Orion, the world's first virtual reality game, had become a global sensation. With a staggering 2.5 billion players scattered across the globe, it redefined humanity's understanding of entertainment, dreams, and ambition. At the heart of this unprecedented success stood a man hailed as the god of gaming: Lee Kyung Jin, the enigmatic CEO of SamYoung Inc., the company behind Orion's creation.
The press conference room at SamYoung Inc.'s headquarters buzzed with anticipation. Reporters from every prestigious outlet vied for space, their cameras eager to capture the man who had revolutionized gaming and, in doing so, claimed the title of the world's richest individual. Lee Kyung Jin sat at the center of it all, exuding an almost impenetrable calm. His sharp features and composed demeanor radiated confidence, yet deep within, his mind had already wandered far ahead of the question that would inevitably arise.
"It's about time someone asks that," he mused inwardly, the faintest trace of a smile curving his lips as he nodded politely at the next journalist to speak.
"It's been a year since Orion's official launch," the reporter began, their voice carrying over the hum of whispers in the room.
"this day, no player has managed to complete the ultimate challenge you announced at launch: breaking the wooden dummy in precisely ten strikes. What are your thoughts on this?"
The reporter's question rippled through the room, sparking murmurs of excitement among the crowd. Lee Se-jin raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, as though the inquiry had stirred him from some distant reverie. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the deliberate cadence of someone used to commanding attention.
"On Orion's launch day, we did indeed present that challenge," he began, his tone laced with an intriguing mixture of respect and enigma.
"We promised that any player who managed to shatter the wooden dummy in the Beginner's Zone with exactly ten strikes would receive a remarkable reward: an Orion VVIP gaming capsule worth fifty million won, along with a five-point increase in all in-game stats."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room.
"Quite the incentive, wouldn't you agree?" he added, his lips curling into a subtle smile.
The room fell silent, a collective breath held as the crowd replayed that legendary announcement in their minds. From the moment the challenge was revealed, it had electrified the gaming world. Players of every stripe—from casual enthusiasts to seasoned e-sports champions—had flocked to try their luck.
In each Beginner's Zone, the wooden dummy awaited players as their first opponent, a training tool meant to teach the basics of combat. Despite its simplicity, it had become an insurmountable adversary, an emblem of frustration for the entire gaming community.
"2.5 billion players have taken on the challenge," the reporter pressed, their voice amplifying the drama of the moment.
"Not one has succeeded. Olympic archery champions, kendo masters, mixed martial artists, they've all tried and failed. In your opinion, Mr. Lee, when do you think someone might finally break this record?"
Lee Kyung Jin's gaze swept over the crowd, his sharp eyes glinting with a warmth that felt almost conspiratorial.
"I believe someone will succeed," he said, his voice tinged with an almost philosophical certainty.
"Sooner or later."
Yet deep within, Lee Kyung Jin knew the truth. The odds of anyone conquering the challenge were infinitesimally small—practically nonexistent.
In the early stages of Orion's development, SamYoung Inc. had recognized the need for a hook, something that would ignite players' imaginations and stoke their competitive fire. The wooden dummy challenge was born out of this need, a perfect enigma designed to tantalize, frustrate, and inspire in equal measure.
"Is it even possible?" The question had haunted players and critics alike. But there in lay the beauty of the challenge—it thrived on its ambiguity.
Lee Kyung Jin's mind drifted to the countless late nights spent with his team, perfecting Orion's algorithms. The wooden dummy was not merely a test of strength or skill; it was a psychological puzzle. Only those who mastered precision, timing, and restraint could hope to achieve the impossible. And even then, luck might still play a decisive role.
But this secret was one Lee Se-jin would never divulge. To him, the allure of Orion lay in its mysteries. Without them, the game would lose its soul.
The room erupted into a flurry of camera flashes and animated discussions among reporters. Lee Kyung Jin leaned back in his chair, his calm smile unwavering. For him, the challenge represented more than just a game mechanic; it was the seed of a legend, a story that fueled the passion of 2.5 billion players around the world.
