There’s no reason to hate a specific country.
Correction.
There could be a reason.
But it might be one that isn’t publicly or officially known.
Maybe someone was beaten to a pulp by someone from that country, or maybe they love Country B so much—who’s at odds with Country A—that they end up hating Country A.
“Damn it, what the hell is this?”
Here in China, a developer and CEO named Hawado couldn’t help but scoff at the email in front of him.
“So you’re saying I should release our game in Korea now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why should I?”
“Well…”
“I’m not Japanese, so why should I release our game in Korea?”
Hawado, born in the U.S. under the name Howard, was brought back to China by his parents and entered the Party. Now, fuming, he tapped the printed email on his desk.
“Reject it. The costs for translating it into Korean are way too high. Do you know how much it takes to launch a Korean service right now?”
“The Party said they’d cover the cost.”
“…What?”
Hawado couldn’t believe his ears.
“The Party?”
“Yes. They’ve officially announced that they’ll support Korean service for all mobile games operating within China.”
“Ha, as if that’s not just empty words. What sneaky excuse will they use to cut support later?”
“There are already people receiving translation support. Some are working directly with Korean game companies for joint launches, and even high-ranking Party officials have acquired publishing firms.”
“…You’re serious? Are you kidding me? Those bastards who did everything to sabotage my game when I tried launching in Japan!”
Crack!
Hawado crumpled the printed email and hurled it to the floor.
“Damn cowards! Now they’re bowing to Korea like this? Aren’t they ashamed of themselves?”
“That’s because of the Master’s…”
“Master, Master! Do you know how much damage that Master has done to us?!”
Hawado raged to the point of bursting a vein, but his secretary simply bowed silently.
There really hadn’t been any damage.
Hawado just hated Korea. That was all.
Even though he was Chinese, he was what some would call a textbook example of an extreme “Jpnboo.”
“This won’t do. You know the game we’re launching on mobile six months from now?”
“Huh? If you mean that game…”
“When we release it globally, leave out the Korean translation.”
“!!”
His secretary was visibly shaken.
“S-Sir, that’s not a good idea. Publishing a Korean version is now the global standard. Korean is considered the must-have language after English and Japanese.”
“We’re not even going to launch it in Korea anyway. What’s the point? Put a region lock on it too. As justification… Right. There’s that rating process. If you submit it for release approval, it shows up publicly, right? Tch.”
“T-That’s…”
In Korea, games must pass an age rating review before launch.
But during this process, the title of any game being rated is made public.
The actual reason for the rating, or the minutes of the review meeting—those details are anyone’s guess. But it was an open secret among insiders, a kind of unintended honey pot.
– So, what’s the name of the game up for review this time… Let’s see. Silk… something?
– S.K.S! S.K.S! S.K.S! S.K.S!
Some games intended for simultaneous global release had been accidentally leaked to players worldwide thanks to the Korean rating system.
“We’ve seen that before—surprise launches ruined because the game title got exposed during the rating process. We’ll just say that’s what we’re worried about.”
“Still, shouldn’t we at least prepare a little—”
“Forget it. No need. If we’re going to mess with them… Oh wait, maybe we should give them false hope. Add Korean subtitles to the YouTube promotional video. Heh, stupid Korean bastards. On launch day, they’ll realize they can’t even play it—”
Clunk.
“W-What was that?!”
“Hawado.”
Men in black suits and sunglasses appeared before him.
“Looks like the rumors were true—you’re a high-risk anti-Korean under Party surveillance. And now you’re trying to sabotage a launch in the Master’s country?”
“W-What… No way…”
“I’m sorry, sir…!”
Hawado pointed a trembling finger at his secretary, but she had already stepped behind the men in suits, eyes shut tight.
“We can’t let one man’s grudge cause problems for all of us!”
“You traitorous bitch!!”
“Get him.”
“AAAAAGH!!”
The men in suits tackled Hawado, slamming his face onto the desk.
“This… this can’t be happening! Why is this happening?!”
“It’s simple.”
One of the suited men spoke calmly.
“The Master is Korean.”
