Chapter 14

 
[ Logging out in 1 second. Please log out from a safe location. ]

With a soft hiss, the capsule slowly opened.

“Phew.”

Yuhyeon logged out and returned to reality. It had only been ten hours since he had logged into the game.

‘…I can still feel it so vividly.’

He slowly clenched and unclenched his fist, then shifted his body slightly while sitting still.

‘These hands… I blocked everything with them.’

His palm still tingled from deflecting the hoe. The heavy impact when their weapons clashed—the force of the recoil as he parried it—was still fresh in his mind.

It was a sensation not unlike the thrill of producing the first note on a violin or the moment when dozens of instruments in an orchestra harmonized into a single, perfect sound.

A rare and extraordinary feeling.

For someone like Yuhyeon, who had never wielded a sword in his life, the experience felt even more special.

‘I actually made it to the 4th stage.’

The Stage 4 boss was a scarecrow towering over eight feet tall, armed with various farming tools—hoes, plows, sickles. Its sheer size alone had left him speechless.

‘Just like the instructor said, every stage ultimately came down to mastering the basics.’

Stage 1 required a downward slash.
Stage 2 introduced both upward and downward slashes.
Stage 3 added horizontal cuts.
Stage 4 demanded a combination of everything he had learned.

As long as he perfected those fundamentals, he could make it to Stage 5.

His failure in Stage 4, when his wooden sword snapped, was ultimately due to a lack of proper technique.

‘If I had deflected it perfectly, my sword wouldn’t have broken.’

If he had executed his slashes more flawlessly today, would he have made it to the 5th stage?

‘I just logged out, and all I can think about is Wonderland.’

Realizing how absorbed he was in his thoughts, Yuhyeon chuckled to himself.

When was the last time he had been this deeply engrossed in something?

Probably never—aside from music.

Wonderland had become something truly special to him.

Bzzz.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

[ (Web Notification) Wonderland ]
[ Sumare CEO ]
[ Unknown Sender (4) ]

‘Why do I have so many messages?’

Yuhyeon opened them in the order they arrived.

[ Web Notification ]

Deposit: 1,940,000 KRW
09:40 1772-****-52

‘No way… It already went through?’

His eyes widened in surprise.

After exchanging 200 gold in-game for real money, the amount had already been deposited into his account.

Aside from a 3% transaction fee, the sum was exact to the last won.

‘I actually made real money… from a game.’

What had once been a joking conversation with Sangcheol had now become reality.

‘I earned this much… in just a few hours…’

He couldn’t forget to repay Sangcheol for making this possible.

‘First things first—tomorrow, I’m treating him to a meal. Whatever he wants, it’s on me.’

As for how to properly repay him in the long run, I’ll have to think about that carefully.

Next, he checked the message from the Sumare CEO.

But something about it felt… off.

[ Sumare CEO: Mr. Composer! I’m really, really sorry. I know this is completely inappropriate, but… ]

What is he apologizing for?

[ Sumare CEO: I made a mistake and played your song for a friend of mine. But that friend… ]

‘My song? For whom?’

The message explained that a producer, a friend of the CEO, had heard his music and taken a strong liking to it.

Apparently, they had been searching for a composer capable of orchestrating a full ensemble, and Yuhyeon had caught their attention.

[ Sumare CEO: They were so eager that I… I gave them your contact information without asking first. I know this is a huge overstep, and if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll tell them right away. ]

‘Hmm…’

Sharing his contact without permission was a bit of a red flag, but in the end, this situation actually benefited Yuhyeon.

‘A composition request? I’ll always welcome that.’

He casually opened the message from the unknown sender, who was likely the producer.

[ Unknown Sender: Hello, this is Park Junghoo, team leader of A&R 1 at SAM Entertainment. I had the pleasure of listening to your work through the Sumare CEO, and I was incredibly impressed. ]

That name… sounds familiar.

[ Unknown Sender: We are currently searching for a composer capable of orchestral arrangements, and your music aligns perfectly with what we’re looking for… ]

[ Unknown Sender: If you’re interested, we would like to commission you for a track to be included in ‘Sugar Girls’ comeback album. ]

‘Park Junghoo from SAM Entertainment… Sugar Girls’ comeback track?’

