FBPP C9

Chapter 9

ChocoPiePlease was still spouting off about mentors and nonsense, but Ji-han ignored him. The constant white text in chat was irritating, so he simply turned chat off entirely. With teammates leaking information to the enemy anyway, strategic chatter was pointless. There was no reason to keep staring at text that only hurt his eyes.

The flames of Radier bless the Red Team!

OrchardGrandson has destroyed an enemy turret.
JiniHaniJihani has destroyed an enemy turret.

After slaying the buff monster, Ji-han and the ranged DPS each took a turret on opposite ends of the map. Judging by the game clock, only two secondary turrets, a base summon, and the main tower remained in the enemy’s base.

The enemy melee DPS had already respawned, but with no support, all he could do was cower beneath his shield. The next respawn would come in ten seconds, while the enemy ranged had about thirty to go.

It was too risky to push for the summon with the ranged DPS so far away, but the two secondary turrets could definitely be cleared.

JiniHaniJihani has destroyed an enemy turret.
OrchardGrandson has destroyed an enemy turret.

With the turrets cleaned up and the ranged and support retreating safely as seen on the minimap, Ji-han turned down a side path to recall with the sub-tank. He needed to heal and wait for his doping items’ cooldowns anyway.

But suddenly, a net flew out from behind.

He dodged instinctively, then snapped his aim around. It was the enemy sub-tank—Juno, MondayToSunday.

What the hell was this lunatic doing? Had he gone mad because the game was slipping away?

The enemy ranged was still dead, and their melee hadn’t even left the shield. Juno was literally just walking out alone, tossing nets, and spamming emotes.

Was he throwing because of internal conflict? Ji-han frowned. He wasn’t about to dive into the enemy base under tower buffs, so he ignored it.

But then the guy threw another net. This time, he dashed forward, creeping just inside range, and started flinging skills half-heartedly like he was toying around.

What the hell was this guy’s deal? If he wanted to fight, then fight. But this half-assed poking was just annoying. Ji-han tossed back a lazy skill, saw Juno stagger, and immediately returned to base.

After that, the game smoothed out. For reasons unknown, ChocoPiePlease stopped spamming pings, and the sub-tank filled in the missing role. Ji-han shifted strategy—rather than diving enemy DPS, he worked with his ranged DPS to focus down the incoming tank. With Ji-han feeding kills to the ranged, their growth accelerated.

As the enemy melee’s early-game strength faded and their own ranged hit full build, the match quickly turned in their favor despite the missing main tank.

WIN!

JiniHaniJihani (Velatan) / 9 Kills 1 Death 10 Assists / Damage Dealt: 79.1k / Damage Taken: 10.1k / Commendations: 3 / MVP

Everyone except ChocoPiePlease—who immediately rage-quit—commended Ji-han. Even without seeing the chat, the clear thumbs-up icons conveyed their gratitude.

Back in the lobby, Ji-han checked his mailbox. Since he hadn’t yet collected all nine fox tails, he’d developed a habit of checking trades daily. He spotted a seller, sent a reply to arrange a time, then opened his friend list.

The piled-up friend requests gave him a pang of nostalgia. On his HanJiHanJang account, friend and party invites had always been set to auto-decline. But on this account, he’d never bothered to adjust the settings.

He mass-declined all requests, then switched the options to block both friend and party invites. His cursor hovered briefly over guild invites but, after a pause, left them open before closing the menu.

Hours of grinding had flown by—it was already 1 a.m. He wanted to play more, but he had plans in the morning.

After shutting down the PC completely, Ji-han stretched. Thinking about tomorrow’s schedule already made him feel tired.

“Hey, Han-ah, over here!”

The franchise café was crowded for a Monday morning. Even with a cap and mask on, Ji-han was spotted right away by the man already waiting inside, who raised his arm eagerly.

“What the—do I really stand out that much?”
“I mean, it’s obvious you’re not just a regular guy, but with all that covering, no one could tell exactly who. I just know you too well.”
“Then how’d you recognize me so fast?”

On the table before the man sat a plain yogurt smoothie—exactly Ji-han’s taste.

“Like I said, I see you all the time. Of course I’d know.”
“Really? Still, you should’ve rested longer. I gave you that vacation for a reason.”

This was his manager, Tae-hyun, who had worked with Ji-han for years. After finishing his European recital tour in late April, Ji-han had given Tae-hyun a break, feeling guilty that he always had to follow him around Europe and the U.S. despite having a fiancée and upcoming wedding.

