Chapter 123

The Demon Sect is a fictional martial arts faction that appears in wuxia stories.

It is often depicted as the evil force opposing the righteous sects, hence the inclusion of “Demon” (魔) in its name.

Depending on the author, the Demon Sect has sometimes been portrayed as a kind of religion, but to keep it short, the main point is this.

In Han Yoorim’s game, the Demon Sect is a hybrid of the two aforementioned concepts.

It is both an evil force and a religion.

However, unlike the Baihua Sect, they worship something other than fire.

They worship the Heavenly Demon, a god who has descended into the mortal world.

The demonic energy, centered around the pulsating left arm of the Heavenly Demon, forms the physical body.

Just by looking at this abnormal phenomenon, one could tell that the Heavenly Demon was not aligned with the righteous path but with the left path.

The Nine Palaces. The demonic energy gathers to form a spear. More like a pillar than a spear, the Heavenly Demon hurls it toward the fortress wall.

In sync with this, Shin Yoori charges forward.

When the massive spear and Shin Yoori’s fist collide, space distorts.

The spear, now off its trajectory, lodges itself far away. The ground shakes, and Kang Sihoo yells at Lee Junseong, who is standing there dumbfounded.

“Junseong! What are you doing!”

Kang Sihoo was already prepared to flee. The martial artist from the Namgung family was the same.

Surprisingly, Baek Siyun was no different. She gave Lee Junseong a look, asking why he was just standing there.

Even Baek Siyun was only thinking about fleeing immediately, which shows how immense the scars the Heavenly Demon left on the world were.

‘Is this a retreat event?’

Lee Junseong watched Shin Yoori fighting the Heavenly Demon alone.

In games, it’s common to retreat while a comrade buys time.

So, fleeing here wouldn’t be too strange, but…

Lee Junseong hesitated.

It was all because Han Yoorim’s game was unforgiving.

Han Yoorim’s game didn’t have easy choices.

The game’s content changed based on the player’s actions, giving a sense of immersion as if playing reality itself.

Of course, many people loved that. In fact, Lee Junseong also liked Han Yoorim’s games for that unique flavor.

However.

That also made the difficulty high.

Infinite freedom means there is no set correct answer.

It’s similar to how essay questions are harder than multiple-choice ones.

Retreat? Support? Lee Junseong’s mind was in turmoil.

In reality, it didn’t matter what he chose. It was just a game.

The beauty of games is that you can start over if you fail.

No matter how unforgiving Han Yoorim’s game was, it was just a game.

You could retry infinitely, start over as many times as you wanted, but…

The problem was that [RE: Snowball Garden] only had one save slot.

And since it saved in real-time, the save function couldn’t be used for anything other than continuing the game after turning it off.

You couldn’t use the gamer’s trick commonly known as save-scumming.

This method, applied since <Resurrected Students Also Need Love>, was divisive.

While it increased immersion by making choices irreversible, it also extended playtime.

It’s no wonder Ga Joon-sik spent a month on the game. He had a good reason.

In other words, if you chose the wrong option here, you had no choice but to start the game over.

All the favorability and relationships you had built up would reset, starting from the moment you were late for the entrance ceremony.

And.

That’s what made Han Yoorim’s game so devilish.

It created characters that felt like real people, making players grow attached and reluctant to hit the reset button.

Faced with the choice to retreat or support, Lee Junseong ran forward and drew his sword.

He didn’t want to hit the reset button. Nor did he want a character he had grown attached to to die.

In that state, there was only one choice a gamer could make.

Besides.

Where else would you find something as lame as a gamer running away from a boss—!

Crack. Lightning sparks and gathers to form a blade. Lee Junseong, who had just learned to imbue his sword with energy, charged at the Heavenly Demon.

The ultimate technique of the Seven Thunder Sword Art activated. Grabbing the lightning sheath, Lee Junseong flew toward the Heavenly Demon’s left arm and activated [Swiftness].