Yuhyeon’s eyes widened as he read the message.

‘Wait, they… they sent an offer to me?’

A job request.

From one of the biggest idol agencies in the country.

Compared to the money he just made from Wonderland, this was on an entirely different level.

*  *  *

Munch, munch.

The rich, buttery taste of mozzarella cheese coated his mouth, only to be cut by the tangy burst of tomato sauce just before it became overwhelming.

It had been a while since he last had pizza.

And it tasted amazing.

Totally worth the money.

Capitalism at its finest.

“…Is this real life?”

Holding a slice of pizza in one hand, Yuhyeon kept his eyes fixed on the monitor.

More specifically, on the SAM Entertainment website.

“I can’t believe they actually reached out to me.”

SAM Entertainment was a global powerhouse in the idol industry, consistently ranked among Korea’s top agencies.

A quick glance at the charts on Watermelon would easily reveal SAM artists dominating the rankings.

And now, that very company was requesting a song from him.

[ Park Junghoo: If it’s not too much trouble, could you provide a demo track—one classical piece and one dance-pop piece? ]

[ Park Junghoo: I understand that requesting a demo might come across as rude. However, I truly believe this is a great opportunity for you. I hope you’ll consider it. ]

‘A demo…’

Yuhyeon narrowed his eyes slightly.

There was no doubt that this was a golden opportunity.

But there was a small problem.

Park Junghoo was convinced of his talent—but since he had no official track record, the company required proof of his skills before proceeding.

‘So basically, they need a demo to persuade the higher-ups. One classical, one idol-style track.’

A test of skill.

Yuhyeon recalled an interview he once read.

‘They said every SAM idol has been shaped by Park Junghoo’s vision.’

His creative instincts and aggressive marketing tactics had been crucial in launching their idols to success.

‘It’s only natural that they’d want to vet an unknown composer. If I were in their shoes, I’d ask for the same thing.’

There was no reason to hesitate.

This was an opportunity.

And Yuhyeon wasn’t someone who let opportunities slip away.

‘For classical, I already have SUN from a few days ago. That’ll do.’

He had experimented with different genres to expand his repertoire, and that was paying off now.

‘As for dance-pop… I guess it’s time to make one.’

Pushing aside his half-eaten pizza, Yuhyeon immediately launched his composition software.

‘What kind of concept should I go for?’

Among the emotions he’d felt recently, one stood out above the rest.

Thrill.

Yuhyeon wanted to capture the exhilaration he’d just experienced in the game and weave it into his new track.

‘Since it’s dance-pop, I’ll start with a money chord progression.’

Since he was working with pop, he decided to kick things off with the familiar and widely used “money chords.” A complex chord progression didn’t necessarily mean a better song.

‘Just because it’s orchestrated doesn’t mean I have to emphasize classical elements right away. That can come later.’

He could start with a more pop-oriented feel. As the song built up, he would layer in acapella and orchestral elements to add grandeur.

Ding.

With the concept set, he calmly began by laying down a piano intro.

Next, he added a heavy drum beat—boom!—giving the track a strong impact and rhythm. This would serve as the herald of the actual song.

The bass was essential, too. It would enhance the groove and provide a solid backbone to the track.

‘The framework is complete.’

With the overall structure in place, it was time to add something unique—an element that would make this song stand out.

‘Starting with acapella, then gradually layering violins might work.’

He imagined the acapella building up first, with the violins subtly joining in, one by one.

Then, at the climax of the acapella, he would bring in everything—piano, drums, bass, and all the other instruments he had in mind.

Like in popular tracks such as Viva La or We Young.

“Hmm-hmm~”

Yuhyeon closed his eyes and visualized it.

A song that began with a single piano note, gradually stacking layers upon layers until it formed a complete composition.

Even though he wasn’t physically singing, he could hear the sounds vividly in his mind.

Before he knew it, the song was approaching its finale.

All the instruments would come together, and the vocalist’s piercing high notes would harmonize into a powerful finish.

Even though he couldn’t actually hear the singer’s voice, just imagining it was enough to send chills down his spine.

