There were times Yeon Yiseo considered changing his name. People here had trouble pronouncing “Yeon Yiseo” correctly.
But in the end, he kept it—maybe because the memories of his past life still lingered. Or maybe it was the fear that changing it might alter the course of the game. It was best to avoid choices that could potentially rewrite the future.
The world Yeon Yiseo now lived in—the one he called his current life—was different from Ahn Hee-woong’s world in many ways. For one, the idea of a conscription-based military felt bizarre to Yeon Yiseo, especially in a society where traveling by train from Korea to Europe was considered standard knowledge.
But the most shocking difference was that Ahn Hee-woong’s world had no concept of secondary genders—no Alphas, Omegas, or Betas.
That fact alone left Yeon Yiseo stunned.
Having grown up in a world where most people presented as either Alpha or Omega before adulthood, discovering a world without that dynamic was almost alien to him.
In Yeon Yiseo’s world, Betas were a rarity—and since they couldn’t detect pheromones, it was hard for them to fit in or even truly belong.
So, in some ways, he envied Ahn Hee-woong’s world. A place where Betas were common? That was kind of…cool.
Despite the glaring differences between their worlds, there were plenty of things that felt oddly similar too.
He tried to remember how Yeon Yiseo—the character from the in-game novel—had been described. But the memory was vague.
Seo Eunwoo was described as having sharp, feline features—slender lines and an elegant aura.
Compared to that, the current Yeon Yiseo felt painfully average.
It would’ve been nice to be a little better-looking. Right now, he was just too plain.
Not that he was aiming to become some fantasy romance protagonist and end up with someone amazing like in the game.
He just wanted to live a decent life as an ordinary, quiet citizen.
America was all about connections. If you knew the right people, you could always find a way. That was the extent of Yeon Yiseo’s ambitions. Nothing grand—just enough.
More than anything, he hoped that he wouldn’t get involved with Seo Eunwoo, the protagonist of SickVill.
They didn’t have to become friends. Just living their separate lives as strangers would be ideal.
Sure, if the game followed its original script, maybe they could have become friends—but Yeon Yiseo didn’t want to hope for too much.
Anyway, just like in the in-game novel, he worked his ass off to stack an unbelievable résumé.
And in the end, it paid off.
At twenty-five, Yeon Yiseo landed a job as the second secretary to Ethan A. Scott—the CEO of the global conglomerate Dymine and the main top in the original game.
His professors, impressed by how hard he worked in college, wrote him glowing recommendation letters. One of them, who happened to be friends with a corporate executive, played a big role in helping him get hired.
Even though the game’s main storyline hadn’t officially begun yet, Yeon Yiseo was so anxious and excited about finally meeting one of its characters that he couldn’t eat or sleep the night before his first day of work.
And then, finally—his first day.
The lead secretary took Yeon Yiseo to Ethan’s office to introduce him.
The moment Ethan saw Yeon Yiseo’s face, he stood up.
Sitting down, his build wasn’t as noticeable—but once he stood, it was jarring.
Yeon Yiseo was struck by how massive he really was.
So this is what 197 centimeters of sheer dominance looks like, he thought.
They said Alphas were usually over 185 cm tall, but Ethan was a dominant Alpha, which explained the towering height.
Yeon Yiseo, being a Beta and standing at around 175 cm, only made the height gap feel more dramatic.
“Nice to meet you.”
Ethan was confident, bold—he radiated that natural arrogance of someone who had been handed everything in life.
He extended a hand without hesitation.
Yeon Yiseo, caught off guard by how casually he did it, quickly reached out to shake it.
Ethan’s hand was huge—and just the right amount of warm.
“I look forward to working with you.”
“Likewise.”
That was it.
Their first encounter ended with a handshake and a couple of lines—shockingly simple.
Yet even in that short meeting, Ethan’s sheer charisma was undeniable.
His gaze felt like it could cut straight through a person—and that face…
God, that face.
The kind of dangerously handsome man who exuded raw power—there was no way an ordinary person could compare.
He looked like a porcelain doll sculpted with meticulous care. And being an extreme Alpha only made him stand out more.
Just standing still, he looked like a runway model.
A man with that face and that status and that wealth?
Yeah, it was ridiculous. No wonder he was the main character.
That absurdly handsome face… did all those insane things in the game…
Yeon Yiseo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of R-rated dialogue from the game suddenly playing in his mind.
Sure, maybe it was fine to think like that when he was just a character in a screen—but now Ethan was a real, living person standing right in front of him.
That kind of fantasy? Absolutely not.
Think of something else. Anything else.
Okay, height. Let’s think about his height.
Ethan was really tall.
The other tops in the game were all tall too, but when it came to sheer size, Ethan had been the tallest.
He’d always known 197 cm was “big,” but now that he saw it in person, it felt CGI-level unreal. He couldn’t help staring.
Even from a distance, Ethan’s waist looked absurdly high up, his legs so long they seemed photoshopped.
His whole appearance was so surreal—like a statue or a digital render.
Yeon Yiseo still hadn’t fully adjusted to seeing him in real life.
There were still six months before the official start of the game’s storyline.
Everything would begin at the launch of a new product Dymine had spent years developing.
In the meantime, Yeon Yiseo kept his head down and focused on his work.
Not that he had time to do anything else—he was constantly swamped.
His day started at 6 a.m. and ended at 10 p.m.
Even as the second secretary, it wasn’t about having less work—he just handled different tasks.
Getting help from coworkers? Not a chance.
With barely any personal time left, Yeon Yiseo pretty much gave up on having a life.
What kept him going was the paycheck.
Well, not for long. It disappeared as fast as it came in. But knowing this was the value of his skills—that helped. And thinking “If I don’t make this much, I can’t survive here” helped too.
Just two more years. If he could last that long, he’d be treated like royalty wherever he went in the industry.
So he held out.
Four months passed just like that.
“Alright… back to work.”
Yeon Yiseo set down his coffee and got back to typing.
Black letters filled the monitor while his thoughts spiraled elsewhere.
The game’s starting point was drawing near… and yet, nothing had happened. No triggers, no plot events. Nothing.
Even Seo Eunwoo—the main protagonist of SickVill, Ethan’s love interest—hadn’t shown up once. He’d double-checked the calendar. No appointments, no visit announcements.
“Isn’t the CEO’s fiancé supposed to stop by?”
He tried asking. The response he got?
A look of total confusion.
He covered for it by saying he’d had a weird dream and must’ve gotten mixed up.
Natalie, the first secretary, immediately launched into a rant about how work had her on the verge of collapse—so luckily, the awkward moment passed without much suspicion.
Still, something itched at the back of his mind.
He even searched online—“Ethan Seo Eunwoo engagement”—but nothing came up. Which was strange, considering Seo Eunwoo’s family was quite prominent in U.S. politics.
What the hell was going on?
It didn’t take long for that question to be answered. Seo Eunwoo showed up at the office.
Yeon Yiseo froze mid-step. He hadn’t expected to run into Seo Eunwoo now of all times.
“Ethan’s inside, right?”
“Uh—just a moment, do you have an appointment—”
“He contacted me. It’s fine. Let me through.”
Just as Natalie tried to stop him, Ethan walked out of the executive office with a blank face and ended the brief commotion with a curt nod.
Seo Eunwoo smiled brightly, turning to face the curious gazes now drawn to him.
“Sorry for dropping by without an appointment. I told the CEO in advance, but I forgot to let the rest of you know.”
He’d already cleared it with Ethan, so no one else could say anything.
All they could do was awkwardly smile and trail after him.
