Chapter 1

Prologue

Sometimes, memories of my previous life surface.

Even though I never asked for them.

"Child, would you like to come with me?"

A robe embroidered with red flowers along its sleeves entered his view.

The robe fluttered softly yet looked immaculate, and the middle-aged man's smile was full of playful warmth, meant to reassure the child.

In the stillness of the dead of night.

The middle-aged man approached the child bound in chains and slowly reached out his hand.

The child recoiled, pressing against the floor and stumbling backward.

The rough stone beneath his palm was cold.

A black market that only opened at midnight.

And among all the wares there, the child occupied the very bottom rung.

"Hahaha. Don't worry. I came to take you home."

The middle-aged man wore a benevolent smile as he leisurely kept his hand extended.

As time passed, the child realized the man standing before him meant no harm and slowly lifted his head.

But the child could not look directly at the middle-aged man.

Seeing this, the man assumed the child avoided eye contact because of the relentless beatings he had suffered, so he turned his gaze toward the cold corpse of the black-market trader.

However, the child's eyes—blurred and unfocused to the middle-aged man—were clearly fixed on something beyond the outstretched hand.

Not the hand.

Not the gentle smile.

Not the red plum blossoms.

But the sword hanging at the man's waist.

The child was staring at the sword.

And the moment he realized that he himself had once been that child staring at the sword in those memories—

Seo Jun awoke from sleep.

"Ah…"

The morning sunlight slipping through the curtains naturally twisted his face into a grimace.

And it wasn't just because of the sunlight.

"It's been a while since I had that dream."

Jin Seo Jun.

He didn't know why, who, or how it happened, but at a young age he awakened memories of his previous life.

He saw the past of a prodigy rescued by a wandering Taoist.

The efforts of a promising young martial artist who was both admired and envied.

The burden carried by one of the great pillars supporting the orthodox sects.

And in that previous life, he had been—

The Sword God .

That was what they called him.

"What's the point of having been the Sword God in a past life?"

Seo Jun chuckled bitterly as he drew back the curtains and started making his bed.

Autumn of his twenty-third year.

It was the beginning of another ordinary day.

Or so he thought.

Ding.

Until a text message arrived.

Chapter 1

Remembering a previous life isn't exactly a good thing.

"Hey, wanna hit the capsule room after class?"

"Again today? We went yesterday too."

"Yeah. So what's your answer?"

"Obviously we're going. Why even ask?"

Listening to the whispering conversation between the students sitting behind him, Seo Jun—an utterly ordinary college student except for the fact that he remembered his previous life—quietly thought to himself.

"That will conclude today's lecture…"

Class ended.

As always, the professor's closing words were drowned out by the sound of students packing their bags and getting up.

Seo Jun leisurely gathered his things and rose from his seat.

"Hey, hey. If we're late, there might not be any capsule spots left."

"What are we, middle schoolers? Since when do seats disappear after school?"

"Then?"

"Whether you get there early or late, there are never any spots anyway. So relax."

Are they really that popular?

Well…

Seo Jun nodded as he recalled seven years ago.

Even back then, getting a spot in a capsule room had been hell.

'And capsule popularity's only gone up every year since then…'

"No. Forget it."

Losing interest, Seo Jun headed home.

As soon as he opened the door and stepped inside, his roommate—and practically his only friend—was sitting on the sofa watching TV.

"Yo, you're back? It's the All-Star Match. Wanna watch together?"

His name was Kim Tae Woo.

Seo Jun's high school classmate and a seven-year veteran streamer who consistently maintained an average audience of around ten thousand viewers.

Ever since high school, Tae Woo had lived a life where he slept at school and streamed from home.

As a result, every exam season he got kicked out of his house and crashed in Seo Jun's room. That eventually led to them living together after graduation when Seo Jun moved out on his own.

"I'm good. Watch it yourself. It's boring."

Seo Jun replied bluntly.

"Boring? You even know what fun is?"

"What, isn't it all the same anyway?"

"Sure, it's predictable. Once you try it, virtual reality can feel pretty similar no matter what game it is. Even I think that sometimes. But listen, Seo Jun."

Tae Woo let out a sigh.

"Dude."

"What?"

"You've never even tried a capsule game, you bastard. I've been begging you to join me just once, at least log in once, and you keep dodging me!"

A device capable of immersing a person's entire body into another world.

The capsule.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the world had been swept up in capsule fever for years.

