Genius Archer’s Streaming - Chapter 797

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Genius Archer’s Streaming Season 3 Episode 267
87. Spring (5)
Pangeo Eo-jin Kang.
A pure Korean name bestowed with the meaning of living strongly and righteously.
Though his mother was a Japanese woman well-versed in Chinese characters, his father stubbornly insisted, and thus the name came to be.
Pangeo, who had started as a handsome young man, wasn’t necessarily strong or righteous, but he possessed a sharp mind for academics.
More easily than expected, he entered a better university than most, and landed a slightly better company than his peers.
Yet in one corner of his heart, there always existed a strange, gaping void.
Like someone who had lost their memories, as if something that once existed had been erased—an empty space.
One day, Eojin tried the game Civil Empire for the first time.
He became captivated by it as if bewitched.
The emptiness in his heart gradually filled, and whether it was due to his Japanese mother or his father—Korean to the very depths of his skull—he became fascinated by the ability to play as a nation called Joseon.
Yes, he had been interested in international competitions from the early days of the game.
Naturally, he climbed the rankings.
He met Hee-cheol, and befriended Ian-yong—a name that seemed like something his mother would quite approve of.
Back then, they were all young, brimming with passion, and radiant.
Like spring arriving outside the window now, those days remained in memory as bright and cheerful.
As if through a cheap cherry blossom filter, the memories refracted beautifully and were stored in his mind.
He had once questioned himself—wasn’t this kind of filter usually applied only to first love memories? But he still hadn’t found an answer to that question.
He loved these friends and wanted to pour everything into this game.
Yet reality was unforgiving.
His father, who had built ships at a shipyard in his youth, passed away from lung cancer.
Industrial dust-induced cancer, they said, and the nation provided compensation.
It was barely enough to secure a deposit on a small apartment.
Meanwhile, the nation mercilessly collected inheritance taxes without exception.
His mother remained alone in this foreign land called Korea with meager assets, and when asked why she didn’t return to Japan, she only replied that all her memories with his father were here.
After his father passed, on the day he returned to work, his legs wavered on the subway.
It felt as though one axis of his world had vanished.
Yet the subway continued to rattle, and life went on.
The world spun on without pause, and the company that had paid the compensation continued to build ships skillfully.
Videos celebrating Korea’s revival in shipbuilding flooded YouTube constantly.
Eojin did not like those videos.
Eojin was an unfilial son and no patriot either.
Even as he rose from a new hire at a major corporation to manager, he never stopped playing the game.
He evolved from a single archer to the leader of an archer unit, while Hee-cheol became the Supreme Commander. Anyong wielded the sword well.
The older brothers they played with gradually married, had children, and left the game, and before they knew it, the three of them had become the eldest of their team.
Throughout those years, Joseon achieved nothing remarkable except for one initial appearance and a single main tournament qualification.
As other nations’ teams gradually received sponsorships and turned professional, as leagues were established and professional leagues emerged even outside international competitions.
Civil Empire was thoroughly ignored in Korea.
No, saying “thoroughly ignored” was inaccurate.
It feels like people who turn away are doing so with intent.
But the reality was different.
Like dust that had accumulated far too thickly, it crumbled away even in the slightest breeze.
No one wished for Civil Empire to disappear.
It was simply weathering away naturally in the shadow of indifference.
The only path to receive any attention was to achieve results in the international competition.
That was the only road to revival. Of course, even this was merely Hee-cheol’s personal belief.
These three hopeless, ungrateful brothers simply took Hee-cheol’s words at face value.
Whether Hee-cheol’s thinking was correct or not remained unfortunately unconfirmed for some time.
Because they had never produced proper results during that period.
[Ugh, we bombed it again this year]
[It’s just a money problem, look at the capital difference]
[Where did that Joseon team that made it to the main tournament go?]
[How is he supposed to beat people raised through professional league competition with just a café owner’s capital?]
[I really thought Cookie was a true genius….]
When the international competition began, lamentation echoed through the M-bul community like clockwork.
The closing of that annual event always came with words like these from Hee-cheol.
“We’ll prepare for next year.”
Pat.
Tapping Pangeo’s shoulder with a grin on his face.
That face grew slightly more haggard with each passing year.
The next year they had prepared for soon became this year, and Hee-cheol, who spoke of preparing for yet another next year, was aging before their eyes.
I simply thought time was cruel.
The increasingly pallid complexion and the illusion of aging day by day—unfortunately, it was no illusion.
“…What? What did you say he had?”
It was then that I first wanted to quit this game. But I could not.
Because Hee-cheol had not quit.
Because he continued regardless.
Eojin clenched his teeth.
His legs wavered once more, but this time they did not shake at all.
Regardless, these three continued on.
“We’ll prepare for next year.”
When I heard this phrase again, Eojin finally exploded, asking how long next year would be.
Knowing that there might not even be a next year for him, a thousand fires burned within me.
I just wanted to quit everything.
Hee-cheol was merely escaping into the dimension of “next year,” which may or may not come.
That was what Eojin thought.
He was fleeing.
Yet regardless, Hee-cheol continued, and the next year he spoke of became this year once more.
And, today.
Zing.
Eojin rubbed his half-awake eyes as he checked an incoming message.
[Notice) Sponsor Briefing Session Information]
==== ====
Greetings, players of the international tournament.
This is Manager Juhyeok Kim.
Much has transpired, and our team has now garnered considerable attention.
While cautious, I believe we have gathered the resources necessary for establishing a professional team next year….
==== ====
The text began to tremble violently.
The letters seemed as though they might scatter away, but what fell instead were scalding droplets of water.
Eojin recognized it immediately upon receiving the message.
‘He’s returned.’
Though the sender was listed as the Manager, every word had been composed in consultation with that person.
“Yes, next year… I must prepare.”
That person was preparing for next year once more, even this year.
Just as Eojin’s trembling voice now resonated in place of his.
He remained indifferent to it.
Even if next year would never arrive for him, he sought to leave something behind.
For the future Pangeos, Cookies, and Maratangs yet to come.
Behind that cheap cherry blossom filter, for the joyful memories to follow.
He was leaving behind this magnificent legacy called another ‘next year.’

