Chapter Text
The morning sounds of the city are so annoying for Donghyuck. Instead of birds chirping in the sky, he’s greeted by a discordant medley of car horns blaring, motorcycle engines rumbling, and his own alarm shrieking like it has a personal vendetta. It’s a soul-crushing reminder that he has to abandon his warm bed to face another day in corporate purgatory.
Dragging himself out of bed is a saga in itself. A half-hearted shower, a sluggish attempt at dressing up, and a defeated glance in the mirror later, Donghyuck finally looks halfway presentable in his stiff suit and too-tight tie, definitely not ready for his eight-hour sentence in a gray cubicle.
Lucky enough he has a nice roommate that makes him some good breakfast before he goes to his impending doom. Chenle is like an angel, like the light at the end of the tunnel. He’s all smiles and sunshine, even petting Donghyuck’s hair like he's the household dog, though that honor actually goes to Daegal, who’s always dragging herself from her little lilac dog bed to their feet at the table, only to flop right back to sleep, already exhausted by existing.
While Donghyuck works in a big tech corporation that looks like a nightmare in grayscale, lined with identical cubicles that resemble a high-tech prison. Chenle, on the other hand, gets to work at a game development company, where every day is a casual Friday and the decor is a riot of colors that could put a rainbow to shame. So, while Chenle skips out the door in his graphic tees and jeans, ready to code or brainstorm or whatever it is happy gaming developers do, Donghyuck slouches his way to work under his own personal storm cloud, one gray suit at a time to face the monochrome walls of corporate life.
When Donghyuck arrives at Mirae’s building, he’s always greeted with the same boring sleek, modern deco that makes him sigh every time he walks in. The place is impressive in a futuristic, minimalistic way, which makes sense for a tech giant famed for its high-end computers, so naturally, the building is a poster child for sterile, modern aesthetics.
Every morning, he’s greeted by the same first-floor receptionist, who has shiny black hair and one of those strikingly handsome faces you don’t forget. With razor-sharp features and a polite smile, the man gives Donghyuck a quick nod of acknowledgment.
And while Donghyuck’s seen this guy every day for the past eight months, he has zero clue what his name is. But he figures the receptionist probably doesn’t know his name either, Mirae has more employees than a college campus, and they’re all too busy to notice one more suit in the sea.
When Donghyuck enters the elevator, on a good day, it takes a solid 61.5 seconds of his life to go from the ground floor to his cubicle on the 37th floor. But if the elevator stops to pick up extra people, like someone hops on at the 12th floor or, worse, the 20th, that 61.5 seconds can stretch to a torturous 90 seconds of watching the numbers flicker and people chit-chat.
He’s done the math, complete with hypothetical variables. It’s amazing how creative you can get when you’re actively trying to avoid thinking about the eight hours of dull monotony waiting for you on the other side of the elevator doors.
But Mirae isn’t all doom and gloom. Sure, it’s mostly doom and gloom, but there’s at least one bright spot besides the paycheck.
“Hyuck!” Jaemin greets him with arms wide open, grinning like he’s just seen his long-lost sibling instead of his barely-awake coworker. “Morning, sunshine!” he chirps, his enthusiasm is almost aggressive, bright enough to sear holes through the depressing cubicle walls.
Now, Jaemin is the only coworker Donghyuck actually enjoys. He is loud, yes, but he’s also, miraculously, quiet. And while that sounds like a blatant contradiction, Donghyuck swears it’s true. It’s like having a human alarm clock and a meditation app rolled into one. He’s loud when he needs to be and quietly comforting when he doesn’t.
And Jaemin is about as subtle as a foghorn, so the minute his eyelashes start fluttering in that overly innocent way, Donghyuck knows there’s trouble coming his way.
“Just spit it out, Jaemin,” Donghyuck sighs, already feeling the weight of whatever disaster awaits him, slinging his bag onto his desk.
“Not even a ‘good morning’?” Jaemin pouts, batting his lashes even harder.
“How am I supposed to say ‘good morning’ when I know you’re about to shatter it? And it’s only 8 a.m.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Jaemin says with a dismissive wave. “It’s honestly not that big of a problem.”
“Really?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.
Jaemin’s fingers slip through his freshly dyed brown hair. “It’s more of a minor inconvenience,” he hedges. “But, you know, one that could use your incredible forgiveness.”
