Chapter 95

I couldn’t answer right away. After a moment, I slowly opened my mouth.

“I think it probably was me.”

As far as I remembered, I was the only viewer talking with the Creator back then.

Hearing my answer, CEO Cha muttered under his breath.

“Ha… fuck.”

Having suddenly become the person getting cursed at, I stared at him in confusion.

CEO Cha wasn’t the type to swear often… was he…?

For a moment, I wondered if this was another case of me judging him solely based on my experiences in the game.

But putting that aside, what I was really wondering was what I’d done wrong in the first place.

Honestly, the only crime I’d committed was answering his question earnestly.

I cautiously watched his expression, and CEO Cha leaned back against the chair before speaking.

“Keep going.”

Can I really just keep talking? He’s not going to suddenly pull out Daeil Yeorae, is he?

Still, judging by his personality, it didn’t seem like he’d recklessly injure someone as valuable as me.

Gathering my courage, I continued.

“CEO Cha, were you… watching the final broadcast too?”

“It ended pretty lame. Suddenly he just said there weren’t going to be any more games.”

“…!”

CEO Cha had been there for the Creator’s final broadcast.

I already knew he’d played the Creator’s games alongside me.

Samra had told me before we entered Clean3.

“The Creator’s games were also played by Paseong’s CEO.”

“The reason I prevented you from contacting Paseong’s CEO is related to that as well. I am merely trying to choose the best option. I will not betray Han Goyo-ssi.”

But that was all Samra had told me at the time.

Everything afterward had happened so quickly that there hadn’t been time to talk in greater detail.

I’d expected that if I ever met CEO Cha, we’d end up talking about the Creator, but this still felt like I’d been caught off guard.

‘I thought we’d talk about the Creator after he’d gotten me to sign the contract.’

I’d assumed whether I signed the contract or not would matter far more to CEO Cha.

“So you saw those weird bastards in the chat too.”

“The chat?”

When I asked in confusion, he answered as though it were obvious.

“They were always saying weird shit.”

In the chat?

I searched my memory.

Every time I watched the Creator’s broadcasts, everyone in chat had always been having fun….

[Ifinishedtheendingnowstopthegamestopstopstop]

[ItHurtssomuch??Theblood?Wontstop???It?Hurts?Hurts???]

[Theyjustdiedrighttheyjustblewtheirheadopenrightinfrontofmediedright]

[ImsorryImsorryImsorryImsorryIwon’tdoitagainpleasespareme]

[Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme]

Waiting only for the Creator’s games….

[Anyonepleasejustbringanyoneandletmeoutplease]

[Hihihikhehehehehehihihieveryonediednowitsmyturnhihihihihihihihi]

[IcantquittheresnoquitnoquitwhyisntthereIwanttostopplaying]

[ThisisntagamethisismyrealbodyImreallygoingtodie]

I thought they’d all been enjoying themselves…?

“……”

As I replayed those memories in my mind, it felt as though my blood had turned cold.

Why hadn’t I realized the chat was abnormal?

There was no way anyone could look at those messages and think they were normal.

Yet until now, I’d never once questioned them. I’d simply accepted them as ordinary chat messages.

Even though I knew I needed to control my expression, I couldn’t hide my agitation.

Watching my wavering eyes, CEO Cha spoke again.

“I heard you’ve been playing since two years ago and watched the final broadcast this year.”

Looking straight at me, he continued,

“I started four years ago.”

“…What?”

“And I only played for about six months.”

“Then… our timelines…”

“Don’t match at all.”

For CEO Cha, the Creator’s final broadcast had happened three and a half years ago.

My heart began pounding.

Once I accepted the premise that ‘our timelines don’t match’ and reviewed the last four years of memories again, strange inconsistencies immediately started surfacing.

Looking back now, Seultuple was strange too.

Unlike the other games, Seultuple required five-player co-op, so I always matched with random players.

But the same fixed group of strangers somehow played with me every single time I logged in.

And this wasn’t even a major online game—it was an indie game made by one person.

Unless they’d all been locked in front of computers waiting for me, that should’ve been impossible.

Yet back then, I’d never found it strange. I’d only focused on playing.

‘What exactly is going on with the timeline…?’

As the question deepened, another chilling realization struck me.

For the past two years, I’d played every game the Creator gave me without stopping.

But if I added up the number of games and the time I’d spent playing them, there was no way all of it fit into just two years.

The game I’d played the most was the one where CEO Cha appeared as an NPC.

I’d played it one thousand times.

Even assuming each run took only four hours, that was four thousand hours.

Even if I played twenty-four hours a day without resting, it’d still take more than 166 days to finish it a thousand times.

And that wasn’t even the only game I’d played.

The Archive games the Creator had given me numbered in the hundreds.

Two years wasn’t nearly enough time to thoroughly play hundreds of games.

‘No, more importantly, how could a single person even make hundreds of games in the first place? Even if they were pixel-art games.’

My heartbeat quickened.

