Gwanjongcheonma’s Game Broadcast - Chapter 171

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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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Episode 171
Hae-rang gazed down at the papers piled high before him.
His eyes shifted toward Choi Gang-sik.
“Is this really how you treat a streamer who keeps his word?”
“Stop your whining and go through everything there. It’s all gold.”
The word “gold” wasn’t entirely a lie.
The papers spread across the table were advertisement contract proposals.
“Even though this is your first time making the national team, the rates are quite good. They’re on par with Singularity’s.”
“How would you know Singularity’s advertising rates? That information isn’t public.”
“You little bastard. Have you forgotten who’s on our team?”
“……Right.”
Hae-rang nodded shortly after.
Team Heavenly Demon Cult included members who had been with Singularity until a month ago.
“Hyeon-bin and Da-hong must have told you.”
“That’s right. From what I hear, Singularity has its own tiers internally. Someone like Kim Si-hwan or Da-hong is top tier, while Hyeon-bin sits around the second tier.”
“How does that compare to my rate?”
“Similar to Hyeon-bin. At least upper-middle tier. Considering you’ve only been gaming for less than a year, I’d say that’s premium treatment.”
“Hmm.”
Hae-rang flipped through the documents for a moment.
“This review method is a bit old-fashioned. That Rica… what was it… showed contracts on a tablet.”
“It’s ‘Total,’ not ‘Toilet,’ you idiot. And what’s wrong with this method? Staring at screens all day just strains your eyes anyway.”
Choi Gang-sik’s tone was gruff, but the corners of his mouth refused to dip.
It wasn’t because of the advertisements.
It was because of the story Hae-rang had told him the night before.
‘If that’s Rica Total Agency, they’re the top management company in the industry.’
Such a massive firm had been conducting discreet negotiations with him.
And a director had come in person.
If he switched places with Hae-rang, even he imagined his resolve might waver.
But the kid hadn’t budged an inch.
Far from wavering, he’d seen through their deception and even insulted them with composure.
‘Sometimes watching him, he seems like an old man who’s been through everything.’
It was both bewildering and moving.
The contract that Hae-rang and Choi Gang-sik had signed contained only the most basic terms.
There wasn’t even a penalty clause.
A contract where either party could terminate unilaterally without consequence.
And in such circumstances, Hae-rang had chosen Choi Gang-sik without hesitation.
“Why did you do it?”
“What?”
“Why you first proposed management to me. Why you’re still here now. Why do you keep staying with me? Honestly, you could probably do better with a big management company.”
“That’s a foolish question. Isn’t fate the most important thing in human relationships?”
“Skip the romantic nonsense. Did you really sign with me for that? Just because you happened to wander into a capsule room by chance?”
“If that were all, I would’ve called it coincidence, not fate.”
Hae-rang continued, turning over the papers.
“I know what I know about this world. Wasn’t that store on the verge of closure, starving for customers? My request to just look around couldn’t have been welcome.”
“You got that right. I wanted to poke you in the eyes.”
“But Gang-si, you let me do as I pleased. To someone who gave you only two packets of instant coffee.”
Choi Gang-sik scratched the back of his head, remembering that day.
“Back then I just… figured what’s the point? Being alone all that time made me so damn lonely. From my position, it wasn’t some grand gesture.”
“Kindness shown in abundance holds value, but small kindness shared in hardship means so much more. That’s why I consider Gang-si to be my fate.”
“If you really think of it as fate, at least get my name right.”
“As long as you have those dark circles, it seems impossible. Maybe you should change your name at this point.”
“This kid’s getting cocky now, making fun of me! *Cough, cough!*”
Choi Gang-sik’s raised voice strained his throat.
A warm smile flickered across Hae-rang’s lips.
“The companies are quite diverse. Sportswear. Energy drinks. What’s this one? Kakao S?”
“Oh, that’s a men’s cosmetics company. I thought Da-hong was joking, but they really did want you for an ad.”
“I’ll need to choose carefully. Wrong selection could easily damage your public image.”
“That does happen sometimes, but… based on my experience, you shouldn’t have to worry about that.”
Then again, if entertainment companies came calling, that would be different.
But appearing in a cosmetics ad wouldn’t cost you public goodwill.
When Hae-rang stood before the general public, what kind of ripple effect would emerge—
even Choi Gang-sik, a man of broadcast experience, found it impossible to predict.
“I’ve reviewed it all.”
“Already? How carelessly did you go through it?”
“We’re not signing anything right now anyway, are we? Even if we film, we’d do it after the tournament.”
“Still, we need to list everything out first. There are competing offers, and like you said, we should avoid risky endorsements.”
“Leave the selection to Gang-si. You’re the expert in that department.”
Hundreds of millions of won hung in the balance of this endorsement deal.
Hae-rang entrusted it entirely to Choi Gang-sik.
In a sense, it was the best possible choice.
Choi Gang-sik worked all the harder the more trust someone placed in him.
‘Surely he’s not reading that far ahead and acting accordingly?’
Choi Gang-sik stared at Hae-rang intently.
Even as he felt convinced he understood him,
at other times Hae-rang seemed like a stranger altogether.
That was his charm, if it could be called that.
“Ah, there is one contract that needs pushing through immediately.”
“Huh? What? You want to film one endorsement before the tournament?”
“Not at all. It’s not an endorsement contract.”
Hae-rang, who had been indifferent even to talk of large sums,
suddenly smiled with an excitement like spring wind.
* * *
“One hundred million won.”