“Hit me. I can take it,” Donghyuck sighs, bracing himself.
“So... I might’ve kind of forgot to process that contract renewal for the building renovation company for you,” Jaemin says, his voice trailing off. “And the contract, um, expires in two days. And, since it takes three days for this process to reach our boss' hands, you’re going to have to personally take it up to his office and ask for his signature,” his lips flatten into a thin line, like he’s bracing for impact.
And, once again, Mirae means the epitome of stress in Donghyuck’s life.
Mirae is the definition of an empire, it's got its tentacles in markets all over the world, from South Korea to God knows where. The company’s reign is practically ancient, all thanks to its legendary founder, Lee Wonpil. But, as powerful as he is, even Wonpil can’t escape aging. Nowadays, he’s more “legendary in name” than in office. He’s still the CEO, sure, but he’s mostly spared the day-to-day grind, partly due to health and partly due to the fact that he's probably over this corporate life just as much as Donghyuck is.
Since Wonpil’s oldest son traded boardrooms for grapevines and decided to sell lemons in Italy with his foreign lover, Mirae’s daily operations were handed over to Wonpil’s youngest son. And so, the new co-CEO is none other than Lee Minhyung, or as most know, Mark Lee.
Mark Lee, the golden boy, the prodigy. Born and raised in Canada, until he went back to South Korea a few years ago. Mark Lee, who at the age of 26, slid right into the co-CEO spot earlier this year, a mere two months before Donghyuck was hired. Which means, at 25, Donghyuck is being bossed around by a guy who, in any other world, could be his classmate. And that burns. Why can’t that be Donghyuck? Fuck off, nepotism.
But Donghyuck doesn’t hate Mark because he’s successful. No, he hates him because he’s the most annoying and downright infuriatingly rude person he’s ever met. He’s the kind of person that has this bored look in his eyes when Donghyuck tries to explain something even slightly complex, like the importance of a multi-million dollar contract, for instance. Like, are you fucking kidding me?
It doesn’t help that the rest of the entire office is basically Mark’s fan club. Even Jaemin—Jaemin, who should be on Donghyuck's side—says that Mark’s a “nice guy.” Donghyuck doesn’t get it. The only thing he sees when he looks at Mark is a rude, and standoffish jerk with a permanently bitchy face aimed squarely at him and Donghyuck despises him.
And that’s who Donghyuck has to go begging for a signature today, thanks to Jaemin’s minor inconvenience.
“So,” Mark drawls, arching an eyebrow, “why didn’t you bring this to me earlier?”
Donghyuck stands in front of Mark’s intimidating black marble desk, explaining the file situation, and Mark’s lounging back in his ridiculously expensive leather chair, looking almost bored. He’s even got his chin resting on his hand, his rose gold Richard Mille watch glinting like it’s mocking Donghyuck’s whole paycheck. His black gelled hair pisses Donghyuck off too.
Donghyuck swallows his frustration. “Like I said, sir, Jaemin had health issues that kept him from processing this to me earlier,” he somehow keeps his tone steady, which is a feat, given that he’s talking about Jaemin’s weeklong bout with diarrhea.
“But it’s your job to remind him of these things,” Mark says with infuriating calm. “You’re a level three administrative assistant. He’s a level two.”
Donghyuck fights the urge to scream. He wants to grab a stapler and throw it right at that annoying face. Instead, he forces out a smile and says, politely, of course, the way corporate culture expects him to, even though it sounds like he's spitting nails, "That's true, sir. But it’s not like I'm a miracle worker. There was a lot to do last week, and I can't do all of the work all at once."
"If you feel the other admin assistants are lacking, you can always report them to HR, or better yet, you can just talk to me,” Mark leans back, crossing his arms. “You don’t need to burn yourself out because others aren’t pulling their weight. That’s what we have a system for.”
Donghyuck almost snorts. Oh, yes, a system. Like the system that leaves him doing three people’s work. “You’re right, sir,” he says, the words bitter on his tongue, “but I’m not suggesting that the other assistants aren’t skilled. Everyone here is very competent.”
“If they were all that competent, you wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Mark replies smoothly, completely unfazed.
