Chapter 21: Between Dreams and Reality

If there’s a sick character, there should definitely be a cure. The reason the settings are so sloppy like this is probably because the Crown Prince isn’t an important character.

I also looked for any usable patches, just in case, but there was nothing noteworthy. The recovery potion for stamina isn’t exactly ideal, but it’s an item that helps restore energy, so maybe it could be of some use to Sahyeon.

The problem was that there was no way to get it.

Recovery potions were not available at launch; they were added later through an update. You could buy them from designated village shops or trade with other users. Occasionally, as event items, you could even get high-grade potions with specific effects.

There was no such thing in the beta version.

In fact, Yun-jo’s base stamina was so high that even if the numbers dropped a bit, it was barely noticeable. His passive skill, Recovery, was also maxed out, so even if he got seriously injured, one reconnection after logging out would fix everything. He never needed potions, so he hadn’t paid attention to them until now.

‘It’s just a dream, so why is it so complicated?’

Jeong Yun-jo clicked his tongue at himself.

‘Isn’t a dream supposed to go the way I want? Is this really my dream?’

If it were a dream where everything went my way, I wouldn’t have to worry about potions or anything. I could just wish for Sahyeon’s body to recover and it would be done. But strangely, in Jeong Yun-jo’s dream, things never deviated from the setting.

It seemed his unconscious mind couldn’t accept that. For a dream, it was truly finicky.

While he was deep in thought, a call came from Kim Jun-ho. Jeong Yun-jo checked the name on his phone screen and answered.

“Yes, Vice President.”

— Mr. Yun-jo, I received the opinion sheet you sent. The development team was happy to hear your name. I think it will be very helpful.

As Kim Jun-ho had recommended, Jeong Yun-jo decided to join the task force team for ANT’s 9th anniversary update. The contract details were still being adjusted, but the team was already formed, so he put his name in and started working first.

The basic framework was almost complete, so at this planning stage, there wasn’t much for Yun-jo to do. He had just read the report Kim Jun-ho sent last week and sent back a few comments.

— When the first development phase is done, we’ll do a small-scale test run with internal staff and a few external monitors. You’ll participate too, right?

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

— Then I’ll create a new account for you and send it. You don’t have an account you’re currently using, do you? We’ll be testing with both new characters and existing ones anyway.

“Oh, yes. I don’t.”

— Okay. I’ll contact you again soon.

Kim Jun-ho, who seemed busy, quickly stated his business and was about to hang up. Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind. A closed server for the 9th anniversary update? Come to think of it, that’s also a beta version!

Jeong Yun-jo grabbed the phone, risking rudeness.

“Um, wait a moment, Vice President!”

— Yes?

“Can that be linked to an existing game account?”

— Yes, it’s an update format.

“Can characters also be linked?”

— Oh, yes. Do you have an account?

“Well, I have a character I raised in the beta version before release…”

As soon as he said “beta version,” Kim Jun-ho laughed on the other end.

— That won’t work. That was years ago.

“I guess so…?”

A hint of disappointment crept into Jeong Yun-jo’s voice, who had briefly hoped.

— It’s surprising you still have that, not deleted. Anyway, you’d better create a new account. There could be bugs…

“I understand. I’ll just use a new character.”

— Yes, then I’ll contact you again.

After confirming the other person hung up, Jeong Yun-jo sighed.

“…Phew, I got excited for a moment.”

The purpose of wanting to link the beta version to the new update server was, of course, recovery potions. Not only that, since he was involved in development, he could suggest adding items in the next update. For example, a panacea or something.

Besides, he could acquire various useful items that weren’t in the beta version, so it seemed like a good idea in many ways.

But Kim Jun-ho was right. Even Jeong Yun-jo thought a character created in the beta version eight years ago wouldn’t link properly. Kim Jun-ho said there might be bugs, but that was just a polite way of saying it. If unlucky, the character could be deleted entirely.

‘If the character is deleted, that means he dies in that world, right?’

Then that dream would be over too.