* * *
Thud.
The taxi door closed, and Hee-cheol stepped out.
His face looked noticeably healthier than before.
While the taxi driver retrieved his luggage from the trunk, he took another look around the city.
‘I’m back.’
Osaka.
For him, this city was far more than just a popular tourist destination for Koreans.
It was where the miracle began.
His gaze fixed on one of the countless towering buildings.
The hotel where the players were staying.
He strode toward it with purposeful steps.
As he entered the hotel, the familiar lobby scenery greeted him.
The moment he checked in, he activated the automatic translator and asked a question.
“Where is the seminar room located?”
Today, the manager had reserved a seminar room here.
It was something like a large auditorium, and while reservations were normally difficult, since the hotel itself was designated for the national team, it went smoothly.
The employee pointed somewhere and kindly explained, then sent him a map.
Hee-cheol nodded and headed to his room to bring in his luggage.
It was the same room he’d reserved before.
“If we make the semifinals, get me upgraded to something bigger.”
He threw out an uncle-like joke as he opened the door to his room.
Suddenly, loud fireworks exploded.
Boom!
“Yoohoo!”
Pangeo’s bright voice rang out.
“Guk Hee-cheol! You’ve made an epic comeback!”
“Waaaaaaa!”
The national team members crowded into the cramped room, holding a cake.
Bang!
Other doors burst open simultaneously, and other players spilled into the hallway.
“Waaaaaaa! Cookie! Cookie!”
“Guk Hee-cheol! Guk Hee-cheol!”
They had gathered to celebrate his return.
Hee-cheol was so startled he even stumbled backward.
“What… what is this? How did you know?”
In fact, Hee-cheol had planned to make a surprise appearance at the seminar.
“How could we not know? It’s obvious at a glance.”
It seemed that deceiving the eyes of long-time friends was harder than he thought.
Instead, he ended up being the one surprised.
“This strategist is disqualified! Your entire movement pattern is exposed! Huh!? Ahahahahaha!”
Maratang burst into hearty laughter.
Hee-cheol laughed along with him.
“Ahahahahaha!”
With that laughter, he became certain.
He had returned to where he truly belonged.
‘We can do this.’
And Hee-cheol genuinely felt it.
That they could achieve it together.
That Joseon could push through the semifinals and shine even in the finals.

* * *
The victory in the Korean-Japanese War was not merely Joseon’s triumph.
It was also a victory for the Civil M Korea branch.
After the Korean-Japanese War concluded, they had to handle the explosive influx of players.
Beyond temporarily expanding servers, they simultaneously ran various events, pouring their hearts into helping newcomers adapt as smoothly as possible.
The result….
“I-Is this the correct graph!? Huh!? You didn’t flip the graph upside down, did you!?”
The concurrent user graph resembled a stock chart from a heist movie.
“Boom!”
Employees spread their arms wide and jumped with joy.
Even executives rushed out of their offices and shouted like this.
“Long live Korean independence!”
Of course the executives would be most delighted. After all, rumors were already circulating about receiving termination notices from headquarters next month.
Then news articles began exploding one after another.
[Unpopular Game “Civil M” Reaches 150,000 Concurrent Users—”Korean-Japanese War” Effect]
[Is This It? Civil Empire Stock Price Soaring]
[Civil Empire After “Korean-Japanese War,” Surging Concurrent Users Shake the Securities Market]
Beyond mere game metrics, the stock price of Civil Empire’s production company was experiencing significant fluctuations.
Though Korea’s population was smaller than America and China, consumers certainly didn’t spend less money on games.
Particularly in online gaming, Korea’s market share ranked third globally, surpassing Japan—whose population was nearly three times larger—and trailing only China and America.
With such a response emerging from that market, stock movement was inevitable.
[Even in “defeated” Japan, concurrent user numbers are rising… Civil Empire Stock “Skyrocketing”]
The Korean-Japanese War’s impact was not limited to Korea alone.
Because the match between both nations was so intense, countless famous scenes were reproduced and spread through media.
Japanese players, inspired by these moments, began attempting Civil Empire in greater numbers.
Some, grinding their teeth in determination, vowed to defeat Joseon next year and trained harder, while others, dissatisfied with the national team’s performance, logged in thinking “I could do better than that.”
As a result, concurrent users surged simultaneously in both Japan and Korea, causing the stock of the American-headquartered company to show ominous signs.
Eventually, Civil Empire became inevitable discussion even in stock-related communities.
[Is Civil M going to Mars?]
[Korean-Japanese War Theme Stock Reading Go]
“Theme stocks collapsing, what a bunch of idiots lolol ugh”
Shouldn’t you guys be buying Vietnamese stocks? lol
Let’s go Mars!
[Is Civil M really going to make it?]
.
.
.
Up until this point, Civil M stock had merely fluctuated up and down, creating nothing more than a ripple of uncertainty.
While it was certainly gaining tremendous popularity at the moment, stocks were ultimately purchased based on perceived future value.
Yet something truly extraordinary in potential remained invisible.
Then, strange rumors began circulating through the industry.
[Breaking News) Aseng is supposedly founding a Civil M professional team???]

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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