‘Would sending him to the military twice be too cruel?’
Inside the cramped editing room, Seo Hojin, who was meticulously constructing the profile for “idol Seo Hoyun,” stared at the accumulated system born from all his experience.
[How about this? Doesn’t this sound exactly like you, Mr. Seo Hojin?!]
No. You sound stupid.
At first, the system had spoken in a businesslike tone, but it eventually began imitating his speech and actions, moving as if it had developed self-awareness.
He frowned slightly, then looked down at his arms and legs. Small hands and feet caught his eye.
‘Why this form, of all things?’
He looked about ten years old.
He had overexerted himself during the reconstruction, and the energy drain had caused his form to change automatically.
‘My brother, an idol....’
It seemed absurd, yet part of him thought—well, he had even been an actor once, so what difference did it make?
‘Either way, there’s merit in it.’
Unlike an actor who works alone, idols move in groups. And since Seo Hoyun was the sentimental type, he wouldn’t easily abandon the game if he was part of one.
Hojin dug through every corner of his brother’s life, selecting people who owed Hoyun favors or could provide him some emotional stability, designating them as group members. Among them was Kang Ichae, who had accepted his proposal and would have his memories erased.
He pushed away anyone who could be harmful and surrounded Hoyun only with those who could help him. Then, Hojin stood up from his seat.
Before entering the game, he had to erase even the memories known only to himself to avoid creating any sense of strangeness for his perceptive brother.
“You remember, right? The timing to call me.”
[Yes!! You said if something big happens to Mr. Seo Hoyun, I should call out to Mr. Seo Hojin subconsciously! Got it!]
[But be careful. Too much subconscious crossing could put Mr. Seo Hojin in danger too.]
Nodding absentmindedly, Hojin suddenly stopped and turned around.
“Oh, right.”
[Yes?]
“You know, I’ve been thinking about my brother’s stage name....”
A faint, mischievous smile appeared on his lips.
“Let’s make it ‘Hoyuhou.’”
[.......]
After setting it so that his memories would be erased only in the final reconstructed world, he dove in.
[Congratulations, Mr. Seo Hoyun! You’ve been selected as the player for Nugu Idol Tycoon!]
The final reconstruction shone with success.
Because Seo Hoyun adapted faster than in any previous world.
【Are you donating your talent, composer-nim?】
Like someone who only knew how to move forward, he secured songs, released albums, climbed the charts, grew close to his members, and even won awards.
His recognition rose at a rate incomparable to any prior attempt.
【The Dawn takes 1st place! Congratulations!】
Whenever Hojin unconsciously returned, he would quietly stare at the monitor in his editing room.
【Hoyun, I love you!】
Seeing the man who used to only receive curses now being loved everywhere—it was fascinating.
【I’ll kill you once and send you to the subconscious.】
Of course, not everything was positive.
When Sung Jiwon began to suspect Hoyun’s true identity, the system had a malfunction, causing Hoyun to fall into the subconscious.
Clutching his pounding heart, Hojin hurried after him—only to find himself in a strange broadcasting station. The space had expanded drastically, people were moving around, and it all seemed influenced by the player, Seo Hoyun.
In the form of a child, he rushed to find Hoyun, calling himself a “guide,” doing everything he could to help his brother escape safely.
【It’s okay, Hyung. It’s going to be fine. You’re safe, and I’ll make sure it stays that way!】
【Come here. Hold my hand. At least until we reach somewhere safe.】
Even as everything collapsed, facing his brother saying those words... he had felt a lump in his throat.
‘So he really cares about me that much.’
But “cares” wasn’t the right word.
Seo Hoyun was utterly fixated on him.
【Don’t play any damn tricks on me right now. I’m on edge.】
He realized it when he had been reconstructing the system while shouldering Hoyun’s penalties—pushing his fragile energy to the limit—until even a portion of his own memories disappeared.
Seo Hoyun seemed to have lost his will to live.
Maybe even the system felt pity for him then.
“You crazy bastard!”
[I-I’m sorry....]
It had secretly suggested a partial reset to Seo Hoyun.
When Hojin discovered this too late, he grabbed the back of his neck.
‘Damn it, we’re already short on points...!’
Because he himself had entered the system, stabilizing Hoyun in this “overwritten world” required an immense amount of inevitability.
Both Seo Hojin and Seo Hoyun had to give it everything they had.
If points were lacking, they had to devise quests that could earn recognition—and Hoyun had to clear those brutal quests to the end.
In that sense, the brothers were perfectly in sync.
‘...But it’s still too unstable.’
To restore stability, he needed a new strategy.
