2.

[You have died.]

When Buja opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of his guild members and the sound of cheering crowds in a familiar setting.

"Man, that felt fucking awful."

It wasn't regret, frustration, or self-reproach for not climbing higher that made him swear.

Kim Buja didn't curse over things like that, especially not with such blunt profanity; he hated it because it only hurt his own mood and changed nothing.

Yet it had slipped out before he even realized it, even though he had shaped the situation exactly the way he wanted before being eliminated.

"He actually broke it."

"As expected of our temporary captain. You did great."

The guild members, who had been waiting for him, greeted him with words of appreciation.

Having been eliminated while attempting to clear the thirteenth floor, they couldn't help but be impressed by the man who had stayed alone in that hell until the very end, cleared it, and then left Fly a parting gift of pure crap.

It was the finishing blow.

His willingness to hold his ground even in death served as the perfect absolution for abandoning his guild members without hesitation.

They also offered him their quiet comfort.

"Dying really does feel like shit."

"We've all already let out at least one string of curses."

The event was a kind of game. They had been given an extra life, and like in a game, there was no penalty for dying.

That was why they had been able to take such bold risks and climb higher than they ever could have in reality.

But the hologram had left out the most important part. That it was still reality, even if it was a game. That no matter how "temporary" the extra life given to players might be, it was still another life.

You came back when you died, but unlike in a game, the pain of dying wasn't dulled. The agony of feeling your entire body being torn apart, and the despair that came with the word "death."

You had to feel all of it, raw, before you could return.

"Phew."

How could you not swear after that?

Once he had calmed himself and shaken off the memory of dying, Kim Buja turned his gaze to Jeong Seora.

"You okay?"

She answered, "Yes. I feel pretty gross, but I'm managing."

She seemed to have handled it well too.

He hadn't expected the experience of dying to be so intense.

"Coming back from the brink of death" was a different feeling altogether.

That was fear and terror from almost experiencing death, anxiety about an unforeseen future. This, however, was actually experiencing death.

It was, in a sense, a simulation. This wasn't some glorified boot camp, a mere imitation of the real thing. This was a simulation that forced you to accept death at face value.

He never wanted to go through it again. If he ever did, he thought he might actually prefer not to come back.

Of course, that was just how it felt; if he really could come back, he would gladly endure this kind of filthy emotion as many times as it took.

"How's it going now?"

Catching his breath, Kim Buja switched on spectator mode.

Watching from a third-person view after having participated in the event himself felt strangely different.

The familiar environment. The monsters appearing. Fly fighting alone.

The Fly on the screen was the very image of the number-one ranker he had watched for the past five years—a hero through and through.

He was clearing a tower designed for twenty people by doing the work of twenty all by himself. And he was doing it on the eleventh floor, no less. It was impossible not to be impressed.

The gear Fly wore, the consumables he used, the countless skills flaring around him—seeing all of it, Buja finally understood why he had been so confident that the team match would be a different story.

If they hadn't been able to choose the debuff as their rewards for the tenth and thirteenth floors, things might have turned out very differently.

That was how overwhelming it all was. The Elemental Wizard class. And the player named Fly who wielded it.

Whereas Kim Buja had climbed the tower by rapidly farming gear with his overwhelming stats and the Gold Shop, then crushing monsters with sheer power, Fly was climbing by leveraging the power of the skills that unlocked as he grew.

At a glance, there didn't seem to be much difference between the two.

But unlike Kim Buja, whose raw stats were visibly weakened by the penalties, Fly generated power by combining and sequencing his skills. This meant he was destined to grow stronger in the later stages.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief. Without those two debuffs, they might have ended up tied once the individual match was added in, or even lost because of the team match bonus points.

Of course, that didn't happen.

[The team match has ended.]

The event came to a close. A roar erupted from the crowd. The long journey that had lasted nearly a month ended. Rewards poured down.

* * *

[Event 1st Place National Buff]

▶ EXP gain +30%

▶ Chance for "Treasure" dungeons to appear +12%

▶ Chance for "Random Events" to appear +8%

[Duration: Until December 31, 2023, 11:59:59 p.m.]

Everything could be summed up in this single hologram. Some people couldn't believe it, and others were still glued to the replay.

And there was undeniable proof, revealed through the players, that they had taken first place fair and square.

Of course, only a tiny fraction of the people who had cheered them on would actually receive the buff.

One percent of the total population.

Roughly two percent of South Korea's population were players, so about 1.4 million people would benefit from the buff.

Even so, everyone rejoiced and cheered together.

—Never thought I'd live to see the day Korea took first place.

—And in an event, beating Fly, no less.

—You think the U.S. is gonna pull some political retaliation over this?