As Hae-rang and Choi Gang-sik confirmed the amount, their mouths fell open in unison.
Was one hundred million simply too vast a figure?
Not at all.
Quite the opposite.
It was actually cheaper than they’d anticipated.
“Cough! Cough!”
Unable to bear the shock, Choi Gang-sik choked mid-breath.
Ryu Hyeon, who had spoken of the item’s price, clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“This fellow has always been frail—I’ve seen him before. He looks less healthy than I do, and I’m past sixty.”
“Ahem. Ahem. My apologies. It’s just much cheaper than we expected.”
As if unwilling to believe it,
Choi Gang-sik examined the “item” from every angle.
“A Private Capsule for one hundred million won? This is seriously ‘the owner’s lost his mind’ pricing, isn’t it?”
“Tsk. Are you calling me crazy?”
Choi Gang-sik turned to look at Hae-rang.
Somehow, communicating with this old man seemed easier through Hae-rang.
Hae-rang, who had been watching the capsule, spoke up softly.
“Isn’t money a relative concept? If an item’s worthless, even ten won feels extravagant. But if it’s valuable enough, one hundred million can seem like a bargain.”
“And you believe this item’s worth more than one hundred million?”
“Isn’t it the ultimate Capsule crafted by the greatest craftsman? Especially something he never intended to part with.”
“Your flattery is quite smooth.”
A smile crossed Hae-rang’s lips.
It wasn’t mere flattery—it was genuine.
Had this Capsule been released to market, it might have fetched several times that, or even several dozen times more.
“There’s something I should correct from what you said.”
“A correction?”
“I did pour my heart into making it, but this isn’t the ultimate Capsule. Creating something truly perfect requires time and resources. Materials alone would run one hundred million won.”
One hundred million won.
A remarkably coincidental sum.
Hae-rang asked with an expression of dawning realization.
“Could it be that all the funds we’re providing will go toward developing the next version?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Then you’re receiving nothing in return.”
“Ha! Insolent talk.”
Ryu Hyeon curled his lip and let out a snort.
“There’s a saying that even if a Capsule craftsman goes bankrupt, his fortune lasts three generations. How much do you think I’ve made all these years? I won’t be taking your pittance. Since you’ll be using the next version anyway, I was simply asking you to cover materials.”
“Master.”
Hae-rang’s expression had grown deeply moved.
It wasn’t enough that he was getting the current Capsule at a bargain price—
it appeared the next Capsule’s owner had already been decided as Hae-rang as well.
Just as Murim people seek out skilled blacksmiths,
Gamers need Capsule Craftsmen.
Hae-rang expressed his feelings without filter.
“It’s like I’ve been given ten thousand generals.”
“Stop talking about airplanes. Now you need to prove yourself through performance. From here on out, you won’t be able to blame the Capsule’s capabilities for any failures.”
“That’s precisely what I was thinking.”
Both their gazes turned toward the Capsule.
There was no elaborate decoration like what he’d seen in America,
no gleaming special paint job.
Yet to Hae-rang’s eyes, it shone more brilliantly than any jewel.
* * *
“Then.”
Squeak!
The Capsule’s glass panel slowly closed.
A plain-looking Capsule with no decorations whatsoever.
The only external feature this Capsule possessed was one thing alone:
the metal nameplate affixed just below the glass panel.
“Sinsi.”
A new beginning.
Ryu Hyeon murmured the Capsule’s name quietly.
“Oh, my…”
He knew all too well what that name meant.
While the machine’s owner had now become Hae-rang,
the Capsule’s name was entirely for Ryu Hyeon.
To rise from painful pasts and make a fresh start.
Such a wish was woven into the Capsule’s name.
Whirrrr!
The Capsule began operating in earnest.
The final test, conducted in Ryu Hyeon’s Workshop before being moved to Hae-rang’s Home.
The game installed in the Capsule was none other than Milk Song.
‘The person in the Capsule is the same, the game being played is the same.’
The only difference was the machine’s performance.
How much Ryu Hyeon could shorten the Milk Song record here
would become the measure of Sinsi’s true worth.
‘It has to be a good fit.’
He wanted to relax and simply watch, but that wasn’t entirely possible.
No matter how good a Capsule is, if the synchronization with the Player isn’t right, everything falls flat.
Just because he’d handled the previous Capsule well was no guarantee he’d do the same now.
That’s why they’d measured the compatibility rate before testing in America—for reasons exactly like this.
‘I’d rather not imagine it, but…’
If luck didn’t hold, the record could be even worse than before.
Until Hae-rang began playing Milk Song in earnest,
Ryu Hyeon carried an anxious feeling in his chest.
But then—
Bounce!
Whoosh!

“Huh…?”
Such worry had been groundless.
Barely after starting,
Hae-rang’s Hornet had cut through the first stage.
Was it just his imagination?
The same game, yet the atmosphere felt different somehow.
Especially the character Hornet in Milk Song.
In that casual red cloak, there was an air of authority like a blood lord.
Even though it was the same Dash Skill, it felt as though a special Azure Wind was flowing through it.
A colt with the reins finally loosened.
No, it’s an unchained Black Dragon!

There was no time to compare Hae-rang’s play to the last performance by the Milk Song.
He had conquered every stage.
Without a single retry. Without taking a shred of damage.
Ryu Hyeon stood staring at the timer, barely breathing.
When the Milk Song was first cleared, the time was just over two hours.
The record Hae-rang had just set was
[15:37]
reducing the previous record to roughly one-tenth of its original time.
Even knowing the expression was trite and foolish,
even knowing it ill-suited his age better than anyone else,
Ryu Hyeon found himself saying it anyway.
“Is that guy… a god?”

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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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