Donghyuck’s hands twitch. Paperweight? Printer? Chair? What to throw? “Jaemin is extremely competent—”
“I know he is,” Mark interrupts. “I’m not talking about him, I’m talking about Eunwoo. If Jaemin has a lot to do, that means Eunwoo is not doing what he is supposed to do.”
It’s painfully true.
Eunwoo, senior assistant, is about as active as a potted plant most days, while Donghyuck and Jaemin handle the actual grunt work. But, since Eunwoo’s been here since the dawn of time and is technically senior to them, it’s almost impossible to get him to do anything remotely helpful.
“Well, I guess Eunwoo just prioritizes other tasks,” Donghyuck says, his voice tight, as if he’s on the verge of growling.
“Then why didn’t you tell him to prioritize this?” Mark asks, eyebrows raised as if Donghyuck’s the unreasonable one.
Donghyuck grits his teeth. “He’s been here longer, sir. He’s more experienced.”
Mark’s expression hardens, a flicker of something—impatience?—in his eyes. “Experience doesn’t mean excuses. You should be able to do your job, no matter what. And if Eunwoo’s holding you back, report it. Your work is important here.”
Donghyuck can practically feel a vein throbbing in his forehead. This is Mark’s special talent: pointing out what Donghyuck hasn’t done, nitpicking, making him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. Even though, objectively, Donghyuck is damn good at doing his job.
“With all due respect, sir,” he begins, carefully choosing words like he’s disarming a bomb, “I’m just an assistant. I’ve been here less than a year. I can’t exactly boss people around, and I certainly can’t boss him around.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mark says, leaning forward. “You’re at the same level as him. You should’ve told him to get his act together, or come to me, and stop making excuses. Because I’m the boss, and I can and will fire him if he doesn’t shape up.”
Donghyuck bites down any remarks that would end his job on the spot. “Which is why I’m telling you now, sir.”
“Only because I pressed you to?” Mark raises a brow, his tone dripping with disappointment. “I’d prefer if you had more initiative.”
All this TED talk for one lousy signature. Donghyuck’s life has truly hit rock bottom.
“Look, sir, I’m sorry,” he says, swallowing down his irritation. “I’ll report any problems I have from now on. But right now, could you please sign this so I can actually go back to my job?”
Mark gives him one of those looks before finally, mercifully, turning his attention to the file. With a nonchalant swipe of his pen, he signs and hands it back.
The second Donghyuck exits Mark’s office, he lets out a string of profanities that could peel the paint off the walls.
By lunchtime, Jaemin tries to apologize for the morning’s disaster by treating Donghyuck to the fanciest dessert the downstairs café has: a Fondant Chocolat that only costs 8,000 won, paired with a vanilla latte with extra whipped cream. It doesn’t undo the emotional damage, but it’s enough chocolate therapy for Donghyuck to scrape through the rest of the day without cursing Mark’s name every five minutes.
When he finally gets home at almost 7 p.m., thanks to Seoul’s infamous traffic, he’s greeted by Daegal’s happy barks and the eight-figure dance she does between his legs, almost tripping him. The smell of Chenle’s pasta wafts through the apartment like an aromatic hug for his soul.
A shower later, Donghyuck slides into his worn-out “I’m the boy that can enjoy invisibility” shirt and black shorts, feeling slightly more human as he sits down to eat.
Mid-bite, Chenle hums, eyeing him with that knowing smirk. “You look stressed.”
“I am,” Donghyuck grumbles. “I hope Mark Lee chokes on his dinner tonight.”
Chenle snorts. “You need to chill out. Why don’t you play Harpia with me?”
Ah, here it comes.
For the past month, Chenle has been trying to recruit Donghyuck into playing his company’s latest RPG game, a supposed “masterpiece” that’s been breaking records. Donghyuck loves a good game, sure, but Harpia sounds like every other RPG out there.
“I’m just saying,” Chenle insists, his eyes lighting up like he’s talking about a treasure map. “Just try it once. You’ll be hooked.”
“Oh, you just want me to play it so you can say, ‘Look, I made it,’ don’t you?” Donghyuck rolls his eyes.
Chenle giggles, unfazed. “Maybe. But it’s also a solid escape from the dumpster fire of real life.”
Donghyuck wants to roll his eyes and say, “No, thanks.” But considering his week has already been a train wreck, and it's only Tuesday, a little distraction doesn’t sound too bad.
