Seo Hojin had never once in his life believed in religion. Not even in common folk superstitions or ghosts. His brother had always scoffed whenever topics like that came up, anyway.
[Player Seo Hoyun can be resurrected.]
But in that moment, disbelief wasn’t an option.
A flickering black silhouette appeared and told him, if he wanted to bring his brother back to life, he’d have to wager his own.
He’d thought it was bullshit, yet he couldn’t ignore it. He’d been too desperate back then.
Closing his eyes tightly, then opening them again, Seo Hojin pressed “Accept.”
Sleep crashed over him; his consciousness blurred, and when he opened his eyes again, he was standing in a place he had never seen before.
A small, cramped space filled with a single computer and unfamiliar devices.
It looked like his brother’s office—a broadcasting station editing room.
Startled, unable to react, he just stood there blankly while the entirety of Seo Hoyun’s life began playing before his eyes like a movie.
When it ended with the familiar conclusion he already knew, Seo Hojin stayed silent for a while before finally asking whether he could really bring his brother back to life—and how that could even be possible.
To that, the system responded that the game had been initiated using Seo Hojin’s life as the base, exploiting the fracture created by conflicting energies.
He didn’t fully understand what “conflicting energies” meant—
—but still.
‘Then why an editing room, of all places?’
Tilting his head slightly, Seo Hojin decided to focus on the problem at hand.
‘...Let’s do it.’
He had very little information to work with.
One of the few things he knew was this: using his own life as payment, he had “overwritten” Seo Hoyun at age twenty-three to bring him back. He couldn’t rewrite the entire world, but he could alter the memories and traces of those around him—including Seo Hoyun’s. Meaning, he could assign his brother any role or profession he wanted.
He decided to call this process “Reconstruction.”
The starting point of the game was set to one month before Seo Hoyun’s death, and it could not go back further than before their parents’ car accident.
Finally, if he raised “recognition” and accumulated “narrative coherence” by completing quests, Seo Hoyun would be granted a true, independent life.
‘As long as I have energy, I can reconstruct again and again.’
And that energy did exist within him.
‘Well... I probably won’t need too many tries.’
Thinking lightly of it, Seo Hojin erased every trace of himself along with Seo Hoyun’s memories from age twenty-four to thirty-three. If his brother had only the memories but no sibling, he’d realize something was off.
That was the first world Seo Hojin ever built.
He had only one wish: that Seo Hoyun would clear the game safely and live an ordinary, happy life.
‘...What?’
But his brother didn’t last even a few months.
Unable to focus on living, always drifting—until eventually, stability collapsed—
Baaaaang—!
[GAME OVER!]
He died.
The moment he realized it, Seo Hojin was back on the bridge facing the black silhouette.
[Would you like to reset?]
A dump truck roared past, horn blaring as it nearly grazed him. Seo Hojin looked out over the pitch-black sea {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} and cried for a long time.
Repeatedly facing Seo Hoyun’s death was agony, but not without revelation.
‘I can’t delete too much.’
Removing every part of his PD life had left Seo Hoyun without a purpose.
‘Again... let’s try again.’
Clutching his aching chest, Seo Hojin resolved to preserve his brother’s memories but find a way to dilute his infamy points and raise recognition instead.
If he kept the memories up to about age thirty, it would be confusing.
‘Let’s call it a parallel world.’
He figured his brother’s attachment to being a PD would drive him to finish the mission and return home.
‘A profession that raises recognition, then...’
...A politician?
The very thought made him shudder; he rubbed his arms.
With that bulldozer personality, Seo Hoyun would have half the nation as enemies in no time.
‘No, the entertainment industry makes more sense.’
Even when they were young, people would hand him cards asking if his brother was interested in celebrity work just because of his looks. The same happened even after he became a PD.
Of course, those offers always evaporated the moment anyone saw Seo Hoyun’s personality.
‘How did I not think of this sooner?’
Snapping his fingers, Seo Hojin rushed to begin reconstruction.
[Congratulations, Mr. Seo Hoyun! You have been selected as the Player for Nugu Actor Tycoon!]
The second time, things went better.
At first, his brother fiercely denied reality, but gradually he adjusted.
Still, something was strange—he didn’t seem desperate.
“...Doesn’t he seem... off?”
Ding!
[Really?]
The system’s bland response left him uneasy, but time flowed steadily.
Seo Hoyun acted in a web drama, gained attention as a rising star, even won a rookie award—
[GAME OVER!]
[Would you like to reset?]
“What, is he a fucking molly fish or something?!”
He’d blown it again.
“What the hell went wrong? Huh?!”
Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he checked his remaining energy. He hadn’t secured enough stability, resulting in another game over—but the entertainment path was clearly correct. He resolved to reconstruct again.
[Would you like to reset?]
And again.
[Would you like to reset?]
One more time!
[Would you like to reset?]
Over and over—
【Congratulations, Mr. Seo Hoyun! The Rookie Award!】
—and once again, the day came when Seo Hoyun died.
As he continued learning from failure, Seo Hoyun, unlike before, didn’t attend the award ceremony but went to see a therapist instead.
