The greatest talent genius of all time

Episode 2

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The sound of his heartbeat rang in his ears.

“Ah, damn! I forgot to record—”

A wave of regret washed over him.

If only he had recorded that run…

He could have uploaded it on YouTube and racked up views in no time.

But then, a thought struck him.

“Wait… Did I just break the record?”

His mind flashed back to his old workplace.

A certain colleague, always bragging about his top game records, came to mind.

“Ah, too bad… Wait. I can just do it again, right?”

This wasn’t a one-time fluke. He had mastered the pattern.

If he could beat that guy’s record and upload it online…?

Oh, the reaction would be hilarious.

Especially from that guy, Kim Geuntaek.

He’d probably lose his mind trying to reclaim his spot.

“Heh. Let’s see you beat this.”

With a smirk, he launched the screen recording software.

His fingers tightened around the mouse and keyboard.

The boss fight pattern was engraved in his mind.

Click! Tap! Click!

His movements were faster this time. More precise.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally stretched his arms and checked the leaderboard.

[1st Place: S-J – 4 min 30 sec]

[2nd Place: S-1 – 4 min 36 sec]

[3rd Place: S-2 – 4 min 43 sec]

He had dominated the rankings.

After a few trial runs, he shaved off extra seconds and even achieved a perfect run.

One thing was clear—practice made a huge difference.

“4 minutes 30 seconds? I can go even lower.”

His stomach grumbled.

He hadn’t eaten anything all day.

“Guess it’s time for a break.”

He boiled two packs of ramen, then sat down to watch the recording.

The total footage was 10 minutes long.

Slurp!

The hot noodles vanished into his mouth as he thought about editing.

“I’ll make four videos from this—two full runs and two shorts.”

Highlights, background music, flashy effects.

His fingers flew across the keyboard as he started editing.

This was going to be fun.

“The Perfect Payback”

“Gotta repeat the best moments, add some background music… highlight reel style.”

His fingers danced across the keyboard, effortlessly piecing together the first video.

Before, he would have agonized for hours, wondering how to arrange the clips or what editing style to use.

But today?

The pure joy of humiliating that arrogant jerk filled his head with endless ideas.

Within a couple of hours, he had edited all four videos.

Then, he created a new gaming channel named [Boss Slayer] and uploaded them.

The video title?

“Breaking the Unbreakable Record”

With a yawn, he stretched his arms.

“Man… What a busy day.”

Even though the sun hadn’t set yet, his eyelids felt heavy.

— Ping!

A message popped up.

[Ju Myungseok: What’s up?]

Seeing the name, a smile crept onto his lips.

His best friend of ten years.

[Ju Myungseok: You sent your grandpa off properly?]
 [Songjun: Yeah, thanks for coming.]
 [Ju Myungseok: Of course. By the way, heard you quit the Kim’s Game Project?]
 [Songjun: Quit? Pfft. I walked out on my own terms.]
 [Ju Myungseok: Perfect timing. My company’s looking for an editor. Let’s talk tomorrow.]

Songjun fist-pumped the air.

His friend worked at Starburst, a major MCN (Multi-Channel Network).

Things were finally looking up.

***

9:00 PM sharp.

The broadcast screen lit up.

One monitor showed his facecam and game overlay, the other had his stream chat and editing tools.

After checking everything, he turned on the camera and mic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the unstoppable force—Kim Geuntaek—is here!”

With a loud, confident shout, Kim Geuntaek kicked off his stream.

The chat erupted instantly.

[Kim-ha!]
 [Right on time as always!]
 [The legend has arrived!]

Praises flooded in, hyping up his god-tier reflexes and skill.

He leaned back, smugly watching the chat.

Then, as expected, a message popped up.

[So, why’d you reject that Legendary League pro offer?]

He grinned.

Baiting the audience was an art.

Revealing big news too fast killed the hype.

Time to milk it.

“What? A pro offer?”

He smirked.

“Come on… Of course, I got one.”

“Well, pros and amateurs are different, after all.”

“But you’re basically a gaming god!”

At the mere mention of the topic, the chat exploded into a heated debate.

He chuckled. “Oh, I did get offers! But that was ages ago. Old news! But how’d you guys find out? I never told anyone. Wait… Are you an insider?”

[Of course, KimGameMaster!]

[Legendary! The king of physical gaming!]

[So you’re saying… even among pros, you’d be top-tier?]

[Man, with those reflexes, it’s obvious.]

[Wait, did an industry insider just leak this?]

He smirked and played along. “Yeah, a few teams reached out. One was just a tryout, but two actually sent real offers. But you know me—I love my freedom! No way I’d survive in that kind of environment. And that, my friends, is how the legendary KimGeunTae was born!”

