Jung Haneul's hands moved faster than lightning, keyboard clacking like it was screaming under the pressure. His silver-gray eyes gleamed behind round blue-light glasses, and his headset buzzed with the chaotic cries of teammates in distress.
"Zero! They're swarming the left side! Shields down!"
"I'm literally carrying you all," he muttered, fingers flying as his character, a sleek cyber-ninja with dual swords, dashed across the battlefield. "Just hold the line for ten more seconds. I'm about to ult."
The screen pulsed with red as explosions filled the map.
"ZERO—!"
And then—
YANK.
Everything died. Screen. Tower. Hope. The buzzing in his headset cut out mid-scream. All that remained was the gentle hum of silence.
Jung Haneul blinked. Once. Twice.
His mouth opened slowly, in horror. He turned stiffly like a horror movie protagonist discovering the final boss behind him.
Standing in the doorway, holding the power cord like a judgment gavel, was a tall man in a tailored gray suit.
His father.
"Dad," Haneul croaked, clutching the dead mouse in disbelief. "Did you just—"
"Yes."
"YOU JUST UNPLUGGED MY LIFE SUPPORT!"
"I unplugged your life waste."
Jung Minjae, a man who regularly made CEOs tremble in meetings with just a raised brow, looked at his son like he was assessing an especially disappointing stock chart.
"You've locked yourself in this room for two years."
"One year," Haneul corrected weakly.
"One. Two. Irrelevant. You eat noodles, nap, and scream at strangers through a headset."
"They're not strangers! They're my raid squad!"
"They are digital pixels. You haven't touched sunlight in weeks."
"That's a choice."
"Not anymore," his father said, turning without another word.
"No! Don't you walk away like you didn't just kill Zero in the middle of the Grandmaster League finals! I was RANKING!"
His father paused, then glanced over his shoulder.
"Good. Now rank in life."
And with that, the door clicked shut.
Later That Night – The Family Dining Room (aka Corporate Ambush HQ)
Haneul sat at the end of a long, glossy table large enough to seat twelve. It currently seated two. Him—and his mother, Seo Hana, the CEO of Seo Holdings, former award-winning actress turned financial demon queen.
She looked every inch the part. Glossy waves of black hair, sharp red lips, and diamond earrings that probably cost more than his entire PC setup.
"So," she said smoothly, slicing into her filet mignon. "Your father tells me you've been unplugged."
"You make it sound like I'm a robot."
"You're beginning to act like one. And we didn't raise a robot. We raised a Jung. Jungs lead. They do not 'raid.'"
Haneul sulked in his seat. "I lead raids."
"Real raids. With real people. Who don't yell 'LAG' every time they mess up."
He stabbed a piece of broccoli with all the rage of a gamer who just lost his perfect KDA.
"I'm good at what I do, Mom."
She set down her knife and folded her hands, eyes locking on his with surgical precision.
"You either find a job by the end of the week… or I'll delete your game data. Everything. The gear. The titles. The skins you paid real money for."
Haneul froze. "You're bluffing."
She picked up her phone and scrolled.
"I already contacted OrionTech's server engineers. Your profile—'Zero', level 88—top 10 ranked in PvP—is flagged for deletion. All I need to do is press send."
His jaw dropped.
"Mom, that's—That's emotional terrorism!"
"That's called tough love."
"But I have fans!"
"Then maybe they'll support you at your next job."
"I don't have job skills!"
She smiled.
"Oh, but you do."
The Next Day – Aurora Entertainment, Seoul
"I am not doing this," Haneul hissed as he stared up at the glass tower shimmering in the morning light.
AURORA ENTERTAINMENT, it read in bold letters. Underneath: Shaping Tomorrow's Stars.
His hoodie was pulled up over his head, and a black mask covered the lower half of his face. If looking like a suspicious high school runaway was a crime, he'd be arrested twice already.
Inside, the receptionist gave him a lazy look.
"Name?"
"…Jung Haneul."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh. The late one."
"I wasn't—okay, I was late, but I got lost. There were no signs. This place looks like a luxury spa."
"Training Room C. Second floor. Good luck."
He didn't like her tone.
Training Room C – 7:45 AM
The door slammed shut behind him as Haneul entered—and instantly regretted being born.
The room smelled of hair spray, sweat, and effort. Loud pop music thudded from the speakers. Six guys were already mid-warmup—doing squats, stretching, some doing high notes that sounded suspiciously like screaming.
They all turned.
Haneul stood there in his oversized hoodie, black jeans, and game-themed socks with tiny swords on them.
One guy whispered, "Who let in the delivery guy?"
The dance trainer—an intimidating man with a buzz cut and soul-piercing stare—clapped his hands.
"Great. Everyone's here. You—new kid. Hoodie. Name?"
"…Haneul."
"Haneul what?"
"…Just Haneul."
He wasn't about to reveal that surname. Not when the other trainees looked like they'd sell their kidneys for a chance at fame.
"Well, Just-Haneul," the trainer said. "Let's see what you've got. Dance warm-up. Basic rhythm. Try not to die."
Spoiler: He almost did.
Ten minutes later, he had tripped over his own shoelace, accidentally kicked the speaker, and collided with the mirror wall while attempting a body roll.
The trainees were whispering again.
"Seriously? What's this guy doing here?"
"He looks like he doesn't even know what stretching is."
"He's got nice eyes, though."
"Eyes don't help you hit high notes."
Panting, sweating, and internally screaming, Haneul tried to act cool as he removed his hoodie.
The room paused.
The black layered mullet underneath shimmered with deep violet-blue tips. His skin glowed under the studio lights, and the subtle sharpness in his jawline finally appeared from behind the hoodie armor.
One of the trainees blinked. "…Wait. He's actually kinda—"
"Pretty?"
"No. Cool. In a low-key serial killer way."
The trainer clapped. "Less gossip, more pushups!"
An Hour Later – Death by Squats
Haneul lay on the wooden floor like a crime scene chalk outline. His lungs were rebelling. His legs? Missing in action.
He regretted every instant noodle he ever ate.
He thought he was done—until the trainer snapped his clipboard shut and said, "Vocal prep is next. You'll be upstairs with Ms. Choi. After that, you're back here. We go until 5 PM."
"…5 PM?" Haneul wheezed.
"Welcome to trainee life," the trainer grinned, cruel and proud.
Eight hours.
As he dragged himself toward the door like a defeated NPC, Haneul felt his soul gently ascending from his body.