Having realized from the last world that winning some rookie award would never clear the game, Seo Hojin could only seethe with frustration.
Ding!
[...Are you okay?]
“......”
No.
Even as the system mechanically spat out messages, it began mimicking his tone over countless reconstructions. And yet, nothing changed.
【How are you feeling these days? You’ve achieved so much lately—like the award.】
【...Yes, I did get one.】
Watching his brother in real time, Seo Hojin felt as if his own heart were being ground down day by day.
Sitting in the dark editing room, he buried his face in his hands.
‘...How many tries has it been now?’
In his judgment, Seo Hoyun was someone who could be loved anywhere. If he focused entirely on the game, he could reach the end.
He truly believed that—yet this time, it hadn’t even lasted a year.
‘The game cycles are getting shorter.’
By his remaining energy count... he only had one try left.
‘...What do I have to do to save him?’
As failure piled up, despair closed in, suffocating him.
He wanted to give up everything.
【—You got the award, but aren’t you happy?】
Sitting on the therapist’s couch, chin resting on his hand, Seo Hoyun answered dully after a pause,
【...You know, this might sound crazy.】
Then he continued,
【I feel like I’ve lost something really important. Something I shouldn’t have forgotten.】
【Something you shouldn’t have forgotten?】
【......Sometimes....】
Seo Hoyun had no idea how white Seo Hojin’s face had gone, and kept talking.
【Sometimes, I dream of my younger brother.】
The image of twenty-three-year-old Seo Hoyun filled his vision—young, yet strangely hollow. His tilted head let a strand of hair fall across his forehead.
【But I don’t have a brother. The dreams are so vivid, so real... yet I can’t remember his face.】
As Seo Hojin stared blankly, his brother brushed a hand under his eye.
【I think... I have to find him.】
The moment those words ended, the walls of the counseling room collapsed—and Seo Hoyun’s world crumbled with them.
[GAME OVER!]
[GAME OVER!]
[GAME OVER!]
[GAME OVER!]
[GAME OVER!]
.
.
.
Seo Hojin was thrown from the editing room, back to the bridge again.
Baaaaang—!!
Skillfully sidestepping another dump truck, he leaned against the railing, lit a cigarette, and stared out at the sea.
After a long while—
“...Ah...”
...So that’s how it was.
Pressing a hand to his forehead, Seo Hojin trembled with laughter.
[Would you like to reset?]
He knew the answer now.
With the faint sunrise behind him, Seo Hojin staggered to his feet.
He picked up his coat from the railing, slipped it on, straightened his white sneakers, and gathered his strength to run.
“Huff... hah...”
He’d wasted countless chances; this was the last one left.
“Cough, ha...”
He would return to the place most familiar to Seo Hoyun—a life where his younger brother existed.
Until now, he had only watched from the sidelines, but if his presence could help his brother feel safe enough to focus on his goal—
‘I’ll go in myself.’
Just until the game is cleared.
Panting, he passed a bus stop. An ad for a Pick the One trainee flashed above, with a few post-its fluttering down to the pavement.
‘But I can’t do it alone.’
Originally, his role was only to create a world where Seo Hoyun could live, based on his own life force.
If he entered it personally, the system would grow unstable, and no matter how many penalties he took on himself, the risk of Seo Hoyun’s failure would rise.
‘I need reinsurance.’
His sacrifice was enough.
But he needed someone to absorb the side effects when things went wrong.
Someone who would always stay near Seo Hoyun—and remain even after everything was over.
‘I know who.’
He ran, and ran, and ran.
Past the gates of a luxurious apartment complex gleaming in gold light, he entered the familiar lobby, punched in the security code, rode the elevator up, and reached the door. Just as he was about to press the lock, it clicked open from the inside.
The face that appeared was dazzling as ever—like a celebrity—but the red-rimmed eyes, empty gaze, and dry lips were unfamiliar.
“Seo Hojin?”
They’d known each other since they were kids.
The guy Seo Hoyun had suddenly told him to get along with—and the guy who’d accepted, talking down to him ever since. That ridiculous bastard—
Kang Ichae.
There were plenty of words to describe him, but Seo Hojin couldn’t get any of them out. He just steadied his breath.
“You didn’t answer any calls, and now you just—”
Seo Hojin pushed him back inside and slammed the door shut.
Kang Ichae stared at him, clearly startled.
It was time to say something absurd.
“Kang Ichae.”
‘...But he’ll believe me.’
Because Kang Ichae existed inside the same “overwritten” world.
“...Help me.”
Despite it being the middle of winter, Seo Hojin’s hands were drenched in sweat as he gripped Kang Ichae’s shoulder tightly.
Even if he refused, it would be understandable. If he accepted, it would be dangerous. Situations could arise that even Seo Hojin couldn’t control.
‘But he won’t be able to refuse.’
It was their last remaining chance—and he wasn’t the only one desperate.
Seo Hojin’s gaze swept over Kang Ichae’s swollen eyes and met his trembling pupils.
“You... want to save Hoyun-hyung, don’t you?”
He already knew the answer.
