cheol-gon started his broadcast precisely at 7:00 PM.
As soon as he went live, viewers surged in like a tide.
– Jo Hwa~ (TL Note: A common greeting for Jo Cheol-gon’s stream, combining his name with ‘Hi’ or ‘Hello’.)
– JH
– I cried because I missed Jo Cheol-gon so much…
– Jo Hwa
The chat sped by too quickly to read, a testament to Jo Cheol-gon’s influence.
Approximately 3,000 viewers joined immediately, with an average of 5,000 to 7,000 viewers during main content.
Only now did Sori Hwa truly grasp that she was about to appear before such a massive audience.
“……Should I say I can’t do it, even now?”
Sori Hwa’s ‘low-tier man moment’ (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘hanamja moment,’ referring to a moment of weakness, cowardice, or being uncool.) from her past life surfaced.
No matter how much martial arts she had mastered, one’s innate nature did not change so easily.
In truth, her dream of becoming a martial artist after transmigrating into a martial arts world was more akin to admiration for such a world and for herself within it.
Sori Hwa’s true self was eons away from a martial arts novel’s protagonist.
Lacking any spirit of challenge or heroic bravado, she had, even after mastering martial arts, merely glued doll eyes together before her stock investments led to ruin.
“Damn it…”
Sori Hwa threw herself onto the bed.
Even this bed had been salvaged; someone had reported it for disposal and put a sticker on it to be taken out of the house, but she had secretly peeled off the sticker and brought it home.
“Who’s the guest today? You’ll see, just wait and see.
Just give it 30 minutes.”
From her phone, Jo Cheol-gon’s excited voice filled the room as he broadcasted.
Jo Cheol-gon had confidently stated that this collaboration would be a massive hit.
Was that why he was so thrilled?
The more she sensed his anticipation, the greater Sori Hwa’s pressure became.
“We’ll be playing Royal Commando.
Honestly, there’s no better game these days.”
– ‘These days’ = for 5 years now
– So true
Sori Hwa slowly began to prepare.
Preparation, for her, simply meant putting on her headset and sitting at her computer.
Soon, a call would come through Discord, and all she had to do was answer it.
“Ah, that coffee was good.
I’m going to end the video donations soon.”
The comments section erupted in cries when he mentioned ending video donations, but it was merely the usual ‘WWE’ (TL Note: A metaphor referring to a theatrical or exaggerated argument, akin to professional wrestling, often used in online chat to describe playful but intense viewer reactions.) drama.
They, too, were undoubtedly curious about the guest for Part 1.
“Entering Part 1’s guest segment now.
*Thump-thump-thump.*
First, I’ll enter the virtual reality capsule.”
Jo Cheol-gon briefly adjusted his broadcast screen.
Soon after, the virtual reality capsule’s screen synchronized.
The reason he could stream using a virtual reality capsule was that the owner’s view could be directly transmitted and shared with viewers.
– What are you showing us today?
– A new healer character came out, didn’t it?
– Gotta go with melee Laserback, right?
– Suicide Ironbelt, let’s go!
In the chat, viewers were haphazardly suggesting characters they wanted to see.
Of course, interest in the guest’s identity remained strong.
– So, who’s the guest?
– Is there actually no one?
– He’s such a loner, so that might be possible LOL.
“Should I… slowly call them out?”
Jo Cheol-gon grinned as he spoke.
Viewers immediately reacted to his stalling.
– This bastard’s doing it on purpose again.
– It’s boring, you jerk!
“Alright, alright.
I’ll call them, I’ll call them.”
Jo Cheol-gon appeased the angry chat.
It was Sori Hwa’s turn to stop watching the stream and enter the virtual reality capsule.
She took another deep breath before stepping into the capsule.
As soon as she lay down inside, the cushion enveloped her gently, and the door automatically closed.
****
Even within the virtual reality capsule, chat functionality was supported.
While in-game communication typically relied on voice, there were certainly people who preferred not to use it.
“Now, I’m really going to call them.”
Jo Cheol-gon said, initiating a chat.
[ Jo Cheol-gon: Hello ]
Not long after sending the message, a reply quickly arrived.
[ Wadeulwadeul: Hello ]
In the capsule’s chat window, the identity of the guest was finally revealed.
With skeptical remarks (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘galgori,’ literally ‘hook,’ referring to a barrage of question marks or reactions of disbelief/suspicion in chat.) flooding the broadcast chat, Jo Cheol-gon calmly stated,
“Alright, everyone.
The star of today’s guest segment is none other than the lucky recipient of the latest Another V12: Wadeulwadeul-nim.”
– You don’t mean the Wadeulwadeul I know, do you?
