Work Text:
It was a lazy Sunday morning. Yoo Joonghyuk was chopping onions. His eyes were burning red, but he kept them wide open, laser focused on keeping each slice perfectly parallel. Han Sooyoung was staring at her laptop, eyes equally as focused on her screen. Grading papers, she had said, but the window reflected in her eyes was, unmistakably, Twitter.
They had fought through hell and back. They had displaced God. They doomed their leader to an infinite purgatory, isolated for millenia. They fought through hell again. Finally, they spent years crawling the multiverse, brainwashing countless innocents in hopes that their leader’s millions of avatars might somehow be swayed by their story— then, magically think him back into existence.
It had been two months since the conclusion of their centuries-long journey (millenia-long for some). A lazy Sunday it was, but a lazy Sunday they deserved.
“So, I’ve been thinking.” Kim Dokja placed his phone onto the table, having run out of webnovels to read for the day. “You guys think we peaked during the scenarios?”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s knife froze in place. Han Sooyoung looked up. They spoke simultaneously.
“What are you on about?” said Yoo Joonghyuk, then grabbed another onion to continue chopping.
“Yeah, probably.” said Han Sooyoung, then went back to scrolling.
“...Are you looking down on the life we fought for?” Yoo Joonghyuk glared at the woman.
“I didn’t say that– and Jesus, wipe your eyes! How many onions are you going to chop? ” She threw a pack of tissues at Yoo Joonghyuk. “I’m just saying, you two went from unparalleled beings with unearthly powers, literal demigods– I guess Kim Dokja was technically just actual God– to two jobless freeloaders living in my house.”
The pack of tissues bounced off of Yoo Jonghyuk’s two mountains of pectoral muscles. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then continued his knifework, chopping up some ham. “What I’m ‘just saying’ is that for millions of years, I did nothing but fight gods, watch my loved ones perish one by one, and die.”
“Yeah, and now you just do nothing at all.”
“I’m cooking this omelet for you right now.”
“Are you serious? I could easily hire a personal chef to cook for me everyday for the rest of my life. I’m letting you cook that omelet for me right now. Just like I’m letting you live in my house.”
If looks could kill, another line would need to be added to Yoo Joonghyuk’s criminal record.
“You let us live here because you love us.” interrupted Kim Dokja, before the situation escalated any further. He walked over to the kitchen counter to inspect Joonghyuk’s work. “And any chef you hire wouldn’t be half as good as our protagonist here. Let me help with that, Joonghyuk-ah.”
He opened a drawer and reached for another kitchen knife. Without looking, Yoo Joonghyuk shut the drawer and continued chopping.
Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes and focused again on her screen. She retweeted a funny picture of a cat. “Kim Dokja was the one who brought it up in the first place. Why don’t you get mad at him?”
“Ok, listen, my bad for trying to reminisce a little on our journey.” Kim Dokja grinned sheepishly. “I kinda missed out on that part after we cleared the last scenario, on account of, well, you know.”
This time, both Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him.
“...Which was entirely my fault, and I would like to say that I am very thankful to you for saving me and letting me live in your house.”
Having been shooed away by Yoo Joonghyuk, Kim Dokja plopped back into his seat next to Han Sooyoung. “Speaking of, I never would’ve pegged Yoo Joonghyuk as someone who wanted roommates. I always figured you’d hole up in some penthouse all alone.”
“A penthouse?” Han Sooyoung scoffed. “With what money?”
“...With his salary? Pro gamers make a ton of money, right?”
Han Sooyoung shut her laptop– she had reached the post on her timeline that she had started from the previous night anyway– and turned to face Kim Dokja.
“Listen, Dokja. Even if esports was still being pumped up by venture capitalists, even if housing prices weren’t many, many times higher on account of 80% of Seoul getting flattened during the scenarios, and even if Yoo Joonghyuk were not a nationally wanted terrorist-”
“What?” interrupted Kim Dokja. “He-”
“Even if all of those things were true, my dear reader.” Han Sooyoung looked him dead in the eye. “He would not be able to afford even a cardboard box on the street with his gaming skills.”
“...What?” said Kim Dokja. “What do you mean? Joonghyuk-ah, what does she mean?”
Stone-faced, Yoo Joonghyuk finished chopping the last onion and fetched some eggs from the fridge.
“Because,” Han Sooyoung continued. “He sucks at video games.”
*
*
*
“That can’t be true,” said Kim Dokja.
“I wrote him. He doesn’t actually know anything about video games.”
“Ok, counterpoint: death of the author. My opinion, as your only reader, is equally as valid. His attribute is [Pro Gamer]. That clearly means he had a history with video games.”
“Yes, because attributes mean sooo much. You can study Spanish for nine months and suddenly you have the [Interpreter] attribute.” Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes. “Like that was ever relevant past like, the second scenario.”
“Ok, but Sangah-ssi still had some history with learning languages! A [Pro Gamer] must have had at least some history of professional gaming!” Kim Dokja said. “Just like you have [Author], because you are… an author.”
“Joonghyuk also has [Author].”
“Ok, that’s low.”
“I don’t know how to make this more clear to you.” Han Sooyoung grabbed Kim Dokja’s hand and looked him straight in the eye. “Kim Dokja. Tell me. What game does Yoo Joonghyuk play?”
Kim Dokja opened his mouth to answer, then held his chin, deep in thought. His eyes glazed over. In his mind, he scanned through the entirety of Ways of Survival. He’d read through those lines of text thousands upon thousands of times across his life, while being bullied in school, while getting hazed during his military service, while crying on that blasted train.