—Let 'em try. It's not 2018 anymore. If they start a war, we all just die together.

How could words do this justice? The practical buff was one thing, but more importantly, they had finally given the international community a reason it could no longer ignore them.

—Sending Jeong Cheol Guild was a god-tier move.

—This is why you need fair competition to pick a national team if you want real results.

—Fire everyone who just kept sending SJ for five years. Corrupt bastards.

—Long live the Republic of Korea!

It was almost too much. But any worries about it being excessive were drowned out by the even hotter wave of attention pouring in from around the world.

Articles were posted day after day, and news about Fly's defeat was broadcast for several days straight.

There were analyses and debates, with people asking if this single loss signaled Fly's decline, and all the while, interest in the rising star Kim Buja continued to soar.

Naturally, Kim Buja's video channel was no longer some niche channel visited only by regulars. Each of his videos was casually breaking a hundred million views.

Not just his most popular videos—even footage of games he had played years ago. This was the reward.

The reward for going out as a national representative and dragging down Fly, who had been reigning in the sky like a god.

The reward for risking his life, experiencing real death, and giving it everything he had until the very end.

Given all this, he didn't regret spending the roughly 18,000 gold he had saved up.

'I don't even know where to start checking all this.'

But more important than those little rewards was something else.

Money, fame.

Those weren't exactly the great joys of life for Kim Buja.

He wanted them, and he knew it was nice to have them, but he wasn't going to stake his life on them like Park Sijun.

Because he knew.

Gold Maker.

As long as he had this class and didn't die, he would inevitably attract people's attention sooner or later.

From the beginning, his reason for participating in the event hadn't been those side benefits, but the fact that it was a massive event that could serve as a foundation for the development of Gold Maker itself.

And in return for his efforts, he had been properly rewarded.

With an endless stream of holograms.

There were so many that they made his previous "hologram bombs" look like a joke.

Achievements, notifications triggered by the end of the event, rewards related to the event, and so on.

There were so many that he would have to set aside a whole day just to go through them.

Even at a glance, each and every one of them looked too good to pass up, so he decided to put them off for now.

Before he could happily agonize over what to check first, there was a real-world task waiting for him.

'Life really can turn around overnight, huh? I've made it.'

The official press conference. A formal interview with Jeong Cheol Guild and Kim Buja, who had returned after restoring the honor of South Korea.

At the government's request, a single press conference was held to wrap everything up, drawing countless reporters and media outlets.

No one cared that Jeong Cheol Guild hadn't even had time to wash up and were still in full gear; they were too busy taking pictures.

As soon as they sat down, the questions started.

"I believe this is something many citizens are curious about. This question is for the star of this victory, Mr. Kim Buja. It's about your class. You previously revealed that it was Legendary grade. Judging from the abilities you displayed in this event, it seems to be a very special type of Legendary class. Would you be willing to share some information about it for the people of our nation?"

The other Jeong Cheol guild members visibly frowned at the question. The silence that followed made it clear just how rude that question was.

Even the other reporters, who had been preparing their own questions, turned to look at the one who had asked it.

'Can he really ask that? In this atmosphere? A question that rude?'

For a reporter who made a living off covering hot topics, reading the room and gauging the appropriateness of a question was everything.

They always framed it as speaking on behalf of the public, but when public sentiment was firmly on Jeong Cheol Guild's side, a question this offensive was more likely to get him roasted.

Even so, the uncomfortable silence continued. For the other reporters, this was actually a blessing.

The man had played the madman, asking the one question no one else dared to ask, in this setting, with so many reporters and citizens watching.

They knew why he had done it because Jeong Cheol Guild was not SJ.

They had held onto third place, sure, but that was it. Unlike them, Jeong Cheol Guild had no political backing, and there was no reason to be afraid of getting on their bad side.

If anything, the powers that be would be grateful to the reporter for stirring up controversy in a situation like this.

It was rudeness born of such a delusion. Stony faces all around. Jeong Seora was about to step in and shut it down. Under the table, Kim Buja caught her hand and stopped her.

When she turned her head, she saw him smiling. It was a familiar smile.

'Where have I seen that before?'

It came back to her soon enough. She had rarely seen it in real life, but it had appeared often in his videos.

The smile he wore when he had found a loose thread to pull, when things were unfolding exactly the way he wanted.

"Ever since that incident ten years ago, those trash reporters have been hiding behind the public's right to know while throwing out questions without the slightest sense of time, place, or decency. Whether it's a fantasy novel or real life, that much never changes."

The words slipped from Kim Buja's mouth, a flat statement of fact.

The awkward silence, already fragile, suddenly froze solid.

* * *

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