The morning sun had climbed higher over Seoul's skyline by the time Jun finished his conversation with So-young, and Nexus Point began to fill with its familiar rhythm of regular customers. The young woman had left with promises to return the next day for a proper trial shift, leaving Jun with a cautiously optimistic feeling he hadn't experienced in months.
Maybe things are finally starting to look up, he thought as he watched her disappear into the bustling street outside.
The door chime announced another arrival, and Jun's face brightened as he recognized the newcomer. Jae-ho shuffled through the entrance, his corporate suit slightly wrinkled and his shoulders carrying the weight of another stressful morning at his office job. The twenty-six-year-old had been coming to Nexus Point for nearly eight months, always arriving around the same time with the same exhausted expression.
"Rough morning?" Jun asked, though he already knew the answer. His Memory Palace automatically supplied Jae-ho's usual pattern: station fifteen, strategy games that required deep thinking, green tea instead of coffee, and at least an hour of gaming to decompress before he could face the rest of his day.
"You could say that," Jae-ho replied with a tired smile. "My manager decided to schedule three back-to-back meetings before 9 AM. I swear, sometimes I think he does it just to watch us suffer."
Jun gestured toward the gaming floor, where station fifteen sat ready with Jae-ho's preferred settings already loaded. "Your usual spot is waiting. I've got some new strategy titles that came in yesterday if you're interested in trying something different."
As Jae-ho settled into his chair, Jun noticed the subtle way the man's shoulders relaxed. It was something that happened to most of his customers within minutes of entering Nexus Point, but Jae-ho's transformation was particularly pronounced. The stress lines around his eyes softened, his breathing became deeper and more regular, and the tight set of his jaw gradually loosened.
Jun had never been entirely sure whether this effect was due to his Community Resonance ability or simply the natural result of creating a genuinely welcoming environment. Probably both, he suspected. His awakened abilities seemed to amplify his natural inclinations rather than create entirely new capabilities.
"Jun," Jae-ho called out after a few minutes of browsing through the game selection. "I don't know what you do differently here, but I swear your computers run better than the ones at my office. And those cost three times as much."
If only you knew, Jun thought with amusement. "Just good maintenance and quality components," he replied aloud. "Plus, I make sure to optimize everything regularly."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Jun did perform regular maintenance, though his methods were somewhat unconventional. His System Harmony ability allowed him to detect and resolve issues that traditional diagnostic tools might miss entirely. Hardware conflicts that should have caused crashes somehow resolved themselves. Network bottlenecks that should have created lag mysteriously cleared up. Software that should have required updates seemed to maintain peak performance indefinitely.
The door chimed again, and Jun looked up to see Mrs. Kim entering with her teenage son, Min-ho. The fifteen-year-old was practically bouncing with excitement, while his mother wore the patient expression of someone who had been dragged along on an errand she didn't entirely understand.
"Good morning, Mrs. Kim, Min-ho," Jun called out warmly. "Here for your weekend gaming session?"
Min-ho nodded enthusiastically. "Jun, did you see the new Stellar Command III tournament results? The Korean team swept the semifinals!"
Jun felt a familiar pang at the mention of his former game, but it was gentler now than it had been even a few months ago. "I saw the highlights. Park Jin-woo's micro-management in the final match was incredible. Reminded me of some of the techniques we used to practice back in my day."
"You really think I could get good enough for competitive play?" Min-ho asked, his eyes shining with the same dreams Jun had once carried.
"With enough practice and dedication, anything's possible," Jun replied carefully. He'd learned to be encouraging without making promises about the brutal realities of professional gaming. "But remember, there are lots of ways to be involved in the gaming industry beyond just competition."
Mrs. Kim smiled gratefully at Jun's measured response. She'd confided in him months ago about her concerns regarding her son's gaming ambitions, and Jun had become something of a trusted advisor in helping Min-ho maintain realistic expectations while still pursuing his passion.
As Min-ho settled into his preferred station—number twenty-three, where he could practice his Stellar Command III builds without distraction—Jun's Memory Palace automatically catalogued the boy's recent progress. His micro-management had improved significantly over the past month, and his strategic thinking was developing well for someone his age. Whether that would translate to professional-level skill remained to be seen, but Jun was proud of the young man's dedication.
"How's business been?" Mrs. Kim asked quietly, approaching the counter while her son became absorbed in his game.
"Steady," Jun replied, which was technically true if you defined 'steady' as 'consistently struggling.' "I'm actually thinking about hiring some part-time help soon."
"That's wonderful! I was worried you were working too hard, managing everything by yourself." Mrs. Kim glanced around the PC bang with approval. "You've really created something special here. Min-ho talks about this place constantly—how friendly everyone is, how well the equipment works, how you always have time to give advice."
Jun felt a warm glow of satisfaction at her words. This was what made all the financial stress worthwhile—knowing that he'd created a space where people genuinely felt welcome and supported.
The morning continued with its familiar rhythm. University students began filtering in around ten o'clock, claiming clusters of stations for group gaming sessions. Jun watched them with fond amusement as they debated team compositions and strategies, their voices creating a comfortable background hum that filled the space with life.