‘It’s finished.’

Placing the final note, Yuhyeon stared intently at his monitor.

He had completed the song, but there was no way for him to hear it.

He really wanted to check how it sounded just once.

‘It feels right, though.’

Running through it in his head, he didn’t find any major flaws.

Still, he had a strong urge to have someone else listen to it—just to be sure.

‘I’ll have Sangcheol-hyung give it a listen.’

Nodding to himself, Yuhyeon glanced at the bottom of his screen.

‘…It’s already this late?’

The clock was pointing to 3 AM.

He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed.

Yet again, his plan to sleep early had gone up in smoke.

Tomorrow—for real this time—I will go to bed early…

‘I’ll send him a message before I sleep.’

Quickly grabbing his phone, Yuhyeon typed out a message to Sangcheol.

[ Yuhyeon: Hyung, you said you were free tonight, right? Let’s grab dinner. ]

For the first time in a while, he felt that deep satisfaction and sense of accomplishment—like he’d had a drink without actually drinking.

‘I’m going to sleep well tonight.’

Right now, without a single worry on his mind, he felt like he could sleep so deeply that nothing could wake him.

*  *  *

“Cheers!”

“Bottoms up!”

The barbecue restaurant was packed with office workers getting off work.

Despite it being relatively early, most of them were already tipsy, their faces flushed from alcohol.

In the midst of the lively atmosphere, only two men sat with serious expressions, deep in conversation.

Sangcheol and Yuhyeon.

“You wrote this last night? It’s pretty good.”

“If it’s good, just say it’s good. What’s with ‘pretty good’?”

“I mean… how should I put it? It sounds like a pop song I’ve heard before, so it feels good.”

“A pop song? Like what?”

“Mm… kinda like Viva La, that old hit?”

Yuhyeon narrowed his eyes slightly at that.

Sangcheol’s answer matched his intended concept perfectly. But something about his tone made it sound like he wasn’t that impressed.

“Hmm, judging by your reaction, I take it you think something’s missing.”

“It doesn’t have that one big punch. It’s definitely upbeat, but it doesn’t feel particularly fresh or dynamic.”

“A big punch, huh… Got it.”

“Well, I’m no composer, so take my words with a grain of salt.”

Yuhyeon nodded seriously.

‘Hyung may not look it, but his instincts are solid.’

Despite his laid-back demeanor, Sangcheol had a knack for trends.

He had an uncanny ability to predict hit dramas, and every idol he pointed out as promising had ended up topping the charts.

His personal playlist had been locked on the Watermelon Chart Top 100 for five years straight.

He was, in every sense, the king of mainstream taste.

So if he said the song lacked a big moment, there was probably some truth to it.

“Thanks. That’s more than enough feedback. I’ll think about it some more later.”

He had asked just in case, and now he was really glad he had.

“You’re sure? Don’t overthink it too much just because of what I said.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. I’m not gonna spiral into self-doubt, so don’t worry.”

Sangcheol studied Yuhyeon’s face.

‘Hmm… He really does seem okay.’

After the accident, he had spent years drowning in gloom.

For him to take constructive criticism so well now—without falling into despair—was a huge relief.

‘Come to think of it… ever since he started playing that game, he seems a lot brighter.’

Sangcheol thought back over the past couple of days.

Since Yuhyeon started playing Wonderland, he’d been composing again—working hard, even.

And today, he had even insisted on treating him to a session at a VR capsule room.

‘It’s like he’s starting to go back to his old self. That’s a good sign.’

Han Yuhyeon had once been an exceptionally bright and optimistic young man. It was only after the accident that he briefly lost his way.

Wanting to keep Yuhyeon in high spirits, Sangcheol casually brought up the game.

“Everything going okay in the game? What about that… ritual ceremony or whatever?”

“We’re in the middle of ensemble practice. The performance is in five days in-game, which is about two days in real time.”

As Yuhyeon flipped the meat on the grill, something suddenly came to mind. He turned to Sangcheol.

“Oh yeah, Hyung. Have you heard of special training?”

“Huh? Special training?”

Sangcheol tilted his head in confusion.