The chat cheered. His smile deepened.

Not just because he was having fun—but because everything was going exactly as planned.

This will be great for my channel. And if I later challenge an actual pro and put on a good show… even better.

The viewers kept piling in.

“Alright! Enough talk—let’s game! Today’s challenge: a tough-as-nails roguelike. They say it’s brutally difficult.”

[Hard mode, obviously?]

“Duh! Normal is too easy. A real game should test your limits. Think Fallen Kingdom on hard mode.”

Another subtle flex.

Just as he was about to start—

[Hey, bro, check this out.]

(A viewer donated 10,000 won.)

“Oh? A donation? Thanks for the 10K!”

With the donation, a short video played.

“Huh? What’s this?”

The one-minute clip played on screen.

He leaned in. If a viewer specifically paid to show it, then it had to be worth watching.

His brows furrowed.

The gameplay was clean. Too clean.

The movements—smoother than his own.

A strange uneasiness crept up his spine.

The clip ended with a bold message:

[Hard Mode. No Damage. Perfect Play.]

The chat exploded.

[WHAT?! No damage?? On Hard Mode??]

[Bro, this isn’t even Normal Mode—it’s HARD.]

[Who the hell is this player?!]

[Yo, forget the skills—LOOK AT THE TIME.]

[4 MINUTES 30 SECONDS?! No hits, perfect run?!]

[Wait… Didn’t Geuntaek literally say he couldn’t do that?]

The stream descended into chaos.

His gameplay wasn’t the main event anymore.

The donated video was.

A rage bubbled inside him.

[Ban that bastard. Or mute him. Just get rid of him.]

He calmly sent a DM to his chat manager, then put on a fake laugh.

“Haha, relax, everyone. Remember, no mentioning other streamers—that’s the rule! But hey, I gotta admit… That was impressive.”

His fists clenched under the desk.

—Not another streamer, though?

—Only a few videos on their channel.

Damn, Game Master, what now? The big talk was shattered.

—Hard mode, no potion, perfect play. Crazy. Just crazy.

—Wow, is there even a person who can do that? No potion, perfect play?

—And when restarting, they just threw away potions. That means they never even planned to use them.

It felt like a mistake not stopping the chat earlier. The viewers had already shifted their attention to that video. If he reacted poorly, it would ruin the stream’s mood even more.

“Should we check the video? Boss battle? Wow, this channel is full of confidence.”

Curious, Kim Geuntaek opened the channel. But there was barely anything—just two regular videos and two shorts. And the channel name felt off, as if mocking self-confidence.

“Hard mode, no potion, perfect play. 4 minutes 30 seconds. This really is a crazy record.”

The video was only a few hours old, but the views and subscribers were growing too fast for a first upload.

“Damn. I don’t know who this person is, but seriously…”

If it weren’t for the stream, he would have yelled at the managers, asking why they didn’t check this earlier.

As the five-minute video neared its end, he searched for any flaw, any mistake to point out. But there was none. The play was flawless. Even a timer was on-screen, proving there was no editing trick.

[SafeAsset has donated 100,000 won.]

—Kim, can you clear hard mode in 4 minutes 30 seconds?

The chat exploded with messages, waiting for Kim Geuntaek’s response.

Before the stream, he had even received a pro offer, so he had laid down all possible excuses. But now, none of them mattered.

The longer he stayed silent, the more the donation amount grew. 30, then 50, now nearing 100.

—Huh?

—Game Master, why so quiet?

—LOL, he’s shocked that someone has better skills. A pro offer? That other guy should go pro instead!

—That was insane. My best was 4 minutes 56 seconds, and they just casually pulled off three frame-perfect moves in a row.

—This is a real skill, haha. True god-tier gaming.

He was completely trapped. If he refused, disappointed fans would leave. If he accepted, there was no guarantee he could do it in 4 minutes 30 seconds.

Even if he got close, if it wasn’t a no-potion, perfect run, the comparison would still be brutal.

“Damn, damn, damn. That video should never have been watched!”

Cold sweat dripped down his back and temples.

His 4 minutes 58 seconds record had already been the result of insane practice and research.

But now, with the donation passing 1.5 million won, he swallowed hard.

There was time. A full 24 hours.

No backing down now. “Forget today’s game! New plan—starting now, a 24-hour, non-stop Forgotten King challenge!”

A poisoned chalice, but if he succeeded, the reward would be sweet.

In the end, Kim Geuntaek had no choice but to take the bait.

Without realizing that the owner of that record-breaking video… was Song Jun.