“What game did he compete in?” Han Sooyoung gripped his hand tighter.
All those lines of text and not a single concrete video game title. That… couldn’t be right. For god’s sake, the book had Yoo Joonghyuk’s every detail! He knew his favorite dumpling recipe down to the tenth of a gram! How could there be nothing on what game he went pro in? Maybe the memory got lost with his avatar or something? Han Sooyoung’s grip was beginning to cut off his already poor circulation. He had to answer, now.
“He’s… uh… a League of Legends pro, right? Remember that game scenario in the demon realm? That was just straight up a MOBA, and he was great at that.” Kim Dokja was grasping at straws. He knew full well that he was talking out of his ass– that performance was clearly the result of the [Ruler of Amusement] attribute. But he could not concede this fundamental truth he understood– or thought he understood– about his favorite novel.
Han Sooyoung turned towards the kitchen. “Yoo Joonghyuk, what is League of Legends?”
Yoo Joonhyuk cracked open an egg, passing the yolk back and forth between the shells to separate out the whites. “It’s… the most popular first person shooter.”
“No…” whispered Kim Dokja.
“Who was it made by?”
“Nintendo…?”
“Oh my god.” Kim Dokja rubbed his temples. “How is that possible?”
“I did not give any gaming memories to the 1863rd Han Sooyoung.”
“...That would do it.”
Kim Dokja put his face in his hands. His entire worldview was shifting: Yoo Joonghyuk was bad at video games. He stood up and walked back over to the kitchen counter, as if to shake off the revelation.
“Let me help with that, Joonghyuk-ah.” Dokja sighed, grabbed an egg and cracked it into the large mixing bowl that their protagonist chef was using. Yoo Joonghyuk reached out a hand to stop him, but the deed had already been done.
“What?” said Kim Dokja.
“...I was planning on a 2:1 ratio of yolks to whites.”
Yoo Joonghyuk fished a stray shard of eggshell out of the bowl. He glared at Kim Dokja. He figured this would be their usual routine– Joonghyuk would get angry, and Dokja would have a quip lined up to fire back. But up close, however, Joonghyuk saw something strange: a flicker of genuine fear on Dokja’s face, an automatic, emotional response trained into him from childhood. A response that he wouldn’t have seen during the scenarios, hidden behind the fourth wall.
“...It’s alright.” Joonghyuk’s gaze softened. He, too, had changed since then. They all had. “I can just add another yolk.”
He gave his hands a quick rinse in the sink and gently directed the reader back towards his seat. He draped his arms around both the writer and the reader and sighed. “As much as I don’t quite appreciate you two having fun at my expense, I am… truly happy to just be here with you both. These… are my only memories outside of the scenarios. I would consider this time, right now, to be the peak of my long life.”
With those words, Yoo Joonghyuk walked back to the counter and moved to turn on the stove.
Suddenly quite flushed, Han Sooyoung cleared her throat. “Uh, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t be good at games, Joongyuk-ah!”
She elbowed Kim Dokja, who also began to flatter the taller man. “Y-yeah, no one is as diligent as you in training. You could be good at any game you wanted in no time!”
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted and threw a knob of butter onto the frying pan. He faced away from the two, not responding. In truth, saying something so sappy and heartfelt had flustered him equally as much as the other two, but he’d sooner put instant noodle soup base onto this omelet (as he had seen Kim Dokja do on more than one occasion, much to his chagrin) than let them know that. “Regardless, I don’t take pleasure in my inability to contribute to the household. I’ll… train in League of Legends.”
“You will not play League of Legends,” Han Sooyoung and Kim Dokja snapped simultaneously.
“And… you do plenty,” mumbled Han Sooyoung. “Thanks for cooking us breakfast. I was joking about the personal chef thing. Sorry.”
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted and coaxed the solidifying egg mixture to fold over itself.
“That doesn’t mean our other freeloader here is off the hook though.” With a mischievous grin, Han Sooyoung eyed the man sitting next to her. “Don’t take my kindness for granted— or it might very well run dry. What do you have to contribute, hm?”
“Uh… I could maybe go back into QA…?” Dokja shuffled his feet under the table. Yoo Joonghyuk gave Han Sooyoung a look as he turned off the stove.
“That was a joke.” she added quickly. “I don’t view either of you as freeloaders.”
Kim Dokja gave her an awkward grin. Then, maybe a little too over-eager thanks to the threat of eviction, practically ran over to the drawer to fetch Yoo Joonghyuk a plate. “Let me help with that, Joonghyuk-ah…!”
With a smirk, the protagonist slid the completed omelet onto it. “Thanks.”
“Happy to help.”
“Well, regardless, Yoo Joonghyuk, if you’re really looking for work, there is one asset you have that you could leverage,” Han Sooyoung mused. ”With little to no effort.”
“And what might that be?” Yoo Joonghyuk placed the omelet in the center of the table and placed utensils in front of his companions. The two eagerly began devouring the dish as Yoo Joonghyuk sat down.
“I mean, isn’t it obvious?” Kim Dokja said between bites. “You’re a great chef.”
“What? No!” said Han Sooyoung. “What part of that process looked low-effort to you? And it’s not like he could get hired anywhere with his criminal record.”
“Seriously, what happened while I was gone?!”
Ignoring Kim Dokja, Han Sooyoung reached a hand out and grabbed Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. “You’re hot as f***! Let’s make a thirst trap instagram and rake in ad revenue!”
And then he got 1 billion likes yay
