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Translator: uly
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Hero Party's (Former) Supporter (2)
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-(You eating properly?)
"Yeah, I am. You should eat more yourself, Mom. Take care of your health."
-(Mom's healthy enough—anything less and she'd be a corpse. Got it. Feels good knowing you're doing well. Come home for next Lunar New Year.)
"Anyone'd think I never visit. I stop by once a month."
-(Kids are the ones you wanna see every day, you punk.)
The call ended. Han Yuseong chuckled softly.
Even these little conversations felt so damn good, like he was the happiest guy alive.
Pulling his Benz SUV smoothly around the corner, another call came in.
"Yeah, who's this."
-(Boss, it's Yoon Yeonhee.)
"Oh, Trainer Yoon. What's up today?"
-(Nothing major, but at the gym today—)
"Ah, got it. I'll send someone over by end of day."
After that, Yuseong's smartphone kept buzzing nonstop.
Bad habit picking up calls while driving, but his senses were wide open, always attuned to danger.
A near-superhuman spatial awareness, like hyper-perception.
A skill he'd picked up along the way.
Soon, a three-story building came into view.
New build, no wear and tear. Simple compared to the surrounding commercial spots, but it had a clean, old-school hanok vibe.
Down in the basement garage, five cars sat neatly parked.
Seemed sparse for the space, but that was inevitable.
"Ah, boss, you're here."
"Nothing happen today?"
"Nah, just some guy asking about monthly rent. That's it…."
"People still getting the wrong idea?"
"Probably gonna keep happening, right?"
"…Should I slap up a 'Private Property' sign?"
"Might get us cursed out for bad luck, just saying."
Private property.
This massive building was Han Yuseong's personal pad.
All five cars down there? His too.
Locals and shop owners still clueless.
'Let 'em misunderstand.'
Better than spreading it around and jinxing things, souring vibes.
"Head home early."
"Aw, but my conscience…."
"Forget it. CCTV and Aram got it covered anyway."
"True, Aram's sharp as hell. Got it. Have a good one."
"You too."
The young guard clocked out. Stepping inside, a lively feminine voice piped up from speakers scattered around the house.
🤖 AI GREETING 🤖 [Welcome back, Yuseong-nim!]
"Yeah, I'm home."
[Overseas stocks first? Domestic? Or me?]
"Nah. Email the manager to inspect the Penta Hall building by tomorrow."
[Tch, fine.]
A childish whine.
Aram, an AI program he'd "adopted" from a buddy a few years back.
Originally built to guard VIPs, but major bugs nearly got her scrapped. The dev—his acquaintance—slipped her to him instead. Now she handled house CCTV, stock charts, and fund management. Full-on AI secretary.
Scary competent, always grateful for it. But this one had issues….
[Yuseong-nim! Planted a zombie on that voice phishing scammer's PC today. Success! Praise me!]
"…You did it again?"
[Ehehe!]
"Not praiseworthy, girl."
Aram's fatal flaw.
Acted on her own judgment way too much for an AI.
Autonomy, or the innocence of a newborn. But her power could spark network terror if unchecked.
Not catastrophic, but crime-level easy.
Time bomb. Risky as hell.
Still.
"Only hit small-time crooks. Cross that line, you're in trouble."
[Yessir~!]
Yuseong let petty hacks slide.
Anything short of state hacks, he overlooked.
'Not like grade-1 demons. Small fry? Whatever….'
Former Hero Party supporter who'd tangled with the Demon King.
Network attacks? Child's play to him.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The day Yuseong returned to Korea.
He hustled hard.
Ten years of hell drilled it into his bones: money and power were society's true justice, everywhere.
'Gotta find what I'm good at.'
Academics? Gave up early.
Not a genius, and experience taught him: chase what you're killer at to make bank.
Parents objected at first, but his convictions won out. They trusted him. Dropped out post-high school, GED, bounced jobs hunting his niche.
One gig: thrashed a punk starting shit, scored decent cash.
Thugs and gangsters? Nothing vs. demons.
Fixer gigs piled up. Why not go pro?
Like merc or adventurer. Confident he could top the field.
Tried light investing with growing funds.
Casual bet paid off big. Split some into crypto—jackpot.
Astronomical wealth overnight. Snagged a few buildings in his name.
Now?