In that moment, Lee Kyung Jin understood the power of an unsolved mystery. It was the lifeblood of dreams and ambition, the spark that kept humanity striving for the unattainable. Behind the dazzling lights of the virtual world, SamYoung Inc. had created more than just a game—they had forged a new reality, one filled with infinite possibilities, unrelenting challenges, and the promise of something extraordinary just beyond reach.
"We can't just hand over the VVIP virtual reality capsule and an additional +5 to all stats," Kyung Jin declared firmly, his voice calm yet commanding, his confident smile faint but unmistakable.
The statement, deceptively simple yet laden with significance, echoed through the conference room. Journalists exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued.
To the uninitiated, an extra five points across all attributes might sound trivial. But to those who truly understood Orion—the virtual world that had captured millions—it was nothing short of miraculous. At level one, the average player's stats hovered around five. To start with ten was to begin the journey five steps ahead of everyone else. This advantage wasn't fleeting; it persisted across levels, making its impact felt even at level one hundred, or five hundred.
"This bonus is nothing less than extraordinary," whispered a reporter, hastily scribbling notes, the awe in their voice unmistakable.
But what made the offer almost laughably unattainable was a singular, brutal truth: in the beginner's zone, leveling up was impossible. No professions could be chosen, no skills acquired. The wooden dummy—seemingly a harmless training tool—stood as the ultimate gatekeeper. Defeating it promised the prize, but for an entire year, not a single player had succeeded. To many, the dummy was less of a challenge and more of an indomitable wall.
---
Kyung Jin stood tall on the podium, his posture unshaken by the barrage of questions that followed. The journalists, emboldened by the intensity of the moment, fired queries with reckless energy, their words often dipping into provocation.
"As always, your answers are the same," one journalist challenged, their tone sharp, almost accusatory.
Kyung Jin's smile widened ever so slightly, a smile that was more enigmatic than warm.
"The world is vast, filled with countless geniuses. It's only a matter of time before—"
But before he could finish, the room itself seemed to pause, as if caught in a collective breath. For a moment, the world tilted on its axis, and silence fell—a silence filled with tension so palpable it could be cut with a knife.
"What? A world message?!" someone gasped, their voice breaking the stillness. The reporter's face was pale, eyes wide with disbelief.
The words were like a spark in a room full of kindling. Heads turned sharply, the attention in the room pivoting from the podium to the stunned journalist.
A world message. In Orion, this was no ordinary occurrence. Such a message was reserved for achievements of monumental significance, moments that transcended the game and echoed across its vast network of players. It was a global announcement, a recognition of the impossible being achieved.
"What does it say?" demanded another reporter, their voice quivering with equal parts excitement and dread.
Drrrring! Drrrring!
The sudden eruption of phone alerts shattered the tenuous calm. Like a chorus of chaos, phones rang and buzzed from every corner of the room. Journalists scrambled to answer, their fingers fumbling as they pressed devices to their ears.
"The wooden dummy... someone destroyed it?!" a voice rose above the din, loud enough to silence the room for a heartbeat.
"Is this real? The world message says the dummy has been destroyed!"
The murmurs exploded into a cacophony. Reporters turned to one another, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief. Everyone in the room understood the gravity of this moment. The dummy was more than a mere obstacle; it had become a symbol of the impossible. The greatest strategists and most skilled players had all fallen short, their efforts thwarted time and again. And now, after a year of failure, someone had finally triumphed.
"This is insane!" one reporter exclaimed, nearly shouting in their exhilaration.
"This is the story of the year!"
---
Amid the uproar, Kyung Jin remained rooted at the podium, his composure unbroken. His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. Yet, if one looked closely, there was a spark in his eyes—a flicker of something rare and electrifying.
"It seems," he murmured softly, his voice almost lost amidst the chaos,
"the stepping stone has finally been used."
Though his words were quiet, they carried a weight that lingered in the air, a hint of something deeper. The game had changed, and Kyung Jin, more than anyone else, knew this was only the beginning.