“Grgh…!”
“If we translated and published the game in Korean, and the Master ignored the waifus from your company—everyone would know you’re the reason. Hawado.”
“AAAAAGH!! How could this country end up like this?! Since when?!”
“Since when?”
Thud!
“Since the day the Master, the Great Hero, returned the skies to this land.”
* * *
“Congratulations, Commander. In China, they’re calling you Otaku Great Hero.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Just some over-the-top banter from the community. Half a joke.”
“So the other half’s serious.”
They always seemed to give epic titles to famous Korean gamers or Hunters in China, so… why did I get stuck with a nickname like that?
“I mean, I probably shouldn’t even be thinking this, but… It’s not something like Heavenly Demon, right?”
“You’ve done enough to be worshipped, sure. But I guess there’s still the perception that the Commander doesn’t fight directly on the front lines.”
“…Still, can’t they at least call me Commander in China? I did summon you, after all.”
“Hmm~”
Drei chuckled as she handed me a tablet.
“At least they don’t literally call you an ‘otaku’ in China. That’s already something to be thankful for. Especially now that the Party’s actively promoting subculture and cooperating as much as they can with Korea.”
“…I’m starting to think this isn’t even the China I remember.”
Maybe when I came down from the Tower of Babel, I ended up on an entirely different Earth.
The China I knew before I Awakened—like what I’d seen near Jeju Island—was the kind of place that tried to secretly deploy people in submarines to snipe Korea’s S-Rank Towers before anyone else could get there.
In terms of gaming, they’d made faster and more meaningful global sales progress than Korea, at least in the mobile sector. But that progress had come with its fair share of censorship.
Especially when Korean or Japanese games launched in China.
The textbook definition of double standards: if a Chinese company made something risqué, it’d be approved just fine. But if the same content came from overseas, they’d slap on mosaics or outright delete the characters.
That was just a year ago.
But now—
“Commander. Did you know they’re being super lenient with Korean games right now?”
“That’s a good thing… right?”
“Yup. Enpia’s new game is heading into the Chinese market almost without resistance. It’s so streamlined that the translators are actually waiting because Korean-to-Chinese localization is lagging behind.”
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
The world’s really changed.
If NPia, the company behind Elaine and Kiharu, is growing, that’s good for me too—but knowing I had a hand in that? Kinda hits different.
“…Drei, how’s your side of things going?”
“Hmm, we’re finally starting to feel like a full development team. We were on life support, but thanks to your emergency boost, we surged up—and now we’re kinda stuck.”
“Why?”
“Game’s too hard?”
“Ah.”
Yeah, I get it.
The game Drei comes from is technically a gun-based bishoujo game, but unlike idle clickers, it demanded god-tier control and stamina from the Commander.
“Drei… wait, are you prepping that thing?”
“What thing?”
“Putting on a concert.”
“…Not a concert. But I think we are prepping a collab.”
Drei’s tone stiffened a little.
“A collab?”
“Yeah. With an old Korean mobile game that shut down a while ago.”
“Shut down…?”
“Mhm. Like… seven years ago?”
“…”
A collab with a dead mobile game?
“No way a government-monitored dev studio would do something that reckless. Even if the CEO’s super avant-garde, it’s not even their own country’s game. It’s a Korean one, and one that’s dead?”
“Yeah. Do you know this one?”
“…”
She showed me a PV on YouTube.
There were girls dressed in what looked like frilly wedding dresses, singing into microphones.
“Commander, were you into idols or something?”
“Not idols, exactly—I liked rhythm games.”
“Hee~”
“But seriously, why are they doing this kind of collab? What’s with the wedding dresses?”
“Because I’m going to be the idol wearing one.”
“…Huh?”
That response came out in full formal tone by reflex.
“Wait, what did you just say?”
“I mean, they’re releasing a wedding dress skin. Like this.”
Drei snapped her fingers.
…
…
“What do you think?”
“They added it with the new Oath of the Stars system.”
“…Drei.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh, that… chest armor. What even is that?”
“Oh, that?”
Drei nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“That’s just how it is now.”