Capsules recreated famous real-world locations, satisfying the travel cravings of busy modern people with no time to spare.

Shopping, education, medicine, automobiles—countless industries were being transformed by virtual reality.

But the most popular field by far was entertainment.

Games.

As titles boasting overwhelming realism and flashy skills flooded the market one after another, the popularity of capsule games only continued to rise.

The All-Star Match Tae Woo was currently watching was an event match for the famous virtual reality game The League.

"I told you, I tried capsule games before."

"Then why don't you play anymore?"

"Virtual reality's dangerous."

"What's dangerous about it? There's only been one person who ever collapsed in a capsule. Just one person in the entire world!"

Hearing that, Seo Jun casually changed the subject without much reaction.

"Really? Anyway, wanna go eat dinner later? Mom said she made braised short ribs."

"Ooh, can't say no to galbijjim."

Tae Woo grinned broadly.

Simple-minded guy.

Shaking his head, Seo Jun went into his room.

After unpacking his things and changing clothes, he sat down at his desk, turned on his computer, and clicked into the search bar.

He had suddenly become curious whether Tae Woo was telling the truth.

Capsule. Virtual reality. Accident.

Combining the three keywords, Seo Jun searched the internet.

'So it really was only one.'

He found an article from seven years ago about a sixteen-year-old student collapsing while using a capsule.

He didn't even need to click the article to confirm the details.

'There's probably no one who knows it better than I do.'

Sigh.

Letting out a deep breath, Seo Jun leaned back in his chair.

'Why did I even play that game?'

That's why—

Remembering a previous life wasn't exactly a blessing.

Maybe it would've been different if his previous life had been some peaceful farmer born in an era of prosperity, harvesting rice in quiet fields.

But instead, he had lived in a place filled with barbarians who would break into a blazing sword dance the moment eyes met—like men and women in a ballroom crossing gazes.

And he had stood at the very center of it all.

'It really was savage.'

In his previous life, death had been closer than his own shadow.

Loss had been more common than pebbles on the roadside.

Most of all, when he was young, he couldn't help but doubt whether those memories were real.

There was no proof he wasn't insane.

Then, when he turned sixteen—

He accidentally stepped into virtual reality for the first time and grasped a sword inside it.

Even now, he remembered that moment vividly.

The sensation in his hand was awkward.

Yet unbearably familiar.

The motions.

The sword paths.

He swung the blade according to the movements that endlessly lingered in his mind.

And that day, he became certain those memories were not fiction.

'Maybe that's why?'

Virtual reality games had been surprisingly enjoyable.

And freeing.

But.

Seo Jun, who had been enjoying virtual reality, collapsed less than a year later, bleeding from his nose and mouth.

Inside a capsule.

The cause was his abnormally low synchronization rate.

Synchronization rate was the numerical value that measured how realistically a person perceived the virtual world. The higher the value, the easier it was to adapt to virtual reality and the lower the fatigue.

'Unfortunately, Seo Jun, your synchronization rate is far too low. The link is unstable.'

That was what he had heard after undergoing a detailed examination at the research center.

'How low is it?'

'10. It's probably the lowest in the world. You must've suffered from severe dizziness all this time… I honestly don't know how you managed to play games in this condition…'

A synchronization rate of 10.

Considering the average was 60, and the next-lowest recorded value besides his was 42, Seo Jun's number was absurdly low.

'If you continue entering virtual reality in the future… your brain will probably be in danger. Like how mismatched voltage between a charger and electronic device damages its circuits, your brain simply isn't compatible with virtual reality. It could suffer severe damage…'

Was it because he uniquely remembered his previous life?

Or was his constitution simply abnormal?

That was how Seo Jun became the one and only person in the world to collapse inside a capsule.

'We're sorry. For your safety, we have no choice but to suspend your access to virtual reality services. We truly apologize.'

She explained that this was the first time they had ever encountered a case like his, and also the first time they had ever banned someone from using the service.

It was an obvious decision, and Seo Jun accepted it calmly.

It wasn't like he would die just because he couldn't play games.

Even so, the emotion he felt now—

Was it regret?

Or…

"…I don't know."

Just as Seo Jun muttered that and shut down his computer—

Ding.

His phone notification sounded.

The moment he checked it, his eyes widened.

"Huh?"

[Hello, Mr. Seo Jun. This is Oh Ji Hye, Director of the Surface Korea R&D Center. If you have time, would you mind visiting our research center again sometime?]