Entering the world of lightning speed, Lee Junseong drew his sword with all his might and swung it.

A supersonic lightning slash shot toward the Heavenly Demon’s left arm. The world, locked in dawn, turned pure white. Blue lightning crossed the atmosphere and howled. And then.

—The Heavenly Demon’s demonic energy struck Lee Junseong.

As the screen turned black, Lee Junseong muttered to himself.

Huh.

Wasn’t this supposed to work?

*

Lee Junseong blinked.

When he came to his senses, the world hadn’t changed… but as the black screen disappeared, his surroundings had.

Dirt, fences, and a white base.

Lee Junseong let out a hollow laugh at the familiar scenery.

‘This is the playground from elementary school.’

To be precise, it was the baseball field in the corner of the playground used by the elementary school baseball team.

He was surprised because it looked exactly the same as it did back then.

Lee Junseong picked up a baseball rolling on the dirt.

Without much thought, he wound up and threw the ball.

The ball flew straight and lodged itself in the fence.

“Strike—.”

The world changed.

“—Out.”

Finishing the small strike call, Lee Junseong looked around.

In the middle of a rooftop under the summer sun, a camera stood tall.

This time, it was the rooftop of a high school.

The green-painted floor and solar panels, along with the sound of cicadas, made it feel like a time slip.

Lee Junseong approached the camera and looked through the viewfinder.

A red dot and REC appeared on the left side of the screen. Lee Junseong operated the camera and pressed the record button.

Beep.

With the camera’s sound, two familiar people appeared on the rooftop as if superimposed.

Lee Junseong and a cross-dressed Lee Junseong.

Instead of being baffled, thinking, ‘Wait, back when I made movies, I just used regular female actors, right?’, Lee Junseong focused on the camera.

The Lee Junseongs in the frame performed passionately.

Just like the people who had appeared in Lee Junseong’s old movies.

Though they were unknown and it was their first proper role in Lee Junseong’s movie, their skills were outstanding.

Looking back, it was lucky, considering how little they were paid.

The only bad thing about the filming back then was…

Lee Junseong muttered softly.

“A movie about a terminally ill heroine doing astronomy club activities is a cliché, to the point of being stale.”

Lee Junseong looked away from the camera.

Before he knew it, the midsummer sun had disappeared, and countless stars lit up the darkness.

Under the night sky. The heroine looked up at the stars.

“What zodiac sign do you think I match with?”

The line was so vivid it triggered a flashback, and Lee Junseong covered his face.

Look at the state of that dialogue.

Tonight, the blanket is dead. Lee Junseong wasn’t planning to stay still.

Letting out a small sigh, Lee Junseong removed his hands from his face and watched the actors perform.

They say time beautifies memories, and indeed, it was true.

The script he hadn’t seen in a long time was even more of a mess than he remembered.

The story, the lines, the direction—nothing was satisfying.

To think they tried to make a movie with such a crappy script. Their confidence was top-tier, though.

“Alright, Scene 128, the final one. Ready!”

A familiar voice echoed in his ears.

At the same time, someone clapped the slate, blocking Lee Junseong’s view.

*Click.*

The world changed.

In a space entirely covered in black, Lee Junseong stared at two TVs illuminated by spotlights.

[Waaaaah!]

As the ball thrown by Lee Junseong in the first TV was sucked into the mitt, cheers erupted, and people rushed out. It looked like they had won something.

Lee Junseong tilted his head slightly.

[Congratulations!]

The host in the second TV congratulated Lee Junseong. It seemed like he had won an award at a film festival, as applause poured in.

A voice came from behind.

“Do you really not regret your current choice?”

“Not really.”

Lee Junseong answered firmly and turned around.

He lowered his head.

A boy holding a camera around his neck and a baseball in his hand looked up at Lee Junseong and asked.

“Why?”

“Just because?”