Soon it was pounding so loudly it echoed in my ears.

What… did the Creator do to me?

What… am I?

My breathing became increasingly ragged until it was difficult just to breathe.

“Roasted Chestnut.”

A gentle voice called to me.

Something soft patted my cheek, almost as though it were comforting me.

I gasped, drawing in a sharp breath as my mind cleared.

Then I saw CEO Cha with his hand hovering just before pressing the nurse call button.

I stared blankly at him.

“I’m okay….”

CEO Cha let out an incredulous scoff as he looked down at me.

Even I had to admit it wasn’t a very convincing statement.

“……”

Slumping back into the chair, he lowered his gaze for a moment.

Then he let out a long breath.

It looked as though he was suppressing his irritation.

Seeing him stop himself from pressing the nurse call because of me and deliberately calm himself down felt strange.

This was the same CEO Cha who had torn open the side of the TRA building.

Realizing that someone like him had genuinely held back because I’d coughed up blood and collapsed left me feeling incredibly awkward.

Even throughout our conversation in the hospital room, he’d been remarkably gentle… for CEO Cha.

‘Is this really CEO Cha? I mean, he was swinging Daeil Yeorae around, so it has to be.’

Just then, a chime rang out.

The system window instantly calmed my chaotic mind.

Feeling a slight surge of irritation, I thought to myself,

‘If you know something, then say it.’

Seeing it send nothing but that single word annoyed me for a moment, until I remembered something it had said before.

[You believe that if you completely digest ■■■■, you may be able to register ‘Cha■■’.]

I still had no idea what it meant by digest.

But perhaps it meant it’d take time for my distorted memories to recover.

Pressuring the system window probably wouldn’t accomplish anything.

I completely regained my composure.

“CEO Cha.”

Then, in a surprisingly calm voice, I said,

“As you said, our timelines are different, but it does seem that we played the same games. Would you mind telling me which games you played?”

CEO Cha listed the Creator’s games he’d played.

None of them were the Trials I’d experienced.

‘They probably haven’t even hatched in reality yet.’

I’d already expected that he wouldn’t know the games we’d shared.

It felt a little lonely that I alone remembered playing one of them a thousand times, but saying so would only make me seem even stranger, so I quietly kept it to myself.

He probably already thought I was weird enough as it was.

I continued talking with CEO Cha.

He also told me about how he’d played.

Unlike me, he hadn’t bothered seeing every ending. He simply cleared the games as quickly as possible.

He didn’t care whether it was the true ending or just a normal ending.

As soon as he cleared a game, he’d tell the Creator he was finished.

Apparently, the Creator never complained about that.

Also, far fewer real people had appeared as NPCs in CEO Cha’s games than in mine.

Thanks to the games the Creator gave him, CEO Cha had been able to establish Paseong with relative ease.

He found Mok Saehwa and Seo Moonchan, who had both been NPCs in his games, and founded Paseong together with them, using his memories of the games to clear Trials.

That was why Paseong had grown so rapidly in its early days.

And every Trial he’d played in the games now belonged to Paseong.

“I tried tracking down the Creator myself, but every attempt failed.”

“And then Samra contacted you?”

CEO Cha gave a small nod.

“Samra said the Creator had been confirmed to be an Outer God beyond Earth.”

Outer Gods….

It was a concept connected to CallOVo, where Dominic had once stayed.

Thinking about it, the DeZonDeal zombie virus had felt similar too—there were many ways the Trials resembled reality.

Deciding I’d ask Samra more about the Outer Gods later, I asked the question I’d been most curious about.

“Then how did you end up playing the Creator’s games in the first place, CEO Cha?”

The CEO Cha I knew wasn’t the type to play indie pixel-art games or seek out a game developer’s livestreams.

You could tell just from the way he’d played.

He’d never been particularly interested in the Creator’s games.

He’d simply played each one like homework whenever it was handed to him.

I couldn’t understand why someone like him had ended up playing them at all.

But CEO Cha had no intention of answering.

“Is this an interrogation?”

“No….”

I immediately shrank back.

I’d thought he was being surprisingly cooperative for CEO Cha, but it seemed I shouldn’t push any further.

Still, even if I stopped asking about the Creator, there was one thing I absolutely wanted to confirm.

I figured he’d answer at least this much.

“CEO Cha. Um… sorry, but may I ask just one last thing?”

I spoke carefully.

“Was the reason you were looking for me because of the Creator?”

The man who’d been answering me without hesitation until now simply stared at me in silence.

The silence stretched on.

Without looking away, I waited for his answer.

Finally, he spoke.

“You think that’s why?”

But it wasn’t an answer.

‘How would I know?’

I grumbled inwardly since there was no way I could tell CEO Cha to answer properly.

Then, without warning, he pulled Daeil Yeorae out of his inventory.

“So, Han Goyo.”

Stretching out one arm, CEO Cha drove the white sword into the floor.

“Are you going to sign with TRA?”