Chapter 192
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The Investor I
I regret not discussing ordinary people more.
This world, governed by awakened abilities, has created a hierarchical society resembling a pyramid. In old times, wealth was passed down through families, but awakened abilities defy even DNA inheritance. They're like a gacha game based on pure luck—unpredictable and arbitrary.
As for the most desired jobs among ordinary children these days―
Career Preference Survey for Children Under 10
3 Laborer in large guilds – 10.2%
2 Member of the National Road Management Corps caravan – 14.4%
1 Writer – 26.8%
Surprisingly, the most coveted job among today's youth is that of a writer.
"Mom! I want to be a writer when I grow up!"Cheêck out latest novels on n/o/ve/l/bin(.)c/o/m
"Being a writer is like being a god!"
Indeed, it was the golden age of literature, not just of humanities.
The roots of the sudden literary craze were deep and mysterious.
It wasn't always like this. The field of humanities has always been a source of embarrassment on the Korean Peninsula, especially the ultimate example in the form of creative writing.
This attitude and treatment altogether reversed beginning in the 205th cycle.
Do you remember any incidents that occurred during cycle 205?
♪♫*♪~Feels like walking in a dream~♪♫*♪
Thank you for visiting our 『DREAM』 casino ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ We welcome you with all our heart! ◕‿◕)丿
That’s right, the Dream Casino.
In the 206th cycle, casino dealers, who turned money into dreams, began to work in earnest in the Inunaki Tunnel, and people couldn't help but be enthralled by this miraculous casino.
"Give me endless Quarter Pounder with Cheese from McDonald's and those slightly soggy, super salty fries until I'm sick of them!"
"Hoho! That will be 160 won!"
"I want a beautiful girl who only looks at me in my dreams..."
"Hohoho! Specifying a person costs 1,000 won, setting up the relationship is 2,000 won, starting from a base price of 3,000 won!"
In the beginning, most people's wishes were focused on basic pleasures, like food and sex. This was true of both Awakeners and ordinary people. If they had money, they spent it all; if not, they still indulged in luxuries.
"Wow! In reality, all I can drink is nasty alcohol, but in dreams, I can guzzle down delicious whiskies to my heart's content!"
"There are people in this dream!"
"Work has been really enjoyable lately. I used to think, 'Why bother when we're all going to die by anomalies anyway?' But now, I can't wait to rush to the casino after the workday ends. It really boosts my motivation to work."
Even if someone had immoral or unethical wishes, it didn't matter. It was just a dream, after all. The tutorial fairies who brought these dreams to life weren't particularly moralistic. People indulged in their dreams without worrying about what others thought, and the productivity of the workforce, which had been plummeting on the Korean Peninsula, miraculously revived.
People should have been happy forever then—but of course, reality was not so kind.
"Even whiskey gets boring after a while..."
"My dream lover is great, but she feels a bit passive. I have to decide how she'll react and what she'll say before I even start dreaming. It's nice to be loved, but it feels a bit like dating AI..."
"After rethinking it, I guess work really is suffering. Why do we have to work to live?"
Humans are creatures who never know satisfaction!
More precisely, even if they are satisfied, they quickly get used to it and start craving more and more. Especially since the Dream Casino offered a service with one fatal flaw.
"It's great to enter a dream because it feels like reality, but having to set up everything beforehand really kills the immersion..."
The lack of spontaneity.
For instance, let's say someone wanted to dream about “being late for school, running through the streets, and then bumping into a beautiful girl (equipped with strawberry jam toast in her mouth) at a street corner, and then 'Hey kids, there's a new transfer student' and 'Are you that lucky guy from then?!'” (This was a highly popular scenario requested by 310 people in Busan alone.)
It might have been fun to experience a scenario that had once only been the subject of unfulfilled fantasy, but the truth is, such a setup required 'spontaneity.'
Being late by chance, bumping into someone by chance, and that person turning out to be a new student. Only then would a love story truly make the protagonist's heart flutter.
"But giving the tutorial fairies freedom..."
"They'd make a tutorial dungeon out of anything and force people to kill each other! Shit, why should I have to endure more real-life experiences when I could be sweet-talking my lover in my dreams?"
"Hohoho, I really don't understand..."
Frankly, it wasn't my concern.
'People are just satiated.'
They complain that setting up their dreams beforehand ruins the fun? What does it matter? Aren't they experiencing desires they can't fulfill in reality?