“Forget it, man. I need to make money too, if I’m gonna get married. Do you even know how expensive weddings are? At least give me a fat bonus.”
“What—do I not already pay you enough?”

Ji-han’s eyes lit up as he pulled out his phone, ready to wire money right then if Tae-hyun just said the word. Tae-hyun waved his hands in disbelief.

“Hey, hey! You’ve got no sense of saving, do you? I was joking! But seriously, when I saw your coffee commercial on TV, I realized how nerve-wracking it is to leave you alone. I almost felt like your dad.”
“What are you, my father? Quit being creepy.”
“Cut the gross talk.”

Ji-han chuckled into his smoothie. Among all the people he met outside, none made him feel as comfortable as Tae-hyun.

“Anyway, I heard about it. You’ve got a lot of offers—variety shows and such. Too bad I was on vacation….”
“What’s there to worry about? I handled it fine. I’m not a kid.”
“You actually listened properly?”
“Uh….”

Ji-han spun the straw around in his drink, clearly proving Tae-hyun’s suspicion right.

“You just tuned it out because you weren’t interested, huh?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I already saw sarcastic comments about how I’m not even a real celebrity but did a coffee commercial. Why would I do TV too?”
“So you ignore positive feedback but make sure to read the nasty stuff?”
“What can I do if it’s right in front of me? I didn’t think much of it anyway, so don’t worry.”

He was used to people gossiping however they pleased. When he was younger, they’d asked why someone with his looks would waste them on piano. After winning competitions, they whispered he was overrated. Back then, headlines mocked that he played piano with his face.

Later, when classical masters praised him and his world tours began, they dug into his background, sneering that he was just a spoiled rich kid. At the same time, they plastered the “perfect young master” image on him.

They criticized him for clinging to outdated mystique, yet still demanded the flawless, enigmatic Seo Ji-han wrapped in mystery.

So Ji-han had lived his whole life as others wanted. Whether it was natural talent for acting or just practice, he found it easier than playing piano to put on a mask.

Not that he pitied himself. He was genuinely fine. Stress built up, sure, but he released it through gaming. And really, what job had no downsides? Public scrutiny and hate comments were a fair trade for immense wealth and fame.

“Still, no one feels good hearing insults, you know. If you keep living like this, it’ll rot your heart.”
“It doesn’t bother me much. And if I suddenly stop now, won’t I just get bashed from all sides anyway?”

His lips curled in amusement as he lowered his mask to sip. Tae-hyun sighed, sliding a yellow envelope across the table.

“Just do one show. Either a talk show or a reality show.”
“Come on, I already got roasted just for a coffee commercial.”
“I thought you didn’t care?”

Ji-han raised his brows, flipping through the envelope.

“What’s this about suddenly doing TV? Weren’t we supposed to keep the mystery forever?”
“You’ve hardly ever done interviews in Korea. There are pieces in foreign magazines, but nothing in your home country. Think about how that looks.”
“An interview? Ah… the one already coming out?”

After a performance, Ji-han had unwittingly been pulled into an interview with the legendary maestro Edmund Lausen by a German magazine. He hadn’t planned on it, but once spotted, he couldn’t decline.

“They’re publishing it in the August issue. If you want coverage in Korea before that, you need to shoot now.”
“Couldn’t I just do a Korean interview?”
“Are you kidding? The dates will be right there. It’ll only look like a last-minute patch-up. And an interview with Edmund Lausen carries more weight than a random Korean one.”

If it seemed like Seo Ji-han chose interview partners by clout—or worse, that he was slighting his home country—it would be disastrous. With his “golden young master” image, he couldn’t risk it. Better to break the mystique with his first TV appearance, drown the issue in hype, and spin it as giving something special to his Korean fans.

“Goddammit… this is getting messy. What exactly is this reality show thing? What do they observe?”
“Your daily life. But I recommend the talk show. What would you even do at home—play games?”
“You want me to reveal my private life to cover the interview? Then shouldn’t I go all in with a home-reveal reality show?”
“Each has pros and cons. Doing both would wear out your image. Just pick whichever appeals more.”

Both felt wrong. Keeping up the refined pianist act on TV felt like a scam, but showing his messy gamer life was no better.

Ji-han scanned the program introductions and filming schedules. Without hesitation, he declared:

“Hyung, I’ll do the talk show.”