The subway and buses were plastered with ads for this game everywhere.
<Blood Planet (BP)> became a massive sensation as the first game to fully realize virtual reality. The expensive login device played a part too, but when 250,000 units sold out instantly, the number of new users skyrocketed. Walking down the street, it wasn’t unusual to hear people casually ask, “Did you play BP yesterday?”
I knew about the game too, but I’d been too busy opening my real estate office two months ago to pay attention.
What kind of login device costs 1.5 million won?
At first, everyone scoffed at the price, but once real-life photos of the Blood Planet device started popping up across social media, a full-blown craze began. It sold out within three days of release, and now even the third round of preorders was underway. With new games, getting in early mattered, so honestly, joining during the third batch already meant falling behind.
Another reason Blood Planet became such a hot topic wasn’t just its brutal PK system—it was the fact that virtual sex was possible. People questioned why sex had even been implemented, and despite ethical objections raised by the game review board, it had barely managed to pass approval.
Even the TV inside the bar where I was sitting kept bringing up Blood Planet like a boiling hot issue. I absentmindedly watched while sharing soju with Sang-cheol.
[When you wear this helmet—the game’s login device—it connects to your brainwaves and synchronizes you with the virtual world. Just like dreaming. Isn’t that amazing?]
[What’s amazing about it? Encouraging people to enjoy sexual relations inside a game—isn’t that promoting an inhumane society?]
[That’s a rather old-fashioned way of thinking. Blood Planet only uses physical contact when necessary for game systems; it’s not a game designed around sex.]
[What do you mean it isn’t? Doesn’t the manual literally say you’ll end up having sex with other players if you don’t want to spend money?]
[That only applies to heavy users. For most partners or parties, simply holding hands is enough for stabilization.]
Soon, one panelist snapped and started shouting that it was a trash game, while someone from the opposing side yelled back for him to shut up. The studio descended into chaos until staff rushed in and dragged both people off-camera. Only then did the broadcast return to normal.
“Hey, Du-seon. Buy that from me for a million won.”
“What, the game device? Are you crazy?”
Back when I was just an average office worker before opening my real estate business, I used to enjoy gaming on my days off. But now that income was unstable, I downed a shot of soju with a bitter burn in my chest.
“Come on, just buy it from me. My wife found out about it and told me to throw it away.”
“Then just give it to me.”
“Are you nuts? It’s still unopened.”
I refilled Sang-cheol’s glass while we caught up. Even as we talked, the debate on TV grew more heated, the panelists’ voices getting louder.
“Huh? Hey! Long time no see.”
Just then, a familiar face approached our table. Like Sang-cheol, he was a friend I’d grown up with.
The last to arrive, Hwang Han-woo, had always been the luckiest among us. Whenever we played games together, he was the only one who constantly scored rare items. We forgot our worries for a while, drinking, reminiscing, and letting loose.
When the alcohol ran out, Han-woo raised his hand to order more. That’s when something unusually shiny on his wrist caught my eye.
“Hey, you… that watch? No way.”
“Heh. You finally noticed? I struck it big this time.”
“Struck it big how? Did you get a huge incentive bonus or something?”
Han-woo shook his head with a quiet smile. Instead of answering directly, he leaned closer as if to make sure only we could hear.
“You know how I bought it? That.”
Sang-cheol and I turned toward where he pointed—the TV, still talking nonstop about Blood Planet.
“Ah, come on.”
I grabbed a sliced carrot and bit into it, but Han-woo rolled up his sleeve again and insisted,
“I bought it by playing that game.”
“…What?”
Apparently, he’d purchased Blood Planet the moment it launched and was now a B-rank Psychic.
By pure luck, he’d defeated a low-level monster and obtained a magic scroll—[Relax], a Guide skill. Relax was considered an essential Guide skill, but because its effect was weak, most players sold it off immediately after getting it.
That was because learning Relax meant you couldn’t learn [Healing]. So most early players abandoned Relax and chose Healing instead.
The skill Relax could reduce a Psychic’s Rampage Gauge without physical contact. Although it was an area-of-effect skill, its effectiveness wasn’t even better than holding hands. People even mocked it, saying, “Did they just make this to fill a skill slot?”
But as players reached higher levels, the need for Relax became more apparent. If a Psychic’s Rampage Gauge was about to overflow, you couldn’t exactly stop mid-battle and hold hands in front of monsters.
There was another reason too.
As public concern about Blood Planet’s addictiveness escalated from “warning” to “danger,” a patch drastically lowered the drop rate of magic scrolls that reduced Psychic PG.
“Public opinion’s been trashing BP nonstop, right? So they patched it so Relax scrolls barely drop anymore to reduce game addiction.”
“Then if that gauge thing fills up, you just have to quit the game?”
“Yeah. No matter how much you want to level up or hunt, you’ll go into a fainted state.”
Meanwhile, the official shop sold paid items that lowered PG and GG or removed Faint Mode. Amid all that, the price of Relax scrolls skyrocketed, and Han-woo had apparently sold the one he’d forgotten in his storage to another player recently—for real cash.