The next day.

Whiiirrr.

The capsule cover opened, and Seo Jun opened his eyes.

"How did it feel using virtual reality again after such a long time?"

A woman who looked to be in her late thirties approached the slightly dizzy Seo Jun, who had just exited virtual reality.

Oh Ji Hye.

The research director who had first met him years ago while examining him.

Seo Jun flexed his fingers a few times before answering.

"It feels fine. Definitely less dizzy than when I used it back then."

The reason she had invited Seo Jun back to the research center was simple.

They had finally found a way for him to dive into virtual reality without damaging his brain.

After seven whole years.

"Hehe. Right? The new capsule model you just used was designed so people with low synchronization rates experience as little discomfort as possible, while people with high synchronization rates can achieve maximum performance!"

"I see."

"Yes. Could you come this way?"

She guided Seo Jun over to her desk.

Then seated him beside her.

"If you look at this graph here…"

Though he understood absolutely nothing from the graph, her explanation boiled down to this:

As long as he did not exceed a fixed daily time limit, he could use capsules safely.

However, there was another condition besides the time restriction.

Namely—

"Unfortunately, only this newly released capsule model will be safe for you. We completely ignored cost and focused solely on maximizing performance when developing it."

So it took something built to that extent just for him to barely use virtual reality.

Seo Jun smiled bitterly and asked the obvious question.

"How much is it?"

Her earlier remark about ignoring cost bothered him.

Sure enough, the price she quoted far exceeded his expectations.

"Well… it's 100 million won. Haha, yeah, the price is a little steep, right?"

Steep?

Low-end models cost only a few million won, and even premium models rarely exceeded thirty million.

'But 100 million…'

For professionals—like pro gamers whose victories and defeats were decided in tenths of a second—it might be worth the investment.

But for a mere hobby?

Seo Jun thought it was absurdly expensive.

"So, what will you do?"

Just as he was about to say it probably wasn't possible after all, Oh Ji Hye cautiously opened her mouth again.

"100 million won is definitely a burdensome amount. Which is why… have you heard of the The League tournament held by Travel?"

League of Streaming.

Abbreviated as LiOS.

It was the largest The League competition outside the official professional league, where streamers competed against one another.

Thanks to Tae Woo, Seo Jun knew a little about it and nodded.

"This time, Surface became one of the sponsors. So the new capsule model has been added as the grand prize."

"Ah…"

"If you decide to participate in the tournament, we'll specially lend you the capsule for free until the competition ends."

Seo Jun's thoughts immediately became complicated.

In other words, win it and pay us back later?

Streamer.

Even though someone close to him literally worked in that profession, Seo Jun had never once considered it for himself.

"But don't even think about becoming a pro gamer. Pros practically live inside capsules all day, which is why they undergo regular examinations every month. If you choose that kind of profession, your brain won't endure it. Even if capsules with better performance than this are developed in the future."

So that's how it was.

Seo Jun fell silent for a moment before choosing the safest possible response with a smile.

"Thank you. I'll think about it."

"Director, why did you do that?"

After Seo Jun left, a regular researcher who had been secretly listening to the conversation approached her in the lab.

"Do what?"

Oh Ji Hye feigned ignorance.

"The free rental. And the streamer tournament thing too. Why say all that? I know he's a special case, but there's no need to go that far for one student."

"Kid, Surface never lets even a single customer slip away."

"You're saying that when you threaten to suspend service the moment pro players annoy you even a little by using 'safety concerns' as an excuse?"

The researcher spoke incredulously, but Oh Ji Hye brushed it off casually.

"Well, I just hate seeing talent go to waste."

"…What? But even if you give him those benefits, do you really think that student can win League of Streaming? Heck, can he even qualify?"

At the researcher's words, Oh Ji Hye recalled the first time she saw Seo Jun seven years ago.

She remembered how shocked she had been that such an extraordinary user had a synchronization rate of only 10.

And even now—

'His skills haven't dulled. No, if anything…'

Oh Ji Hye's gaze shifted sideways.

There, today's test data for Seo Jun was displayed.

Not only his physical response measurements, but also the results of several virtual reality tests.

Simple tests.

Yet precisely because they were simple, the results were crystal clear.

"Honestly, qualifying might be difficult."

After all, he would need recognition and a certain level of popularity as a streamer.

But if he managed to enter—

"I think he could win."