When Donghyuck finally agrees to download Harpia, Chenle practically leaps off the chair, doing a mini victory dance in the kitchen. Daegal joins in, bouncing up and down too, totally clueless but loving the vibes.
Downloading Harpia takes around twenty minutes, because this ancient relic Donghyuck calls a computer is practically wheezing as it tries to process. Just because he works at the top computer company in South Korea doesn’t mean he has the cash to buy one of their products. But hey, the game loads, even if it occasionally hiccups, so he’ll take it.
When Harpia finally springs to life, he’s impressed, the layout catches his attention right away. The interface is clean, the graphics are jaw-droppingly pretty, and Donghyuck lets out an impressed hum.
The game offers four classic fantasy races: ogre, dwarf, elf, and human. Classic RPG lineup. Nothing groundbreaking there, but the twist here is the freedom with abilities. Any race can have any ability.
Usually, an ogre’s destined to be the tank, and elves are natural healers. But Harpia lets an ogre wield healing spells or an elf turn into a tank. So if Donghyuck wants a cuddly ogre healer or a squishy elf tank, it’s game on. Donghyuck’s genuinely intrigued. Fine, he thinks. Chenle might be onto something.
Chenle hovers beside him like a proud parent, flashing a smug grin when Donghyuck “oohs” at the elf design. Unlike most games where elves look like ethereal beings with pointy ears, Harpia’s elves are more like adorable chibis, just a little taller than the dwarves, with round, chibi faces that practically scream “cute.” Donghyuck loves cute things, so it’s a no-brainer. He settles on a female elf with lilac pigtails and dark purple eyes.
Donghyuck decides his cute lilac-haired elf will be an archer. Quick, sneaky, and, as he imagines, a deadly weapon with pigtails. Confident, he types in his classic go-to username, haechan, only to be smacked with an error.
This username is already taken.
Donghyuck groans. Of course, some copycat is out there, swaggering around with his name.
“What kind of copycat nonsense…” he grumbles, feeling personally offended. His fingers hover over the keyboard, brainstorming alternatives. He ends up thinking of haesun, a name that is kind of dumb. A name that means sun-sun is not what he wanted, but that’s all he has, so he settles.
“Fine. Haesun it is,” he sighs dramatically, convinced he’ll probably regret it. He stares at the name with a deep, theatrical disgust. “I’d better become the best archer on this server to make up for this disaster of a name.”
When haesun finally spawns, Chenle practically rockets off to his room, shouting, “Wait for me!” as he disappears down the hall. Donghyuck hears the telltale click of his bedroom door, followed by the frantic rustling of Chenle’s headset, like he’s on some life-or-death mission to log in ASAP.
“Don’t go wandering off without me!” he yells from behind his door across the hallway.
Meanwhile, Donghyuck’s lilac-haired elf is bouncing around the spawn city, waving her tiny arms in all her adorable glory, with her fragile, nooby wooden bow and arrow.
Suddenly, a dwarf with blinding neon-green hair with a turtle hat appears and waves enthusiastically at him. A username pops up: grandmasteroggway (lvl. 130) with GM, in bold letter, above it. Then a message pops up on the corner of his screen.
(nearby) grandmasteroggway says: hi noob
“Are you serious, Chenle?” Donghyuck shouts from his room. “GrandmasterOggway? From Kung Fu Panda? That’s your username?”
Laughter echoes from Chenle’s room. “What? It’s a good name. And it makes sense!”
Donghyuck can’t help but giggle. Chenle, or rather grandmasteroggway, looks like a lost garden gnome with attitude, bouncing around the map with neon hair, turtle shelf hat and a tiny axe.
The next hour has him glued to the screen, trailing after Chenle through dungeons, smacking goblins, collecting rare herbs, and discovering every shortcut Chenle’s spent weeks developing with his coworkers. For someone who started out “not interested at all,” Donghyuck’s spiraling into full-blown obsession mode in a few minutes.
In no time, his cute lilac-haired elf is leveling up at a ridiculous rate, from Level 1 to 50 in the blink of an eye. And sure, Donghyuck’s doing some of the work, but he’s also shamelessly riding on Chenle’s coattails. Because why not?
A message pops up on his screen again.
(whisper) grandmasteroggway says: i’m gonna peeee!
(whisper) grandmasteroggway says: wait for me!!
