It was hard to stop laughing. I barely managed to calm down while lowering my gaze, rubbed the back of my neck, and said lightly,
“...Hey, did you see the title? I thought it’d be Nugu Idol Tycoon Season 2.”
[Anyway, this one’s better than that.]
Eternal Idol.
At first glance, it sounded plausible—but in truth, it meant I was being told to play forever.
Still, I didn’t feel too bad about it.
Ah, I want to go back soon.
[Would you like to start ‘Eternal Idol Tycoon’?]
I wanted to act coy a bit longer, show whatever version of myself I wished, and sometimes even whine on purpose. I was humming cheerfully when—
[Um, Mr. Seo Hoyun. But...]
Bang— the system exploded as if it had ignited.
[To start ‘Eternal Idol Tycoon’, the settings and recognition from ‘Nugu Idol Tycoon’ are required.]
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
[An error has been found in ‘Nugu Idol Tycoon’. Unless the error is resolved, settings and recognition data cannot be imported.]
“...What the hell?”
[Checking....]
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
[Checking....]
[ERROR!]
[Check complete.]
[ERROR!]
[ERROR!]
[You may resurrect Player Seo Hoyun at the cost of Seo Hojin’s life. Would you like to proceed?]
The thrill that had filled me instantly vanished.
After rubbing my face for a moment, I stood up, grabbed the chair, and was about to throw a fit when a system window appeared before my eyes.
[Wait, please calm down!!]
[...U-um, as far as I can tell, there isn’t any special error. In my opinion, to properly terminate Nugu Idol Tycoon....]
“...There’s another point I have to intervene in, isn’t there?”
[...Yes.]
As far as I remembered, the black system had only ever appeared once—when I saved Kang Ichae. My eyelashes trembled. I slowly clenched and unclenched my fists.
Stay calm.
I had come all this way. I couldn’t lose my reason now and ruin everything.
I just need to rebuild the past exactly as it was.
If there was a point where I had to intervene to fix the error, then I would do it.
And then I’d start a new game cleanly.
“Do you know when that error occurred?”
[...I’ll look for it.]
Inside the dark editing room, countless screens overlapped, flickered, and vanished. They played, then quickly rewound again and again.
Click.
At last, a video appeared.
Whatever scene it showed, I’d just fix it and leave—
Swoooosh—.
...Just leave.
The violent sound of waves crashed into my ears so fiercely it made me hold my breath instinctively.
A man stood on a huge bridge built over black, heaving water, tightening his dark coat around himself, a phone clutched in his hand. His face looked hollow and sunken.
【You talk so damn informally....】
As he coughed while lighting a cigarette he’d taken from his pocket, I realized who it was—Seo Hojin. My lips parted.
“Wrong....”
My throat tightened, and I couldn’t finish the sentence in one breath.
“...You pulled up the wrong one.”
[...Mr. Seo Hoyun. It’s here.]
The beginning of the game.
[This is the right place.]
Beneath my vision, filled entirely by the screen, something dark rippled. I forced myself to ignore the sensation that my heart was burning away.
Even when Seo Hojin flicked the cheap lighter again and again, or when he clicked the wheel and dragged hard on the filter, or when he dropped his phone to the ground, I tried to stay calm and keep thinking.
There’s nothing I can interfere with.
...For now, I’d wait until that bizarre existence that had started all this arrived.
I had only given myself fragmented memories, so while I knew what Seo Hojin had done on the bridge, I didn’t know what he’d said when he faced that strange thing.
Just wait.
【Hyung. It’s so cold here....】
“It’s okay.”
Even when Seo Hojin ground out the half-smoked cigarette—
Be patient.
Even when he took off his coat and hung it on the railing—
Endure it....
The moment he tossed aside the cigarette pack and climbed onto the fence, my body reacted before thought did. Blood surged to my head, and I reached out instinctively. I slammed the mouse to pause the frame, screaming at the system to send me there. The nausea rose, and a strange sense of displacement flooded from my toes upward. My vision blurred—
And when I opened my eyes, I was facing Seo Hojin.
My younger brother stared at me, his form faint and indistinct.
I shouldn’t have felt anything physical, yet I felt the wind shaking my body violently. I lowered my head and, as if acting on instinct, read the black system window that had haunted me ever since the reset.
