TGAT 01

Chapter 01

Prologue

A tall man, 185 cm in height.
With sharp facial features and pale skin that contrasted against his black suit, he lowered his head deeply toward the person on the other end of the phone, completely ignoring the stares around him.

• “Grandfather’s funeral? Now?”

As the cold early spring wind blew, Song Jun hunched his shoulders even more.

• “Ha… You should’ve told me in advance. Are you going to do things like this?”

At the deep sigh coming through the phone, Song Jun instinctively flinched. Feeling his fingertips trembling, he slowly opened his mouth.

“I told you over the phone two days ago…”

Of course, he probably just heard it while drinking and half-listened, half-responded, and then forgot.

• “Ha… damn it. Really… You’re terrible at video editing, but your excuses are endless. If I can’t remember, does that mean you told me?”

Even though he hadn’t done anything wrong, a sharp pain pricked at the side of his chest.

• “Look at how much work you have right now. A grandfather? That only takes a day. It’s not your parents.”
  “…….”

• “One day’s already gone. Start working immediately. Don’t you know the last video only got half the views? Am I digging the ground to give you money?”

When Song Jun didn’t answer, the voice on the other end grew harsher and louder, as if emptying all its emotional trash.

He had been an editor for four years.
A comprehensive gaming YouTube channel with over 700,000 subscribers.
A cheap editing slave for Kim’s Game Factory.

• “I took in a useless kid with no talent and gave him the videos to edit, and now look at this.”

Song Jun turned his head to look at the entrance of the funeral hall.

• “If you understand, start editing the video now. Since it’s a funeral, you’ll have enough time!”

His grandfather, who had cared for and cherished him, had passed away.
Not even being able to say “it’s okay if you can’t come”—he couldn’t even manage that.

“I quit.”

Something boiled up deep inside Song Jun and erupted all the way to the top of his head.
The phone in his hand was gripped so tightly it felt like it would break.

• “Wh… what?!”

The voice on the other end sounded shocked.
Song Jun took a deep breath and spoke clearly.

“I said I quit. I can’t do this anymore. Please send me the money you owe me. By the end of this week.”

All the struggles to stay here, all the efforts, suddenly seemed meaningless.
The moment he said he was quitting, a hollow laugh escaped, and the knot of tension in him began to dissolve.

He had made this simple choice unnecessarily difficult. Perhaps he had been trapped in the illusion that he had no other option.

Even without this job, he could find a way to make a living—he knew that.

• “You’ll have to pay damages since the video can’t be uploaded until we find another editor! What money!”

Damages? He hadn’t even been properly paid for the work he’d already done.
Because the video wasn’t uploaded, because the views were low.

“Ha…”

• “This bastard… laughing?”

A bitter laugh escaped him.

“Ridiculous. Just give me the money I’m owed. Before I report you.”

Right. There was no reason to shrink back. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Some time after yelling at Kim Geun-taek,
Even after the funeral ended, Song Jun often lay awake in a gloomy mood.

“Do you think you could have taken on this work anywhere else but with me?”
“I took in a useless kid with no talent and gave him the videos to edit, and now look at this.”

Those words stabbed Song Jun’s chest like a knife.
He had no talent. That much was true.

Sports? He was just pushed along like everyone else.
Gaming? He’d be lucky if he didn’t even ask about the client’s parents.
Music? He would fumble on the recorder during school assignments.

“Ha… damn talent. What the hell is talent anyway?”

So he chose a job as a video editor.
If he sat down and hammered away at the keyboard for six hours, ten hours, somehow, a video would come out.

Some said this wasn’t a lack of talent, just being ordinary.
But being ordinary was just another way of saying “no talent.”

Song Jun jumped up from his bed and slapped his cheeks hard.

“No! Why can’t I do this? Even that guy runs a YouTube channel. I can do it too. Success! Success!”

Just as he sat down in front of the computer full of motivation,

“Registered mail!”
“Registered mail? Wait a second!”

Song Jun jumped up at the shout outside the door.

“Please sign here.”

Following the delivery person’s instructions, he absentmindedly signed and took a small cardboard box.

“Song… Seok-du? That’s grandfather’s name?”

Song Jun tilted his head at the name on the shipping label and opened the box.

It had only been a week since the funeral, so why a sudden delivery?

Inside was a carefully wrapped eyeglass case, worn with the traces of time.

“Sunglasses?”

He carefully removed the packaging and opened the case. Inside was a pair of sunglasses straight out of an old Top Gun-style movie.
He ran his fingers along the frame slowly.

A small note, taped to the top of the worn case, caught his eye.
Song Jun held the sunglasses with trembling hands.

**[If reality is at rock bottom, start from there. I hope my grandson lives happily.

• Grandpa, to his grandson Song Jun.]**

His chest tightened at the thought that this was his grandfather’s last gift.
And the words perfectly matched his current situation.