I once discussed this with Noh Do-hwa.
"Perfection doesn't exist in this world. If we cater to these complaints, new grievances will soon arise. Nowadays, young people can't think of the old days. They just complain about the present. Tsk, tsk."
Noh Do-hwa looked at me over her glasses. "You're not suffering from some disease where you'll die if you don't periodically act like an old geezer, are you...?"
Anyway, I ignored the complaints of the casino patrons, treating them as nothing more than the grumblings of those who had their fill.
But not everyone thought the same as me.
What I dismissed as 'whining of the satiated' was seen by someone else as 'the cries of a hungry potential customer'—a market yet to be tapped.
Writers began to take action.
Let's say you are an Awakener in Busan who loves whiskey.
Being an Awakener isn't a particularly prestigious status. You're just a lowly member of a small guild. You work hard every day, scrimping and saving so you can visit the Dream Casino three or four times a week.
It’s an alleyway, just out of sight of where cars are waiting for the signal on the main road. It was a scene taken straight out of Seoul before civilization collapsed.
Turning your head, you see a small sign on a store.
[MORI 森]
This must be the cocktail bar the writer mentioned.
'The atmosphere of the dream itself is pretty convincing.'
You feel a tingle of anticipation as you open the door.
Inside, the bar is so small that barely ten people can fit. It’s more like those local-style cocktail bars you find more often in Japan than in Korea, izakaya.
The bartender pauses where he was reaching for the bottles and turns around to greet you.
"Irasshaimase!"
"Uh?"
A Japanese bartender?
The genetic predisposition for foreign language anxiety that lay dormant in every Korean is triggered.
As you stand there slightly flustered, the bartender puts down the bottle and smiles gently. "Welcome. Please come inside."
His Korean is awkward. You try to keep your expressions and gestures as polite as possible as you step further into the bar.
"I'm sorry. I don't speak Japanese... Are you Japanese?"
"Yes. I'm learning Korean very hard! Kim Yuna! Son Heung-min! I love it!"
"Ah... Your Korean is really good."
"Thank you!"
Fortunately, you are the only customer in the bar. It would have been pretty embarrassing if there had been others.
But the best part about alcohol, like music, is that it's a universal language. Just as Mozart's music sounds the same whether in Austria or China, the names of drinks don't change across borders.
"Would you like to try a Godfather first?"
"Godfather. Yes, understood!"
Before long, the bartender whips up a cocktail and hands it to you. And as you touched the drink to your lips—
'...It's delicious?'
The taste of the drink is superb. If you had left it all to the tutorial fairy, the taste of a Godfather might have come out as Midori Sour, completely mixed up. That's why you had to specify each flavor yourself before dreaming.
But not this time.
It tastes exactly like the cocktail you ordered, and even if it’s not exactly 'your favorite style,' it’s still delicious enough to enjoy.
It’s as if―
'—you're visiting a new cocktail bar that you've never been in before.'
You look around.
It’s your first time visiting such a cramped cocktail bar. The cocktail bars you know in Korea are usually quite spacious.
The interior. The lighting. The bartender's nationality.
Everything feels refreshing, feels new.
"This drink is really good."
"Ah, really? Thank you."
"Could you also make a Manhattan?"
"Manhattan! You seem to like these drinks."
"Yes. I've always loved whiskey..."
Under the dim lighting, natural conversation flows between you and the bartender.
The glasses and the snack plates are quickly emptied. You’re drinking faster than usual, but it doesn’t feel overwhelming at all.
"So how did you end up in Korea, if you don't mind my asking? Isn't Japan better for business?"
"Actually, my wife is Korean..."
"Oh!"
"My mother-in-law did not agree to the marriage at first. She wanted two things: I speak Korean and I live in Korea."
"Wow. So you learned Korean and even opened a bar here because you really love your wife."
"Yes! I love her! A lot!"
Stories you didn't know.
A bar you hadn't been aware of.
A person you hadn't met before.
'Right.'
You empty your glass, you laugh with the bartender, and you get completely drunk, forgetting that you are dreaming.
'This is it. This is what a bar should be like.'
The next day, you visit Cocktail Bar Mori once again. That day, too, you have the bartender all to yourself.
When you visit two days later, there are two customers. They are your guildmates.
A month later, 'Mori' is packed with customers.
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