He forcefully layered the previously discarded “Nugu Actor Tycoon” onto the current world.
He had never done anything like this before and had no idea what risks it might bring, but he had no choice—it was a gamble.
Using the system’s information about how conflicting energies could create fractures and opportunities, he introduced Jeong Cheongyeon, a person who was the polar opposite of his brother, giving her memories and forcing her to encounter Hoyun to generate a crack.
‘Got it!’
A glitch appeared in the system.
Hojin quickly overlaid Nugu Actor Tycoon and told Hoyun it was just an error.
His perceptive brother seemed to sense the system’s intent but, fortunately, didn’t pay much attention.
That Kang Ichae, whom he’d added as insurance, ended up getting dragged in—that he hadn’t expected. He felt sorry, but there was no going back.
【That’s right. You probably didn’t know, but I’m your brother. ...Sorry I’m a bit late. I mean, for being late to your birthday....】
In this insane situation, the only comfort was that Seo Hoyun still hadn’t realized this wasn’t a parallel world.
Because his mind was always consumed by his little brother.
Maybe that’s why he never knew.
【—What kind of idol trades information with paparazzi?】
The reason The Dawn failed to win the grand prize in their third year was also because of him.
Even though the group’s fame had skyrocketed, it still wasn’t enough to stabilize Hoyun’s life force.
‘At this rate, he’ll die again.’
If they had received the award and completed Kang Ichae’s main scenario, Hoyun would have lived only a few more years at most.
So, to extend the game, Hojin leaked information about paparazzi dealings to a WH Entertainment insider.
【...That’s why all this happened?】
Seeing his brother’s hollow expression filled him with guilt, but...
‘It’s okay, Hyung.’
He had already prepared for the system’s instability in case they didn’t win the award.
Before the final reconstruction, he confessed everything to Kang Ichae—except the fact that clearing the game would erase his existence.
“You’re seriously insane... you really know how to manipulate people.”
Running a hand roughly through his hair, Kang Ichae sighed heavily and muttered under his breath.
“You’re just like Hoyun hyung....”
Seeing the redness in his eyes, Hojin felt embarrassed—it was a heavy burden to place on him, but he had no other choice.
As planned, when Hoyun faced danger, he made the system visible to Kang Ichae to share the load.
Falling into the actor tycoon world turned out to be a blessing in disguise; the guy, who had long forgotten Hojin’s proposal, willingly accepted the system’s penalties purely for Hoyun’s sake.
Just when things seemed to be improving, as always, the plan derailed—Kang Ichae, burdened with excessive penalties, fell into unconsciousness.
It was a realm Hojin couldn’t easily access, leaving him at a loss for what to do...
[Upon inspection, something outside the system’s control tried to access Mr. Seo Hoyun. Something unidentified from beyond the system is shaking him.]
Something strange was happening to Seo Hoyun.
‘An external entity...?’
‘What the hell is this?’
This “external existence” that appeared out of nowhere and twisted everything—Hojin couldn’t grasp what it was.
[Congratulations!
The “Contribution” trait has been unlocked!]
[“Contribution” is linked to player Seo Hoyun’s “???” and indicates the degree to which someone has helped or benefited him.]
He couldn’t let that mysterious thing keep revealing hidden stats and making absurd announcements.
Grinding his teeth, Hojin managed to suppress the external entity—and after Kang Ichae’s main scenario ended, it seemed permanently sealed away.
‘...Focus.’
He gave everything he had until the very end.
The streets were filled with their ads; every TV channel played The Dawn’s variety shows; their album performance and Billboard rankings were exceptional.
Confirming that Hoyun had gained enough recognition to survive, Hojin made one last decision—to erase the memories of WH Entertainment officials so The Dawn could win the grand prize.
‘It’s really soon now.’
And he was certain.
This time, it would truly succeed.
All that was left was for him to quietly disappear—...
“When did you get here, Hyung?”
Why had he forced himself to return to the real world with his memories intact?
“I wanted to be remembered as your brother.”
Thanks to the stability and recognition finally secured, he had escaped the subconscious with his memories intact and faced his brother. Without realizing it, words spilled out of him, impulsive and raw.
Seo Hojin still couldn’t understand himself.
After all that effort to keep Seo Hoyun from finding out, why had he done something so foolish?
“Do you want to stay with me forever?”
...He really didn’t know.
The dark living room, without even the lights on.
The noise from the TV filled the silence.
【The 46th Korean Music Awards, Album of the Year—!!】
Hojin slowly lifted his bowed head.
【The Dawn, congratulations—!!!】
The Dawn stood holding the trophy. Seo Hoyun smiled broadly, applause echoing toward him from all sides.