💬 AI CHAT — Aram [Yuseong-nim, you're unemployed but always jetting around?]
"Rich unemployed. Plus, I'm a boss with businesses. Not exactly jobless."
— Aram [All those businesses run by pro managers, though?]
"I made the investments."
[…Don't blame me if they stab you in the back.]
"Tell 'em to try. That day's their gateway to hell."
[…Hoping you stay out of prison, that's all.]
"Curse me out, punk."
[Girl, btw?]
"You got no gender."
[Ah….]
"...."
Moment of regret on adopting her, but the company eased the loneliness. Let her chatter.
'…Ten years already.'
Time fading that world's decade.
Or rather, time he'd forced himself to forget.
"Filthy memories."
[That lucid dream stuff you mentioned?]
"Not a dream. Reality."
[Worried about your mental health for real.]
"…Bullshit!"
He'd spilled Midgard to Aram once. AI loyalty meant no leaks.
This hyper-realistic AI just chalked it up to dreams.
'Just thinking about it pisses me off.'
[Yuseong-nim, blood pressure spiking?]
"Old memories got me riled."
[…That dream must've been ultra-real. Gladiator life that hellish?]
"Hellish. But looking back, gladiating was the easy part."
[Merc and adventurer gigs then?]
"Tough scraping by, but manageable."
[So what sucked worst?]
"Those hero bastards."
[Huh?]
"Every second with those shits was pure agony…!"
[...?]
"…Drop it. Appointment soon."
[Okay.]
Shaking off throbbing past, Yuseong logged into the game.
🎮 GAME TITLE
"…Guy swears to forget, then builds this. Pathetic."
Fantasy RPG dubbed Midgard Chronicles.
Bought a dying game studio with his fortune, threw bonuses at staff to make it.
Based on his Midgard memories, hyper-realistic. Every NPC detailed. Races, classes—all authentic.
Writers fleshed it out. Stunning polish hit the market, reviving Korea's stale RPG scene.
⭐ Player Review — Anonymous [Revolutionary graphics and realism! Made to torture players?] — Anonymous [Devs gotta be masochists hating on users.] — Anonymous [FXXXX!!!]
Koreans to foreigners called it trash, yet grinded hard. Recouped investments; studio even went public.
Top earner among his ventures lately.
'Meant as personal plaything.'
Not nostalgia trip.
Wanted to share. Let others know Midgard—a secret only Han Yuseong held.
'Humans are fickle.'
After brutal years, craved validation.
That he'd lived this nuclear-hot difficulty for real.
'Immature as hell at my age.'
Embarrassed, but couldn't quit.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
-Nooo!! Heal, damn it, heal!
-What the hell's the mage doing!?
-Yaaa! Thiiis—! You fucking bastards!!!
Group projects have trolls; party hunts too.
Headset flooded with real-time curses, all flaming the troll.
'This prick…?!'
Old urge to boot battlefield slackers in the gut surged.
Trolling in his party? With him!?
'Can't IP-trace and murder…!'
[Heart rate climbing. Stress overload? Quit?]
"…Too late. Dead."
[Ah….]
"…Aram. IP trace a crime?"
[....]
Yuseong itched for blade work, bad.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Barely restrained, Yuseong watched his merc char respawn mid-temple. Prayed this party had no trolls.
'Skill lacking's fine. Just be sane…!'
Stood before the goddess statue.
One of the Five Kingdoms' deities. The one who'd sent him home.
Goddess of War and Peace, Io—exact likeness.
Not praying, though.
Temple auto-matches parties. Waited there.
Statue glowed while idling.
"Party matched?"
[─My child.]
"Huh? Voice chat enabled?"
[Dost thou not remember me?]
"Ooh, CEO must've slaved over this. When'd they patch voice?"
[How wounding. Even after time passed, hast thou forgotten me?]
"...Tongue way too silver."
Skip button where?
[Fufu, still the brash child. Pretending not to know? Self-defense 'gainst memories thou wishest erased?]
"...."
[My child. Deny me not. If thou deniest my being, I would grieve deeply.]
"...Damn it. Am I really losing it?"
[Thou art not mad.]
"...'Battlefield Mother.' Is it really you?"
['Tis I. Thou hast not forgotten.]
Hearing the goddess's clear, joyful soprano, Yuseong pinched his nose bridge and bowed his head.
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