“Grandpa…”

The sunglasses were immaculate, in stark contrast to the old case. They looked like they were just bought from a store, not a scratch on them.

Song Jun hesitated briefly and put them on.

“Ow!”

A sharp, needle-like sting hit his temples, and something foreign seemed to be injected, startling him. He quickly removed the sunglasses.

“Ugh…”

Suppressing the throbbing pain in his temples, he opened his eyes to see:

[Do you want to connect to the Talent Sharing Network?]

“What… is this?”

Since he was young, whenever his father drank, he would often talk about his grandfather.

“My old man… your grandfather, that is, he fought in the Korean War, earned medals, and after the war, he raised you and your aunt and all four of us without letting us lack for anything.”

To Songjun, his grandfather was simply a kind man—a grandfather who especially doted on him.

“Looking back now, he was really amazing. I still vividly remember him wearing those famous Top Gun sunglasses since his military days, solving every problem in the neighborhood.”

A brief memory of his grandfather passed.

“I think these are the same sunglasses Grandpa used to wear…”

The message seemed to float in the air, drifting along his line of sight.

“I’m definitely not crazy.”

He reached out to touch the message, but his fingers passed straight through it. Nothing could be felt.

Just in case, he put the sunglasses back on, but there was no pain.

“Is this really a game? Augmented reality without any device… what on earth…”

All sorts of thoughts raced through his mind. It was exactly the kind of situation he had only seen in movies or novels.

The sunglasses from his grandfather suddenly arrived. The pain at his temple. And the holographic window that appeared before his eyes.

[Do you want to connect to the Talent Sharing Network?]

Talent Sharing Network.
He couldn’t resist the curiosity that the phrase sparked, so Songjun nodded, half in doubt.

[Connecting to the Talent Sharing Network.]

Suddenly, his entire vision went dark, and with a dizzying sensation, a new scene unfolded.
The surroundings looked as if it were dawn—bright yet dim at the same time.

“Wow… what is this? This is insane.”

The ceiling sparkled like the universe.
The floor shimmered strangely, as if transparent glass had been laid over empty space.

Every type of object, of unknown material, was densely packed in display cases that rose high into the sky.
Reflected in the light shimmering from above and below, they sparkled endlessly, asserting their presence in all sorts of colors.

It felt as though reality had distorted, and he existed somewhere in the middle of an ungraspable cosmos.

[Which talent are you looking for?]

“Talent?”

Songjun tilted his head in confusion at the suddenly appearing prompt.

Talent.
He wondered if the items in the display case represented talents.
From crossed guns to spherical objects with flickering flames, to cameras, bats, and baseballs—every shape imaginable was placed in its own compartment.

“What am I supposed to search for? Just say it out loud?”

[Which talent are you looking for?]

The prompt appeared again, emphasized. He instinctively muttered the memory of his previous workplace:

“Uh… game?”

The main content of Kim’s Game Factory had been physical skill-based game streams.

Suddenly, a joystick-shaped object flew toward him.

[Game talent found. Do you wish to acquire it?]

“What? It exists…?”

Confused but curious, Songjun said “Yes.” Something about the words “game talent” intrigued him, even if he didn’t know exactly what it meant.

The talent above his hand began spinning and glowing like it was dancing.
At the same time, his heart thumped loudly in his ears.

The object before him was absorbed as if melting away.
Simultaneously, knowledge of how to play all kinds of games played automatically in his mind, making it dizzying.

“Ugh…”

Songjun swallowed a scream about to burst out and collapsed onto the floor.

“Ugh… my head.”

The consecutive pain made it nearly impossible to think clearly.

When he thought about leaving this place, the world around him shattered like broken glass and scattered, and in an instant, he returned to his small apartment.
It felt like a dream.

“Was that… a dream? No, it’s definitely real.”

But the throbbing pain confirmed that it had truly happened.

“Ugh…”

He had acquired the game talent, but with no visible changes, he couldn’t understand what had happened.

As he stood to get some water, he stumbled and collapsed back into his computer chair, the headache refusing to subside.

Click—

<Whoa! Brothers! Who would take on a challenge like this! The head of Kim’s Factory, Kim Geuntaek! Mission accepted! Let’s go!>

The video he had been editing before a funeral played on his still-on computer screen.

<Proyo? Oh, brother! That’s heaven-tier among heaven-tier. I’m just a small fry compared to that. Can it even be compared? Nah. Maybe somewhere in the middle of heaven-tier? Hehe… fact. No one in any game room has better physical skills than me.>

Click—

<Now! If there’s a mission, we do it! Starting! Clear the hardest forgotten king hard mode with the basic character!>

Just hearing the voice made him nauseous, and when he looked at the screen to stop it, the gameplay appeared.