“Chenle, I didn’t need that visual,” Donghyuck yells back, cringing.
“I’m going AFK, bro!” Chenle hollers, already halfway down the hall. “Don’t die!”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes. Please. As if he’s some clueless noob who’s going to get KO'd while Chenle’s off doing whatever. He may be new, but he’s not that much of a noob. He’s pretty sure he can handle himself, thank you very much.
He turns his attention back to slaughtering rainbow-colored pelicans, which, despite their absurd appearance, drop surprisingly decent loot. Chenle had insisted on it, saying they’d drop better gear and items. And if one of the game’s developers tells you to farm pelicans, well, you farm the damn pelicans.
So, his poor little haesun massacres at least fifty of the poor, squawking monsters when another player suddenly appears on his screen. Their username glows in bold letters mewlchuck (lvl. 123) with a guild tag <dreamscape> floating above it, and the whole thing just screams “serious player.” Unfortunately, the character itself is underwhelming. Disappointingly plain. A human with curly blond hair, regular old leather armor, a black and gold cape, and a matching sword.
Basic, Donghyuck thinks with a snort.
Of all the options in the game, he went with a human and a warrior? The most vanilla combo out there. He could’ve at least chosen a wizard.
Suddenly, mewlchuck is mowing down pelicans like a machine, obliterating them in milliseconds. Meanwhile, haesun clambers behind, doing her best and still working her way through at her own “I’ll get there” pace.
They’re basically killing side by side around the lake, both hacking at the poor rainbow-colored birds until feathers and flashy loot spill everywhere. And then, in the middle of Donghyuck’s button-mashing frenzy, a message pops up:
(worldwide) haesun has earned Pelican's Gold Beak!
Donghyuck hums, clueless about what exactly a “gold beak” is, but judging by the flood of “no way!” and “lucky!” popping up in the worldwide chat, he’s landed something rare.
Then, another message pops up:
(nearby) mewlchuck says: sweetheart, that’s mine
(nearby) mewlchuck says: give it back pls
Donghyuck huffs, feeling an eye-roll coming on as he types out a response. He has no idea what he's going to start a fight for, but if it's rare it means money, and money is something haesun is in desperate need.
(nearby) haesun says: back off
(nearby) haesun says: i’ve been farming here all night
(nearby) haesun says: there’s nothing here that’s “yours”
(nearby) mewlchuck says: it dropped literally by my side
(nearby) mewlchuck says: meaning it came from a pelican i killed, sweetie
Donghyuck snorts. Oh, this guy’s one of those.
haesun waves at mewlchuck before turning back to her merry pelican slaughter, silently wishing Chenle would hurry up and return from his “bathroom break” (Donghyuck's sure it’s way more complicated than a pee). He hums along to the song in his headset, only half-paying attention, until his screen blurs and then, focus again.
A huge message blinks in bright red:
You were killed by mewlchuck!
You will respawn in 10 seconds.
Place to respawn <here> or <Louve City>
Donghyuck stares in disbelief before typing furiously.
(ghost-whisper) haesun says: really???
Donghyuck glares at his screen as mewlchuck does a little victory dance on haesun's lifeless body, just to rub salt in the wound. When he respawns, he's killed instantly again.
“Chenle!” Donghyuck shouts, desperation in his voice. “Hurry up! Someone killed me!”
There’s a loud clatter from the bathroom before Chenle appears at the door, looking slightly traumatized, forehead shiny with sweat.
“What’s going on?” Chenle pants.
“Damn, you were fighting for your life in there, weren’t you?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.
Chenle nods solemnly. “No more pasta this week. Ever. But come on, respawn! I’m avenging you!” he shouts, dashing back to his room.
Donghyuck hits respawn, appearing at the same spot. Before mewlchuck has a chance to strike again, grandmasteroggway clobbers him with a critical hit.
“Yes!” Donghyuck cheers.
mewlchuck and grandmasteroggway dive into a chaotic brawl while haesun frantically dodges, trying not to get caught in the crossfire. After an intense exchange of axe and sword swings, grandmasteroggway finally emerges victorious.
