[Late night, NPia Corporation.]
“…Nngh.”
Exhausted from the never-ending overtime, Park Gyul, Planning Director of the Fermata 8X team, popped open one of the many energy drinks stacked beside her monitor and took a long gulp.
— You should only drink two cans a day. If you drink four, you’ll die.
A doctor on YouTube, probably someone concerned about health, had said that once. She couldn’t even remember exactly who anymore, but that didn’t matter right now.
If she could avoid drinking it, of course she wouldn’t.
But at this point, not drinking meant she wouldn’t be able to get through her workload. So she had no choice but to chug down the caffeine.
“…Five million won a month, huh.”
The new update for Fermata.
It was the anniversary update, and since they’d had to create an entirely new story from scratch and restructure the schedule around it, the employee bonuses had gone wild.
Some staff were rumored to be making 100 million won a month.
In more extreme claims—though it came from an anonymous corporate community—there was even a joke going around that the person in charge of designing “Kiharu”, a character in Fermata 8X, was getting 100 million won per week.
That might not even be an exaggeration.
Even she, who had been working less than the rest, received around 5 million won last month.
“Ha… seriously.”
They did everything they could for the anniversary update.
There was nothing left she could personally contribute.
They gave away one of the most cost-effective limited characters from the previous version for free.
Now they were practically handing out 100x summoning draws, making other game companies grumble loudly.
And in this update, they weren’t selling new limited characters—
Instead, they were releasing power-ups for existing characters. If they’d been monsters instead of humans, it would’ve been the equivalent of giving them a star boost through evolution or awakening.
Maybe the company had gone insane. Maybe the CEO had.
It was getting hard to tell if they were still a commercial business or a dopamine distribution center for gamers.
Still, what could she do?
There were even rumors circulating that the company might start distributing shares to employees soon.
Thanks to a certain Summoner, NPIA was basically guaranteed to win the “Game of the Year” award.
Well, that part wasn’t so bad.
In any world, it wasn’t too strange for a game company to go crazy or pour overwhelming funds into things.
It wasn’t even weird to try and attract users with something like 1400 free summoning draws as part of a launch promotion.
Building a “generous” image through bleeding-edge giveaways to expand the player base wasn’t some unheard-of strategy in the cutthroat mobile gaming industry.
Sure, the ROI was questionable—but it was still within the realm of possibility.
Ding.
“…Hmm?”
But the email that just arrived in her personal inbox—
Was enough to make Park Gyul, a seasoned veteran of the game industry, freak out.
[Hello, this is an aide from Representative OOO’s office. Regarding the upcoming National Assembly election…]
“Oh, come on.”
She didn’t even bother asking how they got her email.
Whether it was personal or work-related, it wasn’t uncommon to be contacted through an aide.
“This morning, a six-term representative barged into the CEO’s office just to take a photo…”
Politicians running for office were swarming NPia to take pictures for their campaign brochures, as if this was the hottest place to be. Not some government agency—a game company.
No wonder the Chairman and CEO had gone into hiding.
Aides and party officials from all sorts of groups were camped near the company building, even trying to take photos of regular employees with the office as a backdrop.
The political circus had engulfed NPia.
“Haah…”
Ding.
Another email—this time to her work inbox.
“…What is this? I thought this was blocked…”
As she read the new email, her expression slowly stiffened.
“…Huh?”
At the top of the email was a photo.
A verification photo of the sender.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Two very familiar faces.
A picture of them that she had never seen before—not in any of the Summoner’s videos or promotional images.
“This can’t be…”
She immediately checked who else had received the email.
It wasn’t just her—it had also gone to the Chairman, the CEO, and the entire so-called “approval chain” of Fermata.
And the content?
A proposal document.
At a glance, it looked like the kind of pitch an external partner might submit for a promotional collaboration—but its core message was unmistakable.
“So basically…”
[Hey, Park Gyul!]
A message popped up on the internal company messenger.
[Get on it immediately!]
It was from the Chairman.
Park Gyul hadn’t even had the chance to read the proposal in detail yet, but just like that, her overtime hours were extended.
“But wait—”
[This is clearly an Awakening Serum! What else would it be, a hair tonic!?]
“…What?”
She tilted her head, not quite understanding what the Chairman meant.
Thump!
“PD!?”
“Gyul, please draft a new announcement right away.”
