* * *
Rubbing his stubbled chin with his palm, he read the lines of text on the screen with a dazed look.
He stretched his arms weakly, but it neither relieved the stiffness nor gave him any energy.
Quietly, he began typing, fixing the errors one by one.
Minor or relatively simple bugs had been delegated to his colleagues, leaving Hojin to focus on the main issues.
As he worked with his face almost pressed to the screen, the hunger pangs hit him.
When he finally looked up, the entire office had transformed.
It was dark and silent.
Only his desk emitted light.
“Did… everyone leave?”
Not a single one of the employees who had filled the office earlier was in sight.
No one had even said goodbye before heading home.
Not that it particularly bothered him—it was the usual routine.
Perhaps someone had bid him farewell.
When Hojin was focused, he didn’t see or hear anything else.
“About two critical issues left…”
Ripples of light spread across the screen, distorting his vision.
This happened sometimes when he stared at the monitor for too long.
His eyes stung, his neck ached, and his head throbbed.
Groaning, Hojin pressed his tense shoulders with his hand, then glanced down.
A shopping bag hidden under the desk caught his eye.
He reached into it and pulled out a hoodie.
“Jin Youngwoong…”
It was an item he had unconsciously grabbed from Youngwoong’s house—a navy hoodie.
Familiar with it, he’d taken it and searched Youngwoong’s room for any clue of his whereabouts.
There had been none, but the faint scent of Youngwoong’s cologne lingered on the hoodie, calming Hojin ever so slightly.
Hojin hugged the hoodie, curling into himself.
If only he were a dog, he thought, so he could track him by scent.
With a heavy sigh, he let his forehead rest on the desk.
“Where are you…?”
Once the urgent work was done, he planned to search for Youngwoong again.
If the company didn’t approve his leave—or if he used up all his days off without finding him—he was ready to quit.
He was the one who could fix the game’s critical errors and manage its episodes, but it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t like he was the company’s only developer.
Besides, Hojin no longer felt any attachment to Fantasy Land Hero.
What use was a hero game when there was no hero?
The thought made his heart feel like it might stop.
He would quit and dedicate himself to finding Youngwoong.
A world without Jin Youngwoong meant nothing to Pi Hojin.
In fact, it was Youngwoong who had held up Hojin’s crumbling world, so losing everything else didn’t matter.
No matter what, he had to find him.
“…Jin!”
As he lay slumped over, clutching the hoodie, he heard a faint voice.
Was the manager back?
Was he about to scold him for slacking off?
Hojin thought hazily. It felt unfair—he’d been working hard and was only taking a short break.
“Hey!”
The voice grew clearer, angry and loud.
But it didn’t sound like the manager.
It was too young.
And somehow… strangely familiar.
Then, right in front of him, a booming voice rang out.
“Pi Hojin!”
“Gah, yes! I’ll fix it right away—huh?”
Hojin shot up from his chair, freezing like a statue.
And for good reason.
A person stood before him—not just stood, but floated in midair.
“Hello. Long time no see.”
The man’s form-fitting armor was unmistakable: the Sealed Dragon Scale Warrior’s Ironplate.
His earrings and bracelets were sacred relics, Angel’s Song and Flame Sprite’s Courage.
The massive sword faintly visible behind him was the meticulously reforged Master Silver Sword.
Hojin, slack-jawed, touched his cheek.
“No need to pinch yourself. It’s not a dream.”
At the man’s firm declaration, Hojin froze.
Goosebumps rose at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Wait a minute. Is it really you…? Is it really you?”
The situation was impossible.
It didn’t make sense for someone to appear dressed like a game character, with silver hair, blue eyes, and floating midair.
Yet the sheer fact of his presence sent electric joy coursing through Hojin.
Struggling to suppress tears, Hojin managed to speak.
“Y-Youngwoong…?”
In the darkened office, illuminated only by Hojin’s monitor, the man shrouded in a mysterious purple aura, his legs dissolving into shimmering pixels, was undoubtedly Jin Youngwoong.
The Jin Youngwoong who had disappeared 30 days ago.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
A breathtakingly handsome man, with a sharp yet understated aura, hovered midair, pointing a long finger at Hojin.
Dazed and unsure whether this was a dream or reality, Hojin flinched and stepped back under the sudden onslaught of the hero’s furious scolding.
“Me? What did I do?”
“Yes, you. Pi Hojin. What have you been doing instead of fixing the game?”
With a face full of exasperation, the hero planted one hand on his hip and began ticking off complaints on his other hand, one finger at a time.
“The bugs are endless. Especially in the newly opened areas! You can’t mine the new ores, the maze doors won’t open, and even the rewards for completing daily quests are short on gold. Fix all of it. Life here is unbearable!”
Hojin’s pupils trembled.
Dumbfounded, he tried to absorb the flood of grievances the hero was unloading.
Then, clarity struck him.
Summing up the situation: the hero he thought had vanished had apparently been playing the game all along—right up to the recently opened areas.
“Wait, hold on. Are you telling me you’re still in the game? Where even are you?”
“Huh?”
“Why do you look like that? You disappeared! No one knows where you are. Your family, your friends—they’re all searching for you…”
“Ah, of course, they can’t find me. I’m not there.”
The hero tilted his head slightly, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“There”? Hojin stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.
The hero, with a faint grin, tilted his head again and said, “I’m in Fantasy Land.”
“What?”
“I live in the world of your game. To be precise, my current location is Stardust Beach, isn’t it?”
Stardust Beach, a newly released area, was highly praised for its stunning graphics—each grain of sand shimmered with a dazzling effect.
It was, undeniably, part of the game.
When Hojin asked where the hero was playing from, the answer wasn’t about the real world—it was about where his character was in the game.
And the hero standing before him was the very character itself, dressed in in-game gear and armed with a weapon.
The realization left Hojin reeling.
His lips quivered as he struggled to comprehend the hero’s words, which made it sound as if his body and mind truly existed within the game.
“W-What are you saying?”
“At first, I was in the real world, playing the game you made. But one day, I suddenly crossed over into this world.”
“So, you’re saying you… possessed a character?”
“Well, something like that.”
Nonsense.
Or maybe a dream.
But if this wasn’t a dream, Hojin couldn’t dismiss the hero’s words as mere nonsense—not him, of all people.
The hero never lied to him. Hojin, trembling, barely managed to speak.
“How…?”
“There was a way.”
“You know how? Then you can use that way to come back here! Hurry and come back!”
Hojin shot to his feet.
The chair toppled over with a loud crash, but the hero merely glanced at it indifferently before shaking his head.
The negative response twisted Hojin’s insides into knots, but the hero remained calm.
Desperation in his eyes, Hojin clenched his fists and looked up at the hero.
“Why not? Are you stuck there? Trapped? Did I mess up the system so badly there’s no way to escape…”
“No, Hojin.”
The hero cut him off firmly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
His voice was steady, deliberate.
“I have no intention of coming back.”
* * *