(nearby) grandmasteroggway says: weirdo
(nearby) grandmasteroggway says: stop pking for no reason
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: she stole my item
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: tell her to give it back and we're done
mewlchuck isn’t about to back down. He respawns and charges at grandmasteroggway again, swinging his sword like a lunatic. mewlchuck lands a blow that takes Chenle’s character down, since grandmasteroggway was already half-health from their last battle. And, of course, mewlchuck just has to turn around and kill haesun, again.
"Oh my god!" Donghyuck yells. "What an annoying fucker!"
"Hold on!" Chenle shouts back. "I got this."
Donghyuck lets out a groan, frustrated beyond belief, as Chenle’s dwarf respawns and charges back in. The vicious cycle repeats, mewlchuck and grandmasteroggway slaughtering each other in an endless loop for the next twenty minutes. Donghyuck eventually gives up respawning and just watches, his lilac-haired elf lying dramatically on the ground in defeat.
(worldwide) grandmasteroggway says: dreamscape leader
(worldwide) grandmasteroggway says: mewlchuck is pking too much
About ten seconds later, a new player arrives. He’s rocking bunny ears, short pink hair, and a white jumpsuit. In his hand, he holds a gold staff topped with a massive, flashy red crystal that screams serious wizard vibes. His username, kaitokidd (lvl. 125), glows above him, with <dreamscape’s leader> emblazoned beneath. Donghyuck stifles a snicker. grandmasteroggway is about to get his neon-green-haired butt handed to him.
But then kaitokidd marches right over, and without a second’s hesitation casts a spells that obliterates mewlchuck.
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, intrigued. With a grin, he clicks respawn.
(nearby) kaitokidd says: i’m sorry gm, he’s reckless
(nearby) grandmasteroggway says: he really is
(nearby) grandmasteroggway says: i was about to ban the whole guild bc of him
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: but she stole my shit
(nearby) haesun says: i didn’t. you fucker.
mewlchuck respawns again and goes for haesun, but kaitokidd wastes no time taking him down again with a single, ruthless swing.
grandmasteroggway, with his absurd neon green hair and giant turtle shell hat, stands next to kaitokidd, whose oversized, floppy bunny ears sway in the virtual wind as they watch mewlchuck's corpse on the ground. Together, they look like the strangest zoo exhibit ever, as if someone mashed together a petting farm and a sci-fi convention. Looks like haesun and her simple white dress accidentally joined some twisted animal parade.
(nearby) kaitokidd says: stop and say you’re sorry
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: but she’s a thief!
(nearby) kaitokidd says: say you’re sorry
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: her username is so stupid
(nearby) haesun says: it was supposed to be haechan
(nearby) haesun says: but someone stole my identity. you fucker.
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: ugly either way
(nearby) kaitokidd says: say sorry. NOW!
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: srry
(nearby) haesun says: not enough
(nearby) haesun says: worlwide pls
(ghost-whisper) mewlchuck says: ???
(nearby) haesun says: WORLDWIDE.
Donghyuck grins, his fingers dancing over the keyboard, while Chenle giggles from his room.
(worldwide) mewlchuck says: sorry haesun!!!!
"That's more like it," Donghyuck hums, grinning at the screen. Right as mewlchuck respawns, the chat lights up again.
(nearby) mewlchuck says: happy now, sweetie?
(nearby) haesun says: not really. but ok, i guess.
(nearby) kaitokidd says: here. take 100,000 plums as an apology from dreamscape
A clinking sack of gold coins appears on the grass, and haesun bolts over to scoop it up like her life depends on it.
(whisper) kaitokidd says: once again sorry
(whisper) kaitokidd says: mewl is impulsive
(whisper) kaitokidd says: would you like to join dreamscape? i feel ashamed for mewls actions
Donghyuck’s fingers hover, ready to drop the pettiest comeback of his life, when a notification box pops up on his screen:
kaitokidd is inviting you to join <dreamscape> guild. Do you want to become a member?
<Yes> or <No>
"Chenle," Donghyuck calls from his room, smirking.
"What?" Chenle yells back.
"Should I join dreamscape just to ruin this guy's day?"
"Absolutely!"
Donghyuck clicks <yes>. The screen lights up with a cheerful new message:
welcome to the <dreamscape> guild, haesun!
The messages that pop up on his screen next, makes him feel great.
(nearby) mewlchuck says: no way???
(nearby) mewlchuck says: she’s not even lvl 100 yet
(nearby) mewlchuck says: what the FUCK