– The one who’s always asking to be hugged?
– No way.
– A collaboration with a concept-player (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘keonseopchung,’ referring to someone who consistently maintains a specific persona or ‘concept,’ often implying it’s exaggerated or attention-seeking.)??
The atmosphere in the chat window was sharply divided.
One side was negative towards Wadeulwadeul.
Since Wadeulwadeul was known as a concept-player, it was natural for some to view her unfavorably.
– Go read the cafe posts. Wadeulwadeul is a pitiful kid.
– Don’t unfairly criticize Wadeulwadeul.
She’s just really cold.
– Oh, she just asked for hugs because she was cold, LOL.
The other side’s opinion was equally strong.
They sympathized with Wadeulwadeul, mostly viewers who had seen her posts in the fan cafe.
Naturally, not all viewers were members of the fan cafe; in fact, many simply enjoyed the broadcast without joining.
When the chat was divided, a fight inevitably broke out.
The chat window immediately descended into chaos.
– This really doesn’t seem right.
– Today’s broadcast is so bland.
– Your mom’s bland, LOL.
– Was Wadeulwadeul someone you knew beforehand?
At this point, isn’t the V12 lottery rigged?
– If the streamer has his touch back, give him a thumbs up~ (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘gamdasal,’ shortened from ‘감 다 살았다,’ meaning ‘you’ve got your touch/sense back,’ often used to praise someone for making a good decision.)
“Alright, everyone.
Calm down.
Don’t fight.”
However, Jo Cheol-gon spoke calmly, not even paying attention to the burning chat.
[ Wadeulwadeul: Should we not do this, even now? ]
A chat message arrived from Wadeulwadeul.
Wadeulwadeul seemed to be watching the chat as well.
The virtual reality capsule was a state-of-the-art device, capable of connecting to the internet to watch broadcasts.
[ Jo Cheol-gon: No, no.
Just a moment. ]
“Everyone, shush.
Let’s just look at this one thing.”
An internet window opened on Jo Cheol-gon’s screen.
He had connected to the internet inside the capsule and projected a hologram screen.
Viewers would also be able to see the window Jo Cheol-gon had displayed.
What Jo Cheol-gon showed was Wadeulwadeul’s V12 verification post, uploaded to the cafe.
Viewers who weren’t members of the cafe would be seeing this post for the first time.
Jo Cheol-gon even zoomed in on the background of the photo Wadeulwadeul had uploaded.
As the dilapidated background, reminiscent of ruins, came into view, the chat began to stir.
“Everyone.
Look at this.
Do you see the background?”
Jo Cheol-gon began to speak, his voice filled with a sense of pity.
“From what I’ve seen, Wadeulwadeul has been living a tough life.
Yet, she still manages to donate to me from time to time.
Honestly, isn’t it a streamer’s duty to look after such a devoted fan?
We’re doing this collaboration to review the V12 together.”
Jo Cheol-gon truly was a professional broadcaster.
Even Sori Hwa, who was silently observing, was impressed.
Surprisingly, public opinion shifted entirely to a positive view of Wadeulwadeul because of that single post.
– (Tears-streaming emoji)
– (Tears-streaming emoji)
– If you had this kind of situation, you should have said so earlier, damn it, LOL.
– Were we the bad guys again this time?
“Yes, you guys were the bad guys.
You’re jealous of a friend who’s living such a hard life winning a prize, and you’re cursing a collaboration.
Why is your personality like that?”
Jo Cheol-gon chuckled, teasing his viewers.
While it was a natural reaction from viewers who hadn’t known Wadeulwadeul’s situation, Jo Cheol-gon paid no mind at all.
It made for more entertaining broadcasting.
Not mentioning it beforehand was also part of the broadcast’s entertainment.
[ Jo Cheol-gon: So, shall we switch to a call now? ]
[ Wadeulwadeul: Yes, let’s. ]
– ? Then why didn’t you just call earlier?
– So efficient.
Viewers questioned Jo Cheol-gon and Wadeulwadeul’s chat.
It was a valid question, as they could have simply called if it was possible.
However, this was all part of the script Jo Cheol-gon had planned: a wedge to solidify the shifted public opinion.
“……Ah, ah.
Can you hear me?”
A delicate female voice, rarely heard on Jo Cheol-gon’s broadcast, emerged.
The voice caused cognitive dissonance among the viewers.
– ?
– A girl?
– ??
– ????????????
– ?
Jo Cheol-gon checked the chat in real-time and continued speaking.
“Yes, I can hear you, Wadeulwadeul-nim.
Shall we say hello to the viewers?”
“Ah, yes.
Hello.
This is Wadeulwadeul.”
With those words, the chat window exploded.