Something I had once thought useless, something I believed I’d ignore forever.
[All game start conditions have been met.]
[You may resurrect Player Seo Hoyun. Would you like to begin?]
I needed it.
[Infamy Points have accumulated.]
[They conflict with Player Seo Hoyun’s virtuous deeds.]
Seo Hojin could neither see nor hear me. To him, I was nothing more than a text message.
When the loading finished, I summoned the system with trembling hands.
Everything had started with me.
Not a god, not a demon, not a monster, not some incomprehensible terror—
Me.
A wretched, fucking bastard.
[All game start conditions have been met.]
[You may resurrect Player Seo Hoyun. Would you like to begin?]
For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. The fierce sea wind whipped Seo Hojin’s coat, threatening to tear it off. My brother’s face looked as if he’d been struck by lightning as he stared this way—
With a look that desperately hoped for something.
“If I....”
There was no going back.
“If I accept this, you’ll suffer for a very long time.”
[‘Seo Hojin’ will continue to play the game for an extended period.]
Even fully aware that he would go through unimaginable suffering, I had to say it.
“I’m sorry, but you have to stake yourself to bring me back. ...It could get dangerous—no, it will get dangerous.”
[Seo Hojin will resurrect Player Seo Hoyun at the cost of his own life.]
[During the game, he will be ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) exposed to life-threatening danger.]
“Shit, this is garbage. Even if you do it, nothing will change. I won’t change....”
[Player Seo Hoyun will live selfishly, unchanged.]
I lifted my head slowly. Seo Hojin, who had been gripping the railing with his toes on the lower fence, lightly jumped down and spoke.
“Hyung?”
My heart sank.
He shouldn’t be able to see me.
“...Of course not.”
I must really be losing my mind....
Seo Hojin scratched the back of his head.
“It just sounded so much like something you’d nag me about, so I said it.”
He sighed and crouched down. His breath came out in a white puff that scattered into the night air.
“You were always like that. Whenever I tried to do anything for you, you’d get scared first and tell me not to.”
It wasn’t just me—he’d never asked anyone for help. He’d always forced himself to do everything alone. Muttering that, Seo Hojin looked up at me from where he sat on the ground.
“I kept wondering why, and now I get it. No matter how much time passes, I’m still that ten-year-old kid who couldn’t do anything for you.”
A truck approached noisily with its headlights on. His face turned black under the blinding light shining from behind. I could only hear his strangely buoyant voice.
“But it’s fine. Don’t worry. You might not know this, hyung...”
When the truck passed and darkness rushed back in, my eyes adjusted, and I could see his expression clearly again. The wind clawed at him violently, hair whipping in every direction. Seo Hojin squinted and smiled brightly.
As if he were genuinely happy.
“I’m a little like you.”
[Starting the game.]
A white flash struck down upon the pitch-black sea. It meant it was time to return. The light surged like a tidal wave from afar.
[Filling the void of energy with the life of Player Seo Hojin.]
...Seo Hojin’s guess had been half right, half wrong.
I hadn’t stopped him because I thought he was weak. I just hadn’t wanted to ruin him.
We hadn’t had everything, but we’d been enough for each other. That alone had satisfied me.
There are things that stay vivid no matter how much time passes. Seventeen—getting out early thanks to a shortened schedule, going home in the early afternoon. Opening the front door, asking Mom when Dad would be back, lying on the bed without even taking off my uniform.
When I closed my eyes like that, something warm would slip into my arms. And when his breathing turned steady, I’d quietly open my eyes and look at him in wonder.
There are moments when that kind of illogical certainty hits you—
the belief that you could preserve this instant forever.
That even if your senses dulled later, the dust floating in the air, the faint weight pressing on your arm, the small breaths brushing your neck, the clatter of a pot lid as something boiled in the kitchen—all of it would be sealed in eternity.
That whenever you recalled such a quiet, ordinary afternoon, no pain or fear could ever come close.
Back then, the sunlight pouring down on us was so white.
[Time paradox correction in progress.]
[Preparing synchronization.]
The light crashing over the waves didn’t wait for us.
But Seo Hojin smiled brightly.
“Let’s go now.”
My vision turned white.
[Reestablishing new system parameters.]
White.
“See you later.”
[—...Terminating game.]