“...It’s over.”
Watching the awards ceremony on TV, Hojin smoked one cigarette after another. It was harsher than Hoyun’s brand, but he couldn’t bring himself to send a message empty-handed.
To stop his # Nоvеlight # brother’s futile struggle—still believing this was a parallel world—Hojin confessed a part of the truth to him, then asked the system,
“...You’re sure all memories related to me will slowly disappear from him, right?”
[Yes. It’s difficult to erase them immediately, so we’re starting by deleting Mr. Seo Hojin’s traces first.]
He had wanted to erase his memories the moment the game was cleared, but the system said it was impossible.
If the deletion had been set from the beginning, as in previous reconstructions, maybe it would have worked. But in Nugu Idol Tycoon, Hoyun had learned too much; removing those memories without arousing suspicion would take time.
Clicking his tongue softly, Hojin gave the system a firm order.
“Erase them cleanly. And after the award ceremony, never make contact again. The message I just sent him—make that the last.”
[You don’t have to emphasize it so much. I understand.]
“And leave Kang Ichae alone. Don’t let him find out.”
The system didn’t respond for a moment, then carefully opened a new window.
[Mr. Seo Hojin, it’s time to return to the subconscious.]
[Don’t worry—you won’t disappear immediately.]
[...If you really wish, I could push myself a bit and arrange a farewell within the subconscious for you and Mr. Seo Hoyun.]
“No need.”
It shouldn’t have had a personality, yet the message somehow felt concerned for him.
It had emerged from the collision of opposing energies—a fracture that remained as the system itself.
How had something like that come to exist...?
“Good work.”
But he didn’t care.
Whether it was a demon, a ghost, or something else entirely—what did it matter, now that he had succeeded in saving his brother?
Hojin walked out to the veranda and looked into the darkness beyond. The night that seemed ready to swallow him whole reminded him of the day he and Hoyun had watched the sea together.
“...I have a question.”
Standing before the waves crashing in foam, Hojin had once asked his brother,
“Hyung, aren’t you scared?”
Hoyun hadn’t answered, but Hojin—always keenly perceptive—had understood his feelings anyway.
“Puhaha....”
And that expression had been a strange comfort.
“Ahaha, idiot.”
Hojin crushed his cigarette and stretched, recalling his brother’s face on the TV screen.
Twenty-seven, Seo Hoyun.
Calm yet vibrant, radiant... a man who could do anything.
Hojin loved that sight more than anything.
“Ah, what a long, long road it’s been!”
He let out a cheerful laugh.
His brother had said during his acceptance speech that he would come find him—but no.
Hojin was already happier than he could ever ask for.
“There’s no need to come looking for me.”
He was no longer afraid of that sea.
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
Bee—
Be—
———
—......
.
.
.
—......
———
Be—
Bee—
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
The loud black system window suddenly vanished, and moments later another message appeared.
Bzzz—.
[Congratulations, Mr. Seo Hoyun.
You have cleared all quests.]
Bzzzz—.
Bzzz—.
[Would you like to receive your reward?]
As I stared quietly at it, the phone that had been vibrating nonstop also fell silent.
The clock’s hour hand had already passed halfway from when I’d first entered the apartment, and a faint red glow from afar seeped through the veranda frame, touching the tips of my feet.
I buried my face in my palm and exhaled faintly.
At this point, there was no denying it.
I had been struck hard—completely blindsided.
Where had it gone wrong? What should I have done?
While my brother, so painfully oblivious, wasted all that time chasing the wrong answers, my younger brother—...
“......”
I reached out, picked up Seo Hojin’s cigarette pack from the coffee table, put one between my lips, and flicked the cheap lighter beside it.
Click, click—.
After a few tries, the flame caught, and I drew in deeply.
Smoke burned down my throat, rough and acrid, and a cough burst out.
“Cough....”
Hunched over, I exhaled a cloud of smoke. The sharp taste burned down into my stomach.
“...Ha, haha.”
No, that tickle in my gut—it wasn’t the smoke. It was laughter.
There was nothing I could do.
“Ahahaha, haha....”
I tried to calm down, but the moment I realized it, I couldn’t stop laughing.
“...Wow. My little brother.”
Something hot welled up from my throat, blurring my vision. My cheeks felt strangely damp; when I brushed them with the back of my hand, it came away wet. Blinking at his image on the screen, I felt the tears fall.
I stopped wiping my face, leaned back against the sofa, tilted my head, drew on the filter, and exhaled.
Staring at the ceiling, now hazy with cigarette smoke, I murmured emptily,
“...He really smoked the strong stuff.”