The only ‘special training’ he knew of was a hidden piece in the beginner’s village.

It was the same one all the rankers had mentioned in their interviews.

“Wait… Don’t tell me you actually did special training?”

“Yeah. The instructor gave it to me. Didn’t you already do it too?”

“W-what?! What are you even talking about?! Why the hell would I do that?!”

Sangcheol’s eyes widened in shock.

‘He really did the special training?!’

The requirements to trigger special training were notoriously strict, making it nearly impossible for just anyone to receive it.

Even in the community, most people agreed it was better to escape as soon as possible and level up instead of wasting time trying to qualify for it.

But for Yuhyeon, the situation was different.

‘This guy’s only been playing for two days! He didn’t waste any time trying to trigger it, so it’s basically free loot for him!’

In other words, he’d scored a super high-return quest with zero risk.

Realizing this, Sangcheol’s face flushed with excitement.

“S-so, what reward did you get? No, wait—how far did you progress?”

“I haven’t gotten the reward yet, but I reached the 4th stage.”

Yuhyeon’s calm response made Sangcheol slam his hands down on the table without thinking.

“You’re out of your damn mind!”

The loud bang of the metal table in the BBQ restaurant made heads turn their way.

Snapping out of it, Sangcheol leaned in and whispered, dead serious, “You got to the 4th stage? No way—you’re not messing with me, right?”

“I’m serious. Why do you keep asking?”

“Why do you think?! It’s all about the reward!”

“How good can it be for you to be this worked up?”

Yuhyeon gave him a blank look.

That expression nearly drove Sangcheol insane. With sheer exasperation, he replied, “You know how you had to earn the instructor’s recognition just to get special training?”

“Yeah.”

“If you fail at the 1st stage, you still get a rare-grade item as a consolation prize. At the 2nd stage, it’s epic. The 3rd? Unique. So if you cleared the 4th stage, what do you think you’ll get?”

“…What do I get?”

“A legendary item, you idiot! The only other person who made it to the 4th stage got a legendary item!”

“Holy—”

“Ugh, you dumbass. The only reaction you have is ‘holy’? Do you not get what a jackpot this is?!”

Sangcheol recalled the legendary sword that had once appeared in the community.

It had a level requirement of just 1 but came with growth stats that allowed it to be used up to level 40.

As soon as it was listed on the marketplace, bids flooded in, and it sold for a whopping 2,000 gold.

‘A level 1 item sold for 2,000 gold.’

And that was only because the original owner hadn’t set a higher minimum bid. If they had, it would’ve gone for even more.

Sure, it was during the early days when legendary items had a premium, but even now, an item with similar specs would go for at least 500 gold.

“A legendary item isn’t some random stray dog’s name. The bare minimum for a legendary is 500 gold—real money, that’s five million won!”

“Five million won?! No way…” Yuhyeon gawked in shock.

It was only then that he truly grasped the value of the quest he had received.

“So I have to get an item for it to be a jackpot? Since only items can be sold?”

“Not necessarily.”

Sangcheol’s eyes narrowed.

Unlike items, which had level restrictions and decreased in effectiveness over time, skills had no such limitations.

Meaning, if Yuhyeon received a top-tier skill from this, he could use it for the rest of his gaming career.

“A skill can’t be sold, but if you get a graduation-level skill, it’s worth way more than any item.”

The value wasn’t just 500 gold—it could easily be worth thousands or even tens of thousands.

With that thought, Sangcheol abruptly shot to his feet.

“Forget this! Let’s get to a capsule room right now!”

“What? Where’s this coming from? I just started eating…”

“This is not the time to be eating!”

“Are you sure? You’re really not gonna eat anymore?”

“I told you, I’m full!”

Sangcheol grabbed Yuhyeon’s wrist and yanked him up.

This is no time to sit around leisurely eating pork belly!

‘I’m dying of curiosity here!’

We have to get to the capsule room immediately.

Sangcheol was desperate to find out just what kind of legendary reward Yuhyeon was about to receive.
 

To be continued

Join the GS Discord to stay updated on the latest chapter releases:

https://discord.gg/PRZEAJZE3J