I'm a concept zealot fun gamer.
The kind who crafts a concept to fit their class, then plays purely for the joy of sticking to it.
Chat? Of course I kept it in character. Even now, in this era dominated by VR where voice chat has replaced text, I do the same.
A true concept zealot never lets embarrassment win.
"Keep talking, scum. I'm curious just how much of my wrath you can handle."
That's why, as always, I dove headfirst into the new game, fully immersed as a concept-committed fun gamer—a knight possessed by a demon in his arm.
"Log out."
「Invalid command.」
"...?"
"Log out."
「Invalid command.」
"...???"
And now, I've realized one harsh truth.
I'm screwed. Royally fucked.
* * *
Whether you're a fun gamer, a hardcore grinder, or even a Light Gamer, every gamer has that one life-changing game. The one that sticks with you, that you never quite get over.
For me, it was *Hero Legend*.
That game from my teenage years was, in short, a homegrown PC MMORPG. It exploded in popularity at launch but tanked after the original devs mass-exited, sealing its fate as a tragic flop.
The main culprits? Pay-to-win loot boxes dropped at the 2-year anniversary patch, a new class that shattered balance, random lore additions that broke the worldbuilding, and godawful management. But none of that really matters.
Who cares that a game hyped to last 20 years shut down servers after just 5? Or that I stuck with it till the end, hitting my twenties along the way?
The real takeaway from *Hero Legend* is this:
The original devs had to watch their baby crash and burn after they all jumped ship.
"Man, my heart's pounding like crazy. What do I do?"
"Yeah, good luck."
"I can't believe it's only 30 minutes till launch."
Their grudge ran so deep that they founded a new studio—"Deep Sea Pearl"—churned out hits, cemented their rep in the industry... and eventually announced a *Hero Legend* remake.
No one asked for it. They bought the rights themselves and swore to make it happen.
"Am I dreaming or something?"
"Yeah, you're actually dreaming right now. You'll wake up soon."
"It feels so real..."
"...Kidding. As if."
"But it's just... too unreal."
And they didn't half-ass it. They went all-in, sharpening their knives for revenge.
Offline package instead of online. Open-world ARPG instead of beat-'em-up.
Even the platform got a modern upgrade: no more PC—now it's VR capsule only, with the game rebuilt from the ground up for virtual reality.
At this point, it's too much. Even for a diehard fanboy's wildest fantasy.
"I'd almost believe it if you told me it was a dream..."
That's why, 30 minutes before launch, I still couldn't shake the surreal feeling, rambling about dreams.
*Hero Legend* was my first game. It hooked me on gaming for life and even nudged my career path a bit.
My life's flop of a game is back? And not just back—it's returning as a goddamn masterpiece?
Honestly, I'm shocked I didn't pass out from sheer joy. My heart's overflowing.
"You're still hung up on a 15-year-old game? Pathetic..."
"You wouldn't get it 'cause you've never played one. You'd feel the same if you did..."
Sigh. I wasn't this tense even on college entrance exam results day. Or when my own work got greenlit for overseas export.
My chest feels like it's gonna burst. I watched the countdown, gripping my heart.
"What if it doesn't live up to the hype?"
"Don't jinx it. I'll kill you."
Of course, I know hyping it this much just sets me up for disappointment. I've played enough games—and gotten burned enough—to know better.
But... but...!
"If it's even half as good as the trailers, I'll be thrilled...!"
"Ugh."
"Argh! Only 2 minutes gone? When's the next 28 gonna fly by?!"
"Beats me, dude."
My buddy, who'd dropped by just to mess with me, grimaced at my wailing. Typical normie who wouldn't touch games with a ten-foot pole, zero empathy.
"And you call yourself a friend..."
"What else would I be? Whatever. If you're that antsy... do that thing you're good at."
"Huh?"
"Y'know. The concept thing?"
"Already done."
"Freak, you did it already?"
What, you think I was just sitting around? Concepts don't whip up in a day.
Sure, some folks slap one together quick, but not me. Film school dropout here—character research is sacred.
"How'd you do it?"
"First off, the look's like this."
Thank god I sketched it out ahead of time.
I grabbed my beat-up 7-year-old tablet from the couch. It sluggishly lit up.
"Whoa, what the hell..."
Here's what popped up.
Silver hair on the left, black on the right, split down the middle.
Skin so pale it's corpse-like—almost grayish.
Heterochromia: gray left eye, reddish-gray right. Highlights stripped out for that dead-fish stare. Dark circles as a bonus.
"You're insane. Straight-up edgelord."
My motto: A good concept starts with the look.
I soaked up his reaction with glee. Sure, some thirty-something might call it childish, but it's my money, my hobby—no shame. And it doesn't hurt anyone.
"Why the split hair?"
"Demon corruption lore."
"You're nuts. Demon powers? What's that?"
"Oh... the class is called Demon Knight."
Better with official lore, so I pulled up the page.
「Demon Knight │ After a demon that slaughtered his family possessed his arm, this squire abandoned knighthood for a life of wandering.
He loathes the demon in his right arm beyond words, yet it grants him superhuman power. His goal: exterminate all demons.