<Here, Hoitja~ roll once! Not an attack, roll again! This pattern is vicious. Drink a potion.>

Suddenly, game information flowed chaotically into his mind.

<Wow, these guys are brutal. Each phase has slightly offset attack timing so if you defend like in the previous phase, it’s instant death.>

Enemy attack patterns, parrying, defense, terrain, character movement, reaction time.
The physical skill was undeniable. That was a fact.

In the competitive Red Ocean gaming world, he had gained 700,000 subscribers purely through physical skill.

The five minutes of full video felt like less than a minute.

<Caught… Caught it!!! 4 minutes 58 seconds! Finally broke the dreaded 5 minutes! Thank you for the huge donation! Clearing this isn’t something just anyone can do! Me! Kim Geuntaek of Kim Game Pack!>

The way to defeat the boss was replayed in Songjun’s mind like a video.

<I guarantee it won’t change for years. No one else could clear this! It’s only me! If I didn’t have the last potion, it would’ve been close.>

But after the video ended, he muttered to himself:

“Uh… that’s not how it’s supposed to be done.”

…

“What am I saying…?”

Startled at his own words, he covered his mouth. His cheek stung from the slap of reality.

“But it’s not wrong.”

How to play the game unfolded clearly in his mind.
Curious and skeptical, Songjun sat in front of the computer.

Absorbing a talent from somewhere and suddenly being good at games—was that even logical?

‘But, if it’s real…’

With trembling hands, he launched the extremely difficult “souls-like” game installed on his computer.
It was the game Fallen Kingdom, where Kim’s Game Pack became famous as a physical YouTuber.

He selected the same boss Kim Geuntaek had cleared in the video, and the rankings appeared:

[1st: KGF – 4:58
2nd: UWG – 6:02
3rd: KIK – 7:35]

He set his character as the basic one, with only a sword and no armor.
He planned to take it a step further.

“Absolutely worse conditions than him.”

Closing his eyes, he recalled the boss’s pattern. The goal: clear faster than 4 minutes 58 seconds.
He opened his eyes and pressed start. The boss had three phases.

As the game began, he threw away all potions and charged at the boss.

Clang—

The sound of sword slicing meat reverberated through the speakers. Blood splattered on the floor.

“Roll. Roll again.”

The enormous armored boss with a massive sword was attacked in every opening available.

“Don’t get greedy.”

Double-tapping the attack button, the thought of “just one more hit” often led to death.

Bang!

The boss leaped into the air and slammed its sword to the ground. Songjun quickly dodged behind nearby terrain.
This attack would be bearable with armor, but not with a basic character.

Simultaneously, he predicted the next attack.
The boss repeated several patterns in random-like sequences each phase. Without potions, even a one-second delay would ruin the record.

Sweat poured from Songjun’s temples as he focused entirely on the screen.

As one-third of the boss’s health was depleted, it screamed and kneeled, triggering a cutscene.

“Phew… almost there.”

He wiped sweat and loosened his hands.

The boss transformed into a grotesque demon, altering attack directions and timings slightly, increasing difficulty.

Clang—

The boss’s attack was blocked, and after three rapid strikes, a tiny bit of its health vanished.

‘Upper attack. Evade after two hits.’

He analyzed the boss visually, decided the next move mentally, and executed it with his hands—all simultaneously.

“Phew…”

He exhaled, focusing more with every drop in health. Damage increased with each strike.

Boom—

“Ha! Cleared.”

The half-human, half-demon boss collapsed.

[Clear!]

Only then did Songjun exhale and relax his hands.

[Record: 4:43 [Perfect Play!]]
[Enter your name.]

“Uh… Perfect Play?”

On the monitor, “Perfect Play” gleamed in gold.

<Perfect Play? Oh, impossible. No one can do that. Clearing hard mode without getting hit once? Even heaven-tier players can’t.>

He recalled the words from the stream.

“What? Not hit once… possible.”

Grinning, Songjun typed S-J as his name.

[1st: S-J – 4:43 [PP]
2nd: KGF – 4:58
3rd: UWG – 6:02]

‘15 seconds…’

Songjun looked at his trembling hands. Could Kim Geuntaek close a 15-second gap easily? Likely impossible.

Then…

“The Talent Sharing Network… is real.”

Not only had he matched but surpassed the physical skills of the previous player.
After staring blankly at his hands for a while, Songjun cautiously but sincerely muttered:

“Status window…?”

Nothing happened.

[Acquired talent: –
Acquiring (1/3): Game (15/100)]

The holographic window appeared again as if waiting.

“This is insane… it works?”

Half-joking, he said aloud.

He looked at the sunglasses and glasses case on his desk.

“Grandpa… what exactly did you give me…?”

Despite his words, an uncontrollable smile spread across his face.