“One skill earned me a few hundred thousand won.”
I was seriously jealous. Not long after, Han-woo stood up mid-drink, saying he had a promise with his Guide and needed to go.
“What? You’re leaving already?”
Even when I complained, he paid at the counter and left, so we just waved him off.
After finishing our drinks, Sang-cheol and I got up too. As we parted, he slurred that he’d send the device to my place.
“Hey! I told you I don’t have money!”
“Just g-g-get a rare drop and pay me back, man.”
He waved lazily and disappeared into a taxi. I sat down on a bench at the bus stop.
Honk—!
I snapped out of my daze at the sound of a passing car’s horn. Sitting there alone, I watched buses and people come and go. The world moved busily forward while I felt completely stuck in place.
At this rate, my real estate office might close before a year even passed. Thoughts of doing substitute driving work flickered through my mind like the passing cars.
The bus home arrived, and I climbed aboard. As expected, even that bus was plastered with Blood Planet ads.
***
Four days later, Saturday at 11 a.m.
Knock knock—. Ding dong—.
“Mr. Yoo Du-seon? Delivery.”
I’d fallen asleep at dawn after drinking the night before, so I woke up with a deep frown.
Ah, right. Sang-cheol said he’d send that.
I hurried toward the entrance, only to slam my big toe into the threshold.
“Ow!”
I collapsed against the wall for a moment, but with the doorbell ringing nonstop, I shouted, “Coming!” and hopped on one foot to the door. Normally I left a note asking couriers to just leave packages outside, but this was an expensive item, so I couldn’t risk it.
“Are you Yoo Du-seon?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The box was big enough to carry in both arms. I’d expected something massive, but it was smaller than I thought.
After bringing it inside, I unpacked it and checked the components. It really was unopened. I sent Sang-cheol a message saying I’d received it safely.
Hmm. Helmet, glove (joystick), connector (login device controller)… Huh? Pretty simple.
The connector was used for charging or adjusting device settings. I’d imagined some giant phone-booth-like machine for virtual reality, but it was actually similar to a home video game console.
The difference lay in how you used it. You had to sit in a comfortable chair. The moment you put on the helmet, you couldn’t move your body until you logged out—the game linked directly to your nervous system and brainwaves.
“Feels like your soul gets sucked in or something?”
According to user reviews, you could still hear people talking nearby or feel touch from the real world, but moving on your own was difficult. You could only wiggle your fingers slightly to control things inside.
Before logging in, I sent Han-woo a message. Judging by his reply during gameplay, it seemed you could check phone messages even while connected.
[Did you get the device?]
[Yeah. I’m about to log in—should I pick Psychic?]
[If you come in as a Psychic right now, you’ll get wrecked. Make a Guide.]
[I don’t wanna be some heal slave though.]
Han-woo said that for someone like me—no gear and totally new—it was better to start as a Guide. Easier to get carried and cheaper too.
[Just make your main a Guide and raise a Psychic alt later. If you come in as a Psychic now and spend real money on gear, it’ll all get taken.]
[Why would it get taken?]
[Didn’t I tell you? All servers in Blood Planet allow PK. If you die, you drop items.]
Damn, that’s insane.
I suddenly understood why people were so obsessed with leveling up. If you didn’t want to get robbed, you had to grind like crazy and become stronger.
Basically, Han-woo was telling me that since newbies get looted anyway, I should come in as a Guide, get on high-level players’ good side, and get carried. Even if I got robbed, it wouldn’t hurt as much since I wouldn’t have spent real money.
Honestly, hearing about PK made me hesitate. But since I got the device for free, I figured I’d try it once—if it sucked, I’d just log out. With that mindset, I connected each part one by one, slipped on the glove joystick, and finally put on the helmet.
The moment I wore it, a silhouette of a character appeared standing in a virtual space, and a prompt for customization popped up. I hit the random button a few times, and a male body formed.
Even though it was random, it generated an ordinary Korean man with black hair and black eyes. I wanted to switch to female, but the button wasn’t active.
<<Created based on the user’s gender.>>
When I tried pressing it again, the same firm message appeared. Not long after, a voice echoed within the game.
<<Welcome, traveler who has migrated to this planet. Please choose your race.>>
As soon as it finished speaking, two figures appeared before me. Each one explained itself when I reached out and touched it.
I already knew roughly what a Guide was from browsing the game boards. And since I knew Guides and Psychics needed physical contact, it was easy to accept that characters were generated only according to real-life gender. Many communities had praised the game, saying the skinship felt incredibly realistic despite being virtual.
My plan was simple: level a Guide, gather items, equip them on a Psychic alt, hunt monsters, and score rare drops. Thinking about earning side income like Han-woo while enjoying myself made me hum unconsciously.
After selecting Guide, a name input window appeared. I chose something that would make it easy for strangers to approach me comfortably.
[GentleTouch]
Perfect.
The idea was that female Psychic players might feel more at ease starting conversations with me if I used a name like that. With my heart pounding, I pressed the login button.
