"Hyun-soo!" someone called out energetically from behind the door.
Dragging himself off his worn-out sofa, Hyun-soo moved sluggishly, as if he had just woken from a nightmare too vivid to shake off. He opened the door to find Kang Myoon Hoon, his best friend, grinning from ear to ear, triumphantly holding up a drumstick of fried chicken as though it were a trophy.
"Young man, you're brooding again, aren't you?" Myoon Hoon teased, his tone brimming with its usual cheer.
Hyun-soo let out a sigh. "You're here again?" he mumbled, though a part of him was secretly relieved.
Since the tragedy that had hollowed out his life, Myoon Hoon had been a constant—showing up uninvited like clockwork. He'd arrive with food, laughter, and boundless energy, ensuring Hyun-soo never sank too deeply into solitude.
"Cheers!" Myoon Hoon said, raising a can of beer high.
They clinked their cans together. The soft 'clack' of metal on metal was simple, yet enough to make Hyun-soo feel a flicker of life stirring within him. Their conversation flowed easily, punctuated by the occasional laugh. But as always, it inevitably turned into something deeper.
"How am I supposed to keep living like this?" Hyun-soo muttered, his voice thick with despair. "Everything feels so hopeless."
Instead of offering the usual comforting words, Myoon Hoon raised a hand, signaling for silence. "Hold that thought," he said.
Hyun-soo frowned. "What kind of friend tells someone to stop sharing their pain?"
"A real one," Myoon Hoon replied with a knowing smile.
Hyun-soo rolled his eyes. That was so typical of Myoon Hoon—goofy, irreverent, yet always there when it mattered most.
After a moment of silence, Myoon Hoon broke it with a cryptic remark. "Today."
Hyun-soo raised an eyebrow. "What about today?"
"You've heard of Haneul, right? The kendo athlete who won gold at last year's Olympics?"
"Of course," Hyun-soo replied curtly.
"Well, today he's taking on The wooden mannequin challenge."
"The what?" Hyun-soo asked, utterly puzzled.
Without a word, Myoon Hoon grabbed the TV remote and switched to Paprika Channel's live broadcast. On the screen appeared a man in traditional kendo attire, standing before a sturdy Wooden mannequin.
With intense focus, Haneul launched his attack. The first strike landed with a force that seemed to reverberate through the screen. The second was even more powerful, accompanied by the ominous groan of strained wood. Yet despite his relentless efforts, his ninth strike still fell short of shattering the mannequin.
"Ah, failed again!" Haneul exclaimed, frustration etched across his face.
He turned to the camera, shaking a fist. "Those jerks at SamYoung Inc.! Why did they have to create something indestructible?"
Hyun-soo watched the broadcast, his face blank with confusion. "Why are they even bothering? If it's that hard, just leave it alone."
At this, Myoon Hoon shook his head in mock exasperation. "You don't get it, do you? There's a fifty-million-won prize if you can break that thing."
"Fifty million won?" Hyun-soo's voice shot up, his disbelief palpable.
For a 23-year-old scraping by with barely anything, that kind of money sounded like it belonged in a fairy tale.
"Yep. That's why everyone's trying," Myoon Hoon explained.
"But breaking the mannequin is like winning an Olympic gold medal these days. All the pros, kendo masters, archers, martial artists they've all failed."
Hyun-soo's brows furrowed as his mind began to turn. "Doesn't everyone have the same stats in that challenge? It's no wonder they're failing."
Hyun-soo stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes fixed on Kang Myoon Hoon, who was speaking with fiery enthusiasm. The cramped room they occupied was alive with the echoes of their heated debate, a clash of words that sounded almost like battle strategies.
"You're such a rookie at this game," Kang began, his tone teetering between a sneer and a laugh.
"In the virtual world, special players have unique tricks, you know? Like the white light that flashes every time that kendo prodigy strikes. You noticed it, didn't you?"
Hyun-soo shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, so what?"
"That's a critical hit. The light only appears when the strike is perfect. Regular players might manage it one time out of ten, but those pros? They do it twice as often."
"And yet, they still can't break it?" Hyun-soo asked, his voice as flat as a still pond.
Kang nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "Exactly. Whatever that thing is, it seems like it was designed to be indestructible."
"Hmm..." Hyun-soo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his mind already wandering down unknown paths.
"Then why not craft a weapon that can break it and use that to strike it?" he asked with disarming simplicity.
Kang froze, his words momentarily stuck in his throat, before his eyes widened in astonishment.
"Hey, didn't I just tell you? That's the beginner's zone. They don't even have jobs yet, let alone blacksmiths. Creating an artifact like that is...wait a minute." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"You... you think you can do it?"
Hyun-soo met his gaze with calm confidence. "If the process is anything like it is in the real world, then yeah, I think I can."
Kang staggered back a step, looking at Hyun-soo as though he were some kind of alien. "This... this is straight-up cheating!"
"Do people actually spend real money in Orion, too?" Hyun-soo asked, his tone suddenly serious.
"Of course!" Kang replied without hesitation.
"Rich folks burn through cash for in-game items all the time. It's pretty normal."
Hyun-soo turned his attention to the old TV in the corner of the room, his thoughts drifting to an image of a high-tech gaming capsule worth fifty million won.
"Then... can I make money by playing the game?"
Kang hesitated, the usual flood of words drying up in his throat. A silence settled between them.
"It's possible," he said finally, though his voice carried a note of uncertainty.
"But we don't know for sure if your blacksmithing skills will work in the game."
Hyun-soo nodded slowly, determination blazing in his eyes. "Then I have to try. Orion is my only hope."
---
The next day, Hyun-soo and Kang Myoon Hoon stood outside a state-of-the-art capsule center. Hyun-soo's gaze swept over the rows of sleek, futuristic capsules, his expression a mixture of awe and apprehension. The night before, he had poured hours into researching the virtual world, his mind racing with possibilities.
"A standard capsule costs ten million won," he thought grimly. Even the cheapest option was far beyond his means. But he knew there was no turning back.
"I'll get that capsule, no matter what," he muttered under his breath.
"If you land a VVIP capsule, let me know!" Kang grinned mischievously.
"Those things have a synchronization rate of nearly 99.9%. The gameplay must feel insanely real."
Hyun-soo gave a slight nod, though his mind was elsewhere. Even a standard capsule with its 85% synchronization rate was more than enough for him. Luxuries like VVIP models were dreams far out of reach.
After completing their registration, the two stepped toward their assigned capsules. A cheerful employee's voice rang out behind them, "Enjoy your experience!"
With a deep breath, Hyun-soo climbed into his capsule, his heart pounding in his chest. The door closed with a soft whoosh-click, and automated cables gently secured him in place. A visor descended over his eyes, cutting him off from the outside world.
But his rapid heartbeat wasn't solely from anticipation. Beneath his long sleeves, hat, and mask, he hid the scars that marred his skin—a network of reminders of a past he wished to forget. They covered him so thoroughly that he had nearly forgotten what his face had once looked like.
Avoiding mirrors had become second nature. But today, something unusual happened.
[Connecting to Character Creation Interface.]
The words glowed in white against the pitch-black screen before the visual environment shifted abruptly. Hyun-soo blinked. Before him stood a massive mirror, its surface gleaming like liquid silver. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was forced to confront his own reflection—or rather, an idealized version of himself, flawless and unscarred.
He stared at the mirror, his breath caught in his throat. The virtual image gazing back at him felt both familiar and alien. Could this be him? Could this world offer him the chance to start anew, to exist without the weight of his past?
Hyun-soo clenched his fists. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the full weight of his resolve. "This is where it begins."