The PD of the Fermata team, hair a total mess, had rushed out and was now standing behind her chair.
“The Master plans to distribute Awakening Serum through NPia. We have to cooperate.”
“A-Awakening Serum? Weren’t we going to distribute that through a vote?”
“That’s the one the Master gives out directly.”
The PD pointed at a particular sentence at the bottom of the email.
“This ultra-rare item, with a 0.01% chance of going to one person per day. Isn’t that worth more than 1,000 summons?”
“Uh, maybe… 100,000 summons?”
“…”
“I-It’s basically until Fermata shuts dow—AAAGH!”
“Watch your mouth.”
The Fermata PD grabbed the Planning Director by the head and turned it firmly.
“There is no such word as ‘shutdown’ in our vocabulary. Get the event ready. This is the Master trying to generate influx into our game out of goodwill.”
“In-influx…?”
“He’s not distributing Awakening Serums. He’s giving out a gift better than a thousand summons, once per day, to a single person.”
* * *
Distributing Awakening Serums.
The Master had already specified that they’d be given out via voting, so they couldn’t just casually hand them out again.
‘You can’t just throw around Awakening Serums like candy.’
Even if I had a surplus of Awakening Serums—even if I could go to Babel and blow all my Tower Coins on nothing but serums—I couldn’t just distribute them like that.
It’s not only about the value of the serum itself.
You also couldn’t create mass chaos through their use.
But—
‘As long as it’s not officially called an Awakening Serum giveaway…’
One person across the entire server.
A very special gift.
“Something like enough currency for 100,000 summons should do, right?”
“If it’s one person per server, then it’s basically a lottery.”
Exactly.
It would be disguised as a lottery where one person wins a special prize.
Even if it’s actually 1 or 3 people, NPia would handle the internal draw and system distribution.
“The important thing is the misunderstanding. Ah! The Master gave NPia a gift—an Awakening Serum! And NPia isn’t keeping it for themselves—they’re running an event to distribute it to players across the entire server!”
“And then it turns out it was just 100,000 summons’ worth of currency?”
“Exactly.”
“Won’t we get reported for false advertising?”
“Some might try, but the selection process should filter most of that out, right?”
Some will install the game just to try their luck—maybe even hoping to get an Awakening Serum.
“A newbie might walk away with 100,000 summons, but they can’t get the Awakening Serum.”
If someone who didn’t even finish Chapter 1 of the main story installed the game and received the serum, the community would riot.
“It’s a gift for people who’ve actually played. Doesn’t matter if they’re newbies or veterans—but if it goes to someone who hasn’t touched the game, that’s just wrong.”
“Then what about Awakening them afterward…?”
“I dunno. Maybe we shove the serum in their mouth while they’re asleep?”
Elaine let out a small laugh.
“What a lucky person that would be. Not only do they get enough currency for 100,000 summons, but they get Awakened as a reward for playing the game diligently.”
“Yeah. And… after distributing all those Elixirs, I realized something. It’s not just Elixirs we can hand out.”
“You’re going to distribute Awakening Serums too?”
“Subtly.”
I mimed pouring medicine into someone’s mouth like a shady character sneaking into someone’s room.
“Those chosen through election votes will be Awakened officially. But Awakening has always been something that just… happens, right?”
Humanity wouldn’t know.
“Was it the serum that triggered the Awakening? Or did it happen because a Tower like Babel was cleared? Who could say?”
Unless someone had security footage of someone sneaking in and stuffing an Awakening Serum in their mouth, they’d never know.
“And if enough data builds up about what kind of people are Awakening… people will start to notice.”
“Like… good people are the ones who Awaken?”
“Exactly. You make them think that.”
Awakening was always something that could happen to anyone.
That’s why someone like Ironblood became an Awakened too.
“It’s misdirection.”
But if, over time, the ones Awakening all seem to lead good, kind lives—
“Then it’ll feel like the world’s system has just evolved that way. It’s not the Master forcing it. It’s just the way the system is now.”
It’s all just a mass illusion.
“Master. What would you say if someone asked, ‘Are you doing this on purpose? Are you really not distributing Awakening Serums deliberately?’”
“I’ve prepared an answer. One only a true gamer would understand.”
If, by chance, someone asked—
– What do you think about only good people Awakening? About only gamers Awakening?!
Then I would simply answer.
“Dunno. Lol.”