Since Jeong Yun-jo’s unconsciousness was very thorough in reflecting settings, if the character was deleted or became unusable due to a bug, that fact would surely be reflected in the dream. That would be problematic. To get a single potion and end up with a deleted character, that would be like burning down the whole house to catch a bedbug.

And what about Sahyeon?

Thinking about Sahyeon, he naturally recalled the sight of him having a seizure. Until now, he had only thought he was simply weak, but he didn’t know he suffered such painful seizures. And it wasn’t even a one-time thing. From Seo Sang-yak’s attitude, it seemed to happen often.

The illness that Sahyeon never wanted to speak about was far more serious and hopeless than expected.

He was dying.

‘That person’s life is in the hands of the gods.’

At that time, Yun-jo understood what the physician meant.

In hospitals, you sometimes see people who give up on treatment and instead pray or hold shamanic rituals. Most of them try it as a last resort when there’s no hope.

There’s only one reason humans pray to gods. They do it because there’s no other way.

Yun-jo asked back.

‘Is it that serious?’

‘At most, a year, I’d say.’

‘A year?!’

‘It could be shorter.’

He was speechless with shock. Even as he asked if it was serious, he had never imagined it was this severe.

If he only had a little over a year left, it was no exaggeration to say he had come here to find a place to die. Yun-jo thought he understood why Sahyeon didn’t want to talk about his condition.

After Seo Sang-yak left, Yun-jo, who couldn’t move for a long time, approached Sahyeon’s tightly closed door. Inside was quiet. Even when he listened at the door, no sound came, as if Sahyeon wasn’t even breathing.

‘Sahyeon, are you awake?’

Yun-jo asked quietly.

Whether he was already asleep, there was no answer. Yun-jo hadn’t expected one. He turned around, sat down, leaned against the door frame, and murmured.

‘I didn’t know you were in that much pain.’

Until then, the greatest physical pain Yun-jo had known was his own. But his pain was the kind that faded over time. The accident was a single moment, and he could forget it by taking painkillers and falling asleep.

And he had a dream that was his escape. Even in the dream, he felt like he had a new body. The most painful moments didn’t last.

But Sahyeon was different.

In just eighteen years of life, how many seizures had he had?

He must have known—that he didn’t have much time left. And that there was almost no hope. He knew that better than anyone.

The reason Sahyeon looked somehow weary, and why he didn’t try to protect himself when danger came, was related to his illness. As long as his body didn’t heal, constant pain awaited him. There was no guarantee it would ever disappear or lessen with time.

Besides, with so little time left, it wasn’t strange that he saw no reason to struggle to prolong his life.

Sahyeon was sick for a while. During that time, Yun-jo visited Hyeongyeong several times but couldn’t see him. Not only did he not set foot outside the door, but the windows were always tightly shut. He didn’t even catch a glimpse of his face for days.

He was in a daze most of the day. According to the servants, he sometimes regained consciousness at dawn, but it didn’t seem to last long.

What pissed him off the most was that they had put up a taboo rope along the main hall. It was a taboo string to drive away evil spirits because someone was sick. Although it wasn’t like that damned exorcism string he had encountered in the palace years ago, he couldn’t enter the space it blocked. Whether they did it knowingly or not, thanks to that, Yun-jo couldn’t set a single foot inside the main hall.

Finally, after circling the rear garden, Yun-jo settled in a pavilion and vented his frustration into the air.

“This is really ridiculous…”

Treating a normal person like an evil spirit? It was true that his existence was clearly distinct from the people here, but Yun-jo thought that damned taboo string was doing the wrong job.

If there are evil spirits and ill-omened gods in the world, there must also be good gods. Just because someone isn’t from this world doesn’t mean they should be unconditionally blocked. Even if Manra actually came to cure Sahyeon’s illness, could he even enter with that taboo string in the way?

Seo Sang-yak, carrying a medicine tray, was about to enter the main hall when he stopped, spotting Yun-jo leaning on the railing of the pavilion across the pond. Yun-jo quickly stood up. Their eyes met, and the physician gave a slight nod before hurrying into Sahyeon’s room.

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