4.

If you had to name the person most devastated by Kim Buja's Special dungeon clear, the answer wouldn't be obvious. It wasn't a world-shattering achievement, and no Legendary loot had dropped. Yet public consensus pointed unanimously to a single, unfortunate soul.

—Dude went for a free carry and lost his cash 'and' his clout.

—Did he get the 'Special Bus Passenger' title? Lmao.

—His streams usually get like 300k viewers, but he hit 900k yesterday, right?

—Who cares? Kim Buja snatched the 'rising star' title right out from under him.

Park Sijun. Before Kim Buja had burst onto the scene, Sijun was the rookie commanding everyone's attention, armed with his status as the youngest son of the SJ Group and a Special-grade offensive class. His picture-perfect life as a man born with everything naturally attracted immense envy and criticism. Still, he had never lost his reputation as Korea's most promising newcomer.

Now, in a matter of days, he had become a laughingstock. It couldn't be helped. The world only remembers winners, and tearing others down is a daily pastime. Sijun himself had once been on the other side of that equation, praised at the expense of other players.

In a way, he'd gotten what he wanted: more attention. The fact that most of it was ridicule didn't matter. Even negative buzz was still buzz. Swallowing his bitterness, Park Sijun forced a smile.

"Fuck!"

It didn't last long.

Even for someone born with a silver spoon, who had always gotten his way and possessed the fortitude to weather most setbacks, this time was different. On the surface, he had achieved the numbers he'd boasted of to Kim Buja, but he hadn't obtained a single one of his true objectives. No, there was one thing he 'should' have secured above all else: the Legendary item. With that in hand, he could have smiled serenely through this humiliation, calmly pretending he had some secret ace up his sleeve.

"Hmph."

"Young Master, the Jeong Cheol Guild sent this back for you."

"Son of a…"

Just as Sijun took a deep breath to plot his next move, his equipment and shield arrived. He wanted to scream at his subordinate to throw the gear away, but the thought of the fifty million won he'd wasted and the shimmering image of that lost Legendary item paralyzed him. He reluctantly gathered his things. Though fury still simmered within him, the moment his hand closed around the shield's grip, scenes from the dungeon flooded his mind—Kim Buja's fluid movements, using the shield not just for defense but as a seamless part of his offense.

"How does he do that?"

Sijun carried a shield to utilize a few unique skills granted by his Special-grade offensive class, but he'd never managed to use them to their full potential. Watching Kim Buja, however, sparked a revelation. 'If I use it like that, maybe I can finally master those skills I've struggled with.' The system automatically corrected a player's form, but there was a vast difference in proficiency when someone truly understood its application. His anger momentarily cooled, replaced by calculation.

"You said Kim Buja has a video channel, right?" he demanded. "Get me every video he's ever posted. From the beginning."

He had never been called a genius, a prodigy destined to be a world-class ranker. But Park Sijun knew he was far from an idiot.

"I'm going to analyze every last frame."

Unless it was some unheard-of skill, it was ultimately just human movement. Even if he couldn't replicate it perfectly, identifying and mimicking the patterns would be a start. He would make it work, if only to reclaim what he'd lost, even if it meant studying game videos like homework.

"Young Master? He's live-streaming right now. Should I bring it up?"

"He is? Yes, put it on."

As if sensing his rival's newfound resolve, a live broadcast appeared on Kim Buja's channel, which had been dormant for some time. It was as if it were waiting for him.

* * *

People were obsessed with dungeon videos, regardless of whether they were 1-star or 5-star. The reason was simple.

—The realism is off the charts.

—No kidding. The recording equipment is the size of your finger and costs hundreds of millions.

—Watching it in VR makes your heart pound, even if it's just a 1-star monster.

The technology had advanced to the point where it could create an experience that felt more real than reality, surpassing 2D, 3D, and even 4D. This tech allowed anyone on Earth to virtually step inside a dungeon—a whole other world—and experience it firsthand. Add to that a level of unpredictability and raw authenticity that no movie could ever script, and it was a recipe for addiction. The lack of polished, cinematic flair was a small price to pay for the genuine thrill of a dungeon. That's why the saying went, "A player who films dungeon videos never fails."

It was a profession with an incredibly high barrier to entry, costing millions in initial investment, but it came with an almost nonexistent risk of failure. Naturally, people flocked to any market with guaranteed profits. The only reason the dungeon video industry hadn't become a completely saturated red ocean was because of one simple fact: you had to risk your life. The system prevented players from entering dungeons below their level. Under such conditions, fighting monsters while lugging around recording gear and being conscious of the camera was a massive handicap.

The moment a player pushed their luck for a more dramatic shot, a monster's fangs would find their throat. Those videos never saw the light of day. Furthermore, the expensive equipment was fragile and easily destroyed. Most importantly, players—especially top rankers—were fiercely protective of their skills and hated revealing them to the world. All these factors only made the content more coveted, drawing in even larger audiences.

