The system remained as polite as ever.
I lightly tapped the “Collect Testimonies from the Ghosts” tab in the recommended evidence list and closed it before placing a hand on Jung Da-hoon’s shoulder.
“Then, Kessler-nim? We’ll take our leave now… and bring back the evidence.”
Suddenly acting as if I were on Jung Da-hoon’s side, Kessler gave me a strange look, like I was out of my mind.
Regardless, I quickly led Jung Da-hoon out of the room.
“Why are you doing this? You were all ready to accuse me, and now this? I’m extremely offended.”
“Let’s sit somewhere and have a quick talk.”
“What is there to talk about between us? Just get ready for the trial. You’ll be busy enough trying to hire a lawyer.”
“You can’t even afford a lawyer, Jung Da-hoon. You’re flat broke.”
“Are you picking a fight with me right now?”
I stopped walking. Jung Da-hoon stopped too, in sync.
The badge of Poksup was still neatly pinned on the left side of his chest.
“Jung Da-hoon, I’m the pro gamer Yeo Woo-rim.”
I turned to face him squarely, tearing off the FishyFishy cash item still stuck to my lips like I was peeling off a mask.
“The guy whose name you’re wearing on your chest.”
Jung Da-hoon stood still, slightly startled for a moment, then narrowed his eyes like a flatfish.
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true.”
“Got any proof?”
“I’ll give you my phone number. Add me on KakaoTalk and see for yourself.”
Naturally, I was about to recite my phone number. But then, weirdly—I couldn’t remember it.
My eyes darted around. What the hell? Why can’t I remember?
“Forget it. If you’re really Yeo Woo-rim, answer this. What did I give you at the last fan signing?”
What was even more bewildering was this guy’s question. Fan signing? He went to a fan signing?
“If you’re really our Poksup-nim with an IQ of 137, then you’d remember with that smart brain of yours.”
The fact that my IQ was 137 had just resurfaced in my memory, and it was driving me insane. Right. We’d done on-the-spot IQ tests as part of fan content on our team’s YouTube channel.
Maybe I hit my head too hard when I dropped into the game. Dissociative amnesia, or something like that.
But it was strange. I remembered my close teammates’ faces clearly and the trivial conversations we’d shared right before the match.
My chest felt tight. I needed to prove I was Yeo Woo-rim, but I had no evidence.
“I don’t remember. You won’t believe me, but I’m currently possessed inside this game. I don’t know where my real self is or what it’s doing right now.”
Jung Da-hoon looked at me with an expression that said, Let’s see how far you’re going to run with this.
“Now you’re just spouting nonsense, huh?”
“Speaking of nonsense, I like being in the forest. I’m an only child. During the off-season, I had a conflict with a teammate.”
I rattled off my personal details like I was trying to imprint my fading memories back into myself. And then… the most important thing.
“Since we’re on the subject—please file a missing person report for me. My home address is…”
The problem was—I couldn’t remember my address. I could recall the layout of my room, the face of the housekeeper ajumma, the grape-flavored zero soda in the fridge… the high-end vitamins. I remembered all those trivial things, but weirdly, not my address or phone number.
I stood there, feeling like my throat was curling in on itself, when Jung Da-hoon looked down at me with an expression like he was done with my bullshit.
“Blood type: O. MBTI: INTP. The night before a match, you always check your horoscope on Naver. Reason: because on bad days, you want to crush fate just to spite it. You can’t drink coffee on an empty stomach. Recently changed your keyboard to a Realforce Gen 3. Closest teammate is Park Gwibolle. You like your waffles with just a little whipped cream. And when you suffer a reverse sweep, your ears turn red even though you pretend to stay calm.”
“…Wait.”
“Seems like I know more about Yeo Woo-rim than you do. So does that make me Yeo Woo-rim now?”
My head was about to explode. Seriously—everything I tried to say to prove myself, Jung Da-hoon knew even better.
“I’m really… Fine. You win.”
Jung Da-hoon shrugged and tilted his chin upward.
“Then maybe you know my home address too?”
“You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? Even if I did, that’d be a privacy breach—why the hell would I say it out loud?”
The emotion in Jung Da-hoon’s eyes was pure disbelief.
“Just once, pretend you believe me. Contact my team and ask about my whereabouts. Please.”
Jung Da-hoon stared at me. His eyes, which had looked like they were dissecting the truth, slowly softened.