“Aren’t you deceiving yourself? You haven’t achieved any of the results you wanted. Can people really be satisfied with that?”

It was true. Lee Junseong hadn’t achieved any significant results.

He remained a benchwarmer in the baseball team, and the movie he uploaded on MTube disappeared after hitting the 100-view wall.

“Yeah.”

But even so, Lee Junseong could speak with confidence.

Because.

“The choices of the past have shaped who I am now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I like who I am now—someone who loves games and makes money through coding. Major League? That’s practically a monk’s life. A film director? Do you know how much it costs to make one movie? The success rate is already low, and if you fail, you’re immediately buried in debt.”

“But you’d still prefer a successful life as a Major Leaguer or a film director, wouldn’t you?”

“Who’s gonna hand that to me?”

Wanting a better life doesn’t mean he’s dissatisfied with his current one.

A better life is just that—a better life.

It’s nice if you get it, but if not, it’s no big deal.

So.

“Stop messing with people and disappear, you brat.”

The spotlight shone on the baseball boy-slash-film director boy. *Flicker.* It turned off, plunging him into darkness. *Flicker.* It lit up again.

A sword gleamed.

Lee Junseong reached out under the spotlight and pulled out the sword.

“Junior! Snap out of it!”

At the distant voice, Lee Junseong pushed himself up from the ground.

In the sky, Shin Yoori and the Heavenly Demon were locked in a fierce battle.

Though it was just her left arm, Shin Yoori, fighting against the Heavenly Demon’s true form, was truly impressive.

But that was as far as it went.

Shin Yoori was gradually being pushed back.

She needed help.

And there was only one person in this place who could help.

Lee Junseong slowly raised both hands above his head.

In his hands was a sword.

The sword he had pulled out in the illusion—an ordinary yet incredibly sharp blade.

Lee Junseong swung the sword from top to bottom. No grand technique, no secret move, no special skill—just a light swing toward the distant Heavenly Demon.

Immediately.

A long line appeared on the Heavenly Demon’s body.

―――!

The impact was significant. The Heavenly Demon roared and staggered.

In response, Shin Yoori clenched her fist.

Shin Yoori’s hair turned golden. A merciful golden light radiated from her entire body.

Shin Yoori thrust her fist forward.

*Deng―!*

With a clear bell-like sound, her fist reached the Heavenly Demon a hundred paces away.

Lee Junseong muttered softly.

“So, you did go blonde after all.”

*

Lee Junseong took off the VR device and took a deep breath.

It had been a long time since he had been so immersed in a game.

No. Maybe it was the first time.

To forget reality and lose himself in a game like this.

Satisfied, Lee Junseong exhaled and immediately wrote a post in the Game Gallery.

<Han Yoorim’s RE: Snowball Garden Review>

I found it really fun, but someone else might find Han Yoorim’s game incredibly boring. People’s tastes vary, after all.

But there’s one thing even those people would acknowledge.

Han Yoorim’s games always deliver new emotions.

I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to experience a new world.

After writing that, Lee Junseong scratched his head and added a few points of disappointment he felt while playing the game.

A few disappointing points:

1. The heroine is too old-school. A tsundere heroine? That character archetype was already in its coffin by 2024, let alone now. Was it really necessary to bring it back?

2. I get that Han Yoorim uses a character based on herself as a persona, but as the main heroine? Isn’t her personality a bit too much for a heroine?

That’s it.

After completing the review, Lee Junseong pressed Enter.

-What is this guy talking about?

-Wasn’t Han Yoorim’s new game supposed to have a player-customized heroine? I got a mega-dere heroine, and Han Yoorim didn’t even appear.

-How much does this guy love Han Yoorim? Lol.

-Han Yoorim’s personality is good? Are you a masochist?

┗Considering he likes tsunderes, he probably is.

As the comments came rushing in, Lee Junseong bit his tongue.

He screamed internally.

Ah, f*ck.