Whiter still—
.
.
.
[Are you asleep?]
I blinked slowly.
[Ah~, perhaps you’re free~? While I’m here struggling through hell setting up your new game~?]
Only then did I realize I was sitting blankly inside an editing room collapsing into ruins.
[Mr. Seo Hoyun, what’s with that reaction? You already knew you were an external entity, yet you didn’t expect it to start from you?]
[The moment you intervened, I had a hunch. I’d been wondering how Mr. Seo Hojin had the energy to start the game at all—that mystery’s solved now.]
[Good grief, really. You’re something else.]
It kept babbling about things I hadn’t even asked for....
[Anyhow, that was reckless. Mr. Seo Hojin took on a tremendous burden of life force. He changed the settings dramatically using the points he’d accumulated.]
[Even if you start the game again, it won’t be kind to you anymore.]
[When you return, the settings will be all tangled, and people with hostility toward you might appear. As for the quest difficulty? It’ll be far tougher than before.]
[Under these conditions, you probably wouldn’t last half a year even if you went back—]
I sighed and buried my face in my palm.
[...What?]
[Wait... are you crying???!!]
“Why would I?”
Of course. I ignored the whining system window and stood up.
“All right, is it over now?”
[...Yes, it’s done.]
[Since you’re restarting anyway, don’t regret it. You’ll live a limited life—until you’re a bent old man, that is.]
I was about to respond but let out a faint laugh instead.
I scanned the crumbling editing room.
On the flickering, static-filled screens ahead, I saw myself frantically answering calls and hammering away at the keyboard.
Next to him, another me rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhausted from another sleepless night.
Across from them, I was talking animatedly, trying to secure a major guest.
Then, one by one, each screen popped and went dark, like light bulbs bursting in sequence.
I would never return here again.
Neither Seo Hojin, nor I.
“...There’s one thing that bothers me.”
I turned my gaze without hesitation.
That wasn’t it—there was something else I wanted to know.
[Yes, what is it?]
“That immense energy—the kind that can rewind time, revive a person, and maintain settings. What exactly was it?”
I already knew part of it was tied to evil karma.
At that, the system reacted as if scolding a clueless child.
[...What— You still don’t know, Mr. Seo Hoyun? I thought you did, since you went and did something that insane....]
[Come on, after all those quests and main scenarios, you still don’t get it?]
Its explanations had always been vague.
Recognition that filled inevitability? Virtue clashing with infamy to create energy? Something else?
Whatever I guessed felt wrong, so I stayed silent. The system swelled like smoke, as if sighing, and printed more text.
[...Well, there are many interpretations. Some call it a concept that transcends time, the origin of all energy. Others describe it as a chemical reaction, though in truth, no matter how far technology advances, humans can’t actually create it. They can approximate it, but generating the exact same energy perfectly is impossible. No one knows where, how, or why it arises. And because of that, it holds the greatest value of all.]
“Too long.”
[...Y-yes, well... in human terms, the closest word for it would be—]
The moment I saw the two words, the heaviness in my chest vanished instantly.
“Puhahahahaha.”
[...]
Now I understood why the system had been so shocked that I hadn’t realized it.
Good god... it was so obvious.
[...Stop laughing and go already.]
“Yeah, yeah.”
Still laughing, I frowned slightly and closed my eyes. Suddenly, someone’s words resurfaced, and I couldn’t help but marvel.
‘Wow... that guy’s something else.’
That day, after finishing my first drama shoot, when I’d sat in a café and talked with Min Jiheon about the system for the first time—
I’d been ignorant back then, and Min Jiheon had looked at me with pity.
He hadn’t known any more than I did, yet somehow, he’d sensed it instinctively.
“Why does this kind of thing only happen to you, hyung? Why would a PD from Seoul turn ten years younger and live like this, struggling as an idol?”
He had been talking about the condition needed to start Nugu Idol Tycoon or Eternal Idol Tycoon.
On that bridge where I faced Seo Hojin, at that snowy Seoul bus stop, and in the moment I received the energy that began this game—
the thing that resurrected me, revived me again and again, that clung to life so viciously until the very end...
“That’s partly because you’re lucky, hyung, but...”
Min Jiheon, you smart bastard.
You were right.
“It’s because you were loved.”
Because it was love.