“You’re really putting your whole back into this performance, huh? If you’re gonna act, at least get your facts straight. Yeo Woo-rim doesn’t have a team right now. He’s a free agent after this season.”
“Then… contact my agency instead of the team—”
“You that desperate for money?”
“Money…? What money?”
“What do you mean, what money? The championship prize—100 million won.”
“What are you talking about? There’s a prize for winning?”
“Yeah. Gonna keep pretending you don’t know? I’m talking about the test server prize money. You’re playing dumb because you want it so bad.”
The moment I heard Jung Da-hoon’s words, it felt like the entire situation surrounding me had been redefined.
Test server prize money, he said. So we’re still inside the test server.
“Let me ask you one thing. This game—has it not launched officially yet?”
“You joined the beta without knowing that? You dumbass.”
It all clicked into place instantly. I’d been mistaken. The game hadn’t been commercially released yet.
The alpha test server I had played on was over. The beta service, which they’d said would recruit internal and external testers, was what was currently running.
‘No wonder.’
The users had way too many cash items.
Players were hoarding absurd amounts of cash items. During the test server phase, I’d heard that cash item prices were set 30% cheaper than what they’d go for on the live server. And once the official service started, skins could be transferred—so users had been stockpiling them like crazy.
‘There’s serious money on the line for first place.’
A hundred million won. I mentally said the number out loud.
From that moment on, I think I’d already half given up.
“If you believe me, I can put even more money into your account. If you cooperate with me, I’ll add an extra fifty million on top of that hundred million. Of course, that’s only if you help me escape from this game.”
One hundred million. I weighed the number in my head.
If I did a single commercial, even after the agency took its cut, I’d still pocket around that much.
To someone like me, it was about two weeks’ worth of salary. But for regular participants? They’d go all in for a shot at that kind of cash.
…A major variable.
“So just believe me this once. You said you liked me. Do you really want to never see me again?”
Jung Da-hoon looked torn, unsure of what to believe.
“You’re really weirdly identical.”
“Weirdly nothing. I’m telling you—I am Yeo Woo-rim.”
“I’ll give you this—you’re putting in the effort. But you can’t fool the eyes of a true fan.”
It felt like I was knocking over and over on a solid wall. But I’d already decided to be honest—I had to push forward.
“To be honest, there’s no guarantee that winning will let me escape. But I’m going to try. That’s why I need help. I’m that Baby Arctic Fox you killed. I’ve laid all my secrets bare. If I just wanted to win the game, I wouldn’t go this far.”
“Then transform. Show me.”
“You’re the one who killed me—at the top of the tower. You even stole the bell from around my neck, in the storage room. You locked me up and left. And then later, when I was trapped in Snake Rim’s chicken coop, you picked me up and made me your subordinate. Isn’t that enough? Jung Da-hoon, the murderer who matched me blow for blow—do I still seem like I’m lying to you?”
That should’ve been more than enough. Stories that only the two of us would know.
If he had even half a brain, wouldn’t he stop to wonder why I was going to such lengths?
“I’m saying this because you’re my fan.”
“Then just transform into the fox already. You’re invincible anyway, aren’t you?”
“…You killed me. That’s why I can’t—for a while.”
“Ha! Why not just say you’re the Absolute Lord while you’re at it?”
“Do I look like someone who just gets duped all the time?”
“Maybe not, but ever heard of the presumption of innocence?”
‘What kind of messed-up logic is that?’
“Knowing all of that is impressive. Stuff like the Snake Rim cage rumor—I’ll admit I let that story slip here and there. But the thing about stealing the bell from the fox? I’ve never said that to anyone…”
He paused, seeming to organize his thoughts, then suddenly looked up, eyes sharp.
“Criminals confuse people by mixing 40% truth with 60% lies. That’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”
“…Haah. I need a damn cigarette.”
“You’re a thief, aren’t you? You’re the one who stole my bell, right? You must’ve used the Past Lens function on that item.”
“I just took back what you stole from me. So what’s the problem? You know what? Fuck it—believe whatever the hell you want. If I keep talking, I’m seriously gonna explode.”
“Whew. I almost fell for it.”
“Shut the fuck up and get lost. You’re not even worthy of being my fan. The moment I get out of here alive, I swear I won’t even high-five your sorry ass. You got that? Hope you get eliminated too—hard.”
“If you’re so innocent, then give me your phone number.”
“I don’t know it. I don’t fucking know, so piss off.”
Only one thing had been decided by the end of that conversation.
I… was going to kill this bastard.