One group in particular caught his attention—four computer science majors who had been coming in twice a week for the past month. They were working on some kind of group project that seemed to involve both gaming and programming, often switching between playing games and coding on their laptops.
"Jun," one of them called out—a young woman named Hye-jin who seemed to be the group's unofficial leader. "We're having trouble with our server setup again. You wouldn't happen to know anything about network architecture, would you?"
Jun walked over to their cluster of stations, where laptops and notebooks were scattered among the gaming peripherals. His System Harmony ability immediately picked up on the network configuration issues they were struggling with, and his Memory Palace supplied relevant solutions from his years of managing PC bang infrastructure.
"Let me take a look," he offered, leaning over to examine their setup. Within minutes, he'd identified the bottlenecks in their code and suggested several optimizations that would improve their server's performance.
"How did you figure that out so quickly?" asked another group member, staring at Jun with something approaching awe. "Our professor spent two hours trying to debug that yesterday."
"Experience," Jun replied with a modest smile. "You pick up a lot of troubleshooting skills when you're responsible for keeping forty-plus computers running smoothly every day."
It was another partial truth. While experience certainly played a role, his awakened abilities gave him insights that went far beyond normal technical knowledge. He could sense the flow of data through networks, feel the stress points in system architectures, and intuitively understand how different components interacted with each other.
As the students returned to their work with renewed enthusiasm, Jun found himself reflecting on how much his life had changed since his awakening six months ago. The abilities had manifested gradually at first—just an unusual knack for troubleshooting that he'd attributed to growing experience. But as they'd strengthened, he'd been forced to acknowledge that something fundamental had shifted in his relationship with technology and people.
The lunch rush brought a different crowd—office workers like Jae-ho seeking a brief escape from their corporate environments, freelancers looking for a change of scenery from their home offices, and the occasional tourist who'd heard about Seoul's famous PC bang culture.
Jun moved between customers with practiced efficiency, his Memory Palace keeping track of dozens of individual preferences and needs. Mr. Park preferred his screen brightness at exactly seventy percent. The university students always ordered the same snacks. Jae-ho needed exactly forty-five minutes of gaming to reset his stress levels before returning to work.
It was during the lunch lull that Jun noticed something unusual. A man in his thirties had been sitting at station thirty-eight for nearly two hours, but instead of gaming, he seemed to be observing the other customers. His posture was too alert, his attention too focused on the people around him rather than his screen.
Jun's Community Resonance ability picked up on the man's emotional state—a mixture of curiosity, assessment, and something that felt almost like... recognition? It was an odd combination that set off subtle warning bells in Jun's mind.
Probably nothing, he told himself, but made a mental note to keep an eye on the stranger.
The afternoon brought its own rhythm as the lunch crowd gave way to students finishing their classes and dedicated gamers settling in for longer sessions. Jun found himself thinking about So-young's interview that morning, wondering what had really brought her to his door. There had been something about her presence that felt... significant, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
His contemplation was interrupted by a commotion near the VR section. Min-ho had convinced his mother to let him try one of the pods, and the teenager was now staring at the advanced equipment with wide eyes.
"This is incredible!" Min-ho exclaimed as Jun helped him into the haptic feedback suit. "Is this the same VR technology they use in the awakener training facilities?"
Jun paused in his equipment check. It was an astute question—more astute than he'd expected from a fifteen-year-old. "What do you know about awakener training facilities?" he asked carefully.
"Just what I've read online," Min-ho replied, though his tone suggested he'd done quite a bit of research. "They say some places have VR systems that can simulate real combat scenarios. For training purposes."
"This is just advanced gaming equipment," Jun said, which was technically true even if it didn't tell the whole story. "Though I suppose the line between gaming and training is getting blurrier these days."
As he helped Min-ho into the VR simulation—a relatively simple racing game that would showcase the pod's capabilities without revealing its more advanced features—Jun found himself wondering how many of his customers suspected there was more to Nexus Point than met the eye.
The stranger at station thirty-eight was still there, still watching. And now that Jun was paying attention, he noticed that the man's gaze kept returning to the VR section with particular interest.
Definitely something to keep an eye on, Jun decided.
The day continued with its familiar patterns, but Jun found himself more aware than usual of the subtle undercurrents in his PC bang. The way certain customers seemed to relax more completely than others. The occasional glances toward the VR pods from people who should have had no reason to know what they were capable of. The growing sense that his carefully maintained anonymity in the awakener community might not be as secure as he'd hoped.
As evening approached and the day shift customers began to give way to the night crowd, Jun reflected on the delicate balance he'd been maintaining. Nexus Point was more than just a business—it was a community hub, a safe space, and increasingly, a bridge between the ordinary world and the awakener society that operated in the shadows.
The question was: how long could he keep that balance before something forced him to choose between his comfortable anonymity and the growing needs of the community he was inadvertently creating?
The stranger at station thirty-eight finally stood to leave, but not before catching Jun's eye and offering a slight nod that felt far too knowing for comfort.
Tomorrow, Jun thought as he watched the man disappear into the Seoul evening, is definitely going to be interesting.