"Wow, why are so many people watching a mere 1-star dungeon?" Jeong Seora mused aloud.

"I guess it's because it's a Special dungeon video," Kim Buja replied, a small laugh escaping him as they watched the stream together.

The numbers were genuinely shocking. Just thirty minutes after going live, he had over 200,000 concurrent viewers. For a 1-star Special dungeon solo raid, the final view count could easily reach tens of millions—perhaps even break a hundred million if it went viral.

"I was a little worried, but you've really done it," Seora said, impressed. "If your next videos keep this momentum, you'll be able to earn a steady income without having to clear minor dungeons."

He would be making a fortune unimaginable for any other 1-star player. Kim Buja nodded, satisfied, but politely rejected her suggestion.

"I'd like that, but my Class benefits from running dungeons continuously. It's a shame."

He turned his gaze back to the screen. His on-screen self was setting up recording equipment inside a new dungeon, preparing for his second public clear.

"Are you sure you want to upload it raw?" Seora asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "I didn't see any major issues, but with this many eyes on you, sensitive information could leak, Buja."

At her worried tone, Kim Buja turned to face her. He saw his reflection in her eyes as she sat beside him, sipping wine, and a smirk played on his lips.

"In your expert opinion, Ms. Jeong, is there anything about me worth stealing?"

It was a brazenly confident question. After a moment's consideration, Seora laughed along with him.

"You have a point. It's a little arrogant, but you're not wrong."

* * *

He had initially planned to edit the footage from his second Special dungeon. Just like the first time, the monsters were tougher than his stats would suggest. His concern wasn't about his abilities being exposed, but rather that there was no point in showing clumsy or dangerous moments. He abandoned that idea, however, the instant he felt the true power of the 'Legendary Crystal Necklace'.

'Pshnk—'

The dagger slid into the monster's flesh with a buttery smoothness he'd never felt before. He had deliberately chosen a dungeon teeming with enemies, one where the clear condition was to kill the boss, yet it felt leagues easier than the maze. He knew it from the very first kill. With that kind of power, why would he hesitate? His dagger became a blur, carving through the monsters relentlessly.

The boost to his health, the 20% increase in attack power, and the 20% defense penetration were more than enough to completely negate any dungeon penalty. To top it off, the 5% chance to inflict a 2-star status ailment triggered frequently, making each encounter even easier. There was no room for error, no unexpected variables. Stab, dodge, block, stab. At the end of that simple, brutal rhythm, the boss monster awaited.

Without a second thought, he chugged tens of millions of won worth of doping potions and launched himself into a furious one-on-one duel. The resulting video, a 6-hour and 38-minute testament to his victory, left the internet speechless.

—What level is this guy? This looks like a high-level smurfing on noobs.

—Is that really a 1-star Special dungeon? For real?

—Damn, he's just crushing them with his stats. Look at the glow on his gear.

Countless armchair experts, all self-proclaimed six-star players, analyzed the video frame by frame, but they came up with nothing.

—What skill is he even using?

—Skill? What skill? He just pokes them with that dinky dagger and they keel over. That's not a hunt, it's an execution.

—'I could solo that with the same setup. Bet.'

—Lmao, no you couldn't. If it was all about being gear-carried, the top guilds would already be decked out in full Legendary sets.

The video was flawless, beyond reproach. But for that very reason, the initial excitement began to fade.

—Too simple.

—Kinda boring.

—Is it even fun to hunt like that?

Of course, over 90% of the commenters were casual viewers, not players.

—This is awesome.

—His movements are insane. Look at his game sense. Is he dodging on reaction? With reflexes like that, his gear is just a convenience.

Anyone who had ever set foot in a dungeon—anyone with even a sliver of combat experience—recognized Buja's skill. The video was so perfect it even earned praise on the notoriously toxic player forums, where users loved to tear down top rankers for the smallest mistakes. It quickly went viral. And as the viewership grew, the video's more peculiar details started to surface.

—Btw, what's that golden chick on his shoulder the whole time?

—What? I thought that was just a cosmetic item.

—Huh, you're right. What is that? Kinda looks like a sparrow.

—DUDE. What if that's a clue to his Class? Someone get on this, stat!

That one comment changed everything.

—Anyone else a sucker who's rewatched this 20 times? Oh, just me? Cool.

—Did it break 50 million views in 12 hours?

—I will find the answer, even if it's just out of sheer spite.

It was the perfect hook: a mystery to keep viewers engaged. Combined with his clean, efficient movements and satisfyingly high damage, it was irresistible.

—Yo, Park Sijun is streaming.

—Hard pass.

—Is there any point in watching him now? I'd rather rewatch Buja's video and try to figure out his Class.

—Seriously, what could it be? It's not a support class, is it?

Kim Buja knew better than anyone what it took to capture and hold an audience.

"Ms. Jeong," he said, a glint in his eye. "For the next dungeon, I'll be using a bow."

An endless stream of mysteries. An aura of enigma. With his next move decided, Kim Buja headed for the Dungeon Shop.

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