Wields swift, devastating techniques to match his sharp, prickly temperament.」
"Ooh..."
"Thought about Priest at first... but Demon Knight was my original pick."
Priest fits my vibe more, but hey, nostalgia trip. Same as back then. Plenty of reruns ahead anyway.
"And it's badass. Perfect for concepts."
"Freakin' hilarious."
My buddy cackled, then zoomed out from the face to see the full design.
"But can you even make this in-game?"
"Should be."
Modern games have this level of customization as standard. Original *Hero Legend* got god-tier praise for its freedom—devs would be idiots not to include it.
"Outfit's from the deluxe edition bonuses."
"More cash spending?"
C'mon, a few extra bucks for OST, artbook, and in-game cosmetics—tailored per class? Total steal.
And you start with 'em equipped, tons of options too.
I grinned proudly at the tablet's character render.
Eyepatch over the right eye. Black longcoat with a red cross emblem on the back, split into three tails at the hem. Gauntlet only on the right arm. Matte black leather pants, knee-high boots... even bandages peeking under the shirt.
Pieced from promo art, sure, but my sketch nailed the perfect concept. Peak edgelord.
"Online co-op?"
"Yeah, but not full MMORPG. Max 4-player matchmaking."
Boss raids, PvP maybe. Proof the devs soured on online.
"So others won't see it? And you still bought deluxe?"
"Buddy. Concepts don't care about onlookers."
RP isn't a fashion show. It's the thrill of spouting unhinged lines under anonymity.
I flashed a thumbs-up and cheeky grin. He doubled over laughing. Not my first rodeo—why's he always like this?
The gap between concept zealots and normies?
"Ugh, you maniac."
"Hey, 'my money, my rules.'"
"Fair, but..."
He swiped back to the Demon Knight lore, eyeing the last line.
"Official lore already sets the personality. What's the point of your concept?"
I froze. Lore sets it? Point? Ugh, I wasn't gonna go there, but...
Like an otaku grilled on their niche, my lip twitched.
Calm down. Ease the newbie in gentle...
Screw gentle.
"You just declared war on二次元. Bring it. Time for your crash course."
"No, my bad."
"Official says sharp, prickly temperament and demon-slaying goal. But dude—'sharp' means different things to everyone, right? And this guy's got a family-murdering demon in his arm. So, is he a born asshole, or did the demon twist him?! Boom—interpretation gap!"
"Ow, my bad, okay?"
"What if he's on edge 'cause the demon could rampage anytime? What if he snaps at people to push them away—for their safety from the thing inside him? How soft must his core be?!"
"I'm sorry!"
"That's my concept's foundation! Tough exterior, gooey inside! Trauma-ridden, pushes folks away but hates being alone! 'I've got baggage, I'm hurt'—wearing it on his sleeve!"
"Mercy!"
"Mercy what? We're just starting. Plenty more. Split hair aside, all the bundling up has reasons!"
"Stop."
"Oh, wanna see the dialogue prep?!"
"No thonks, I'm goodth."
Why ask then bail? Just listen!
I hunted old footage, frame-by-frame trailer breakdowns—hours of prep. Look!
Dragged the fleeing idiot back, pinned him, and launched into it.
Gauntlet only on right? Hates his arm so much he hides it. Eyepatch? Hides the good eye to match the changed one. Tiny details unspoiled in-game.
"You deranged otaku bastard..."
After 20 minutes of ranting, he plugged his ears and shook his head like I was cursed.
"Hey, I'm not full otaku-level."
"To normies, dropping thousands on games screams otaku."
"Ugh."
Can't deny that.
"Whew, you exhausting freak. I'm out."
"Already?"
"Your precious game launches in 5, you mad otaku."
"Oh."
Yeah. 20+ minutes yapping—obvious.
"Anyway, when you back online?"
"Full dive's three days."
"Still mad you said four last time and ghosted for ten."
Full dive: 24/7 gaming, no food or sleep needed.
Pricey fluids and nutrients keep it exclusive—plus, real life goes dark. But for immersion? Unbeatable.
Downside: post-game crash. Day in bed minimum.
Last time: four days game, one rest, repeat—total ten-day vanish.
"Dunno. You hit me up first. I won't."
"Roger."
"And ease up on gaming. You'll wreck yourself."
"Yessir."
Got reamed by family and friends last time—no repeats. Wrecking health? That's why the pricey fluids exist. But no backtalk.
Grateful for the concern. Real friend carving out time pre-ghosting? Priceless.
Clunk.
I eyed the shut door, then turned.
This time, three days max, no matter how fun. Adulting resolution included.
「Time until play: 00:00:03」
「Time until play: 00:00:02」
「Time until play: 00:00:01」
「Time until play: 00:00:00」
「Installing bonus items...」
Ding!
「Game starting.」
If I'd known that resolution would shatter against my will, I never would've launched.
「Your journey to stop the demons begins.」
Hell, I should've skipped the concept entirely.
「'It' ruined everyday life in an instant.」
Opening cinematic hit—not on screen, straight to the brain.