Chapter 3: Two Gold Cards

He recalled a mobile game he had played for about three months in the past.
Back then, from the very start, Shim Eun-chan had pulled a character known as a “trash build.”

Since it was his first time playing a mobile game, he didn’t even know what rerolling was, so he just continued with that character.
After that, whenever he slowly saved up points for free pulls, every single one spat out nothing but trash gear and trash characters.

Only much later did he realize that his account was what people called a “cursed account.”

He learned that “blessed accounts,” where pulls went well, were famous for getting top-tier, high-efficiency characters even from free ten-pulls, and he couldn’t describe how empty that realization made him feel.

Whether you start with a good character or not made the difficulty of the same game differ like heaven and earth.
Reality was already bleak enough—did he really have to go through this even in a game?

He had grown attached to the character he’d raised through sheer grinding without spending money, so he couldn’t bring himself to abandon it and switch to a new account.
But at the same time, he didn’t have the heart to keep playing either.

Thinking that even in games his luck was utterly terrible—like a condensed version of his life—he quit gacha games entirely after that one.

And now, this wasn’t even a game.
If someone with cursed hands like his pulled something bad, what then?
This time, there would be no going back.

Just as he was about to put it on hold, thinking he should consider things carefully to avoid making the situation even worse—

[Time remaining until card selection ends: 30 seconds.
*No blanks.
*It’s good stuff. Not pulling = your loss.]

Suddenly, a time limit appeared, along with an extra line of explanation.

“‘Not pulling is my loss’…?
And what’s with the time limit?
Are they telling me to pull right now?”

The wording was suspicious enough to create doubts that hadn’t even existed before.
Eun-chan’s mouth went dry.
Was this really okay?
His doubts and anxiety suddenly ballooned, pressing down on him.
His head began to spin as if he were about to faint.

Even hastily made games on variety shows didn’t force things like this.
With the timer about to run out, Eun-chan hurriedly picked two cards, as if being shoved from behind.

The identical patterns on the twenty cards slowly began to change.
Unable to endure the rising tension, Eun-chan squeezed his eyes shut without realizing it.
Thinking about how unlucky he’d always been in the past, he felt certain he’d pulled something awful again, and his breathing grew shallow.
No matter what it was, he had to check.
After taking a few breaths through his mouth, Eun-chan finally opened his eyes.

“……!”

Gold.

It was gold!

The moment he confirmed the color of the cards he’d chosen, Eun-chan quickly checked the cards he hadn’t picked.
He couldn’t let his guard down just because his were gold.
The others might be holographic—an even higher grade.

Swallowing hard, Eun-chan looked around.
Out of the twenty cards, three were gold.
Seven were silver.
The rest—all of them—were bronze.

Gold was clearly the highest tier.

And the cards Eun-chan had chosen were those gold ones.
Both of them.

He’d done it.
He’d picked right.

Without realizing it, he clenched his fist.
His heart pounded wildly with shock and relief.

Soon, all the cards except the ones he’d chosen crumbled away like sand.

Light shone from one of the remaining cards, and a notification window appeared.

[Congratulations!
You have selected the <This Is a Life Reversal> card!
Upon use, one stat will be randomly upgraded to the maximum tier.
Application complete.]

The moment he read the notification, all the noisy thoughts racing through his mind fell silent at once.

Right.
What had happened had already happened.
There was no point in clinging to it and debating whether it was real or fake.
He needed to focus on what he could confirm right now.

In the quiet that followed, a single question popped up.

What did “random” mean?
He couldn’t help suspecting that it might’ve maxed out some useless stat.

“There’s no way to even check.
This isn’t a scam, is it…?”

The moment Eun-chan muttered his complaint, a new notification window appeared.

[Your status window is available for constant viewing.
You may view another person’s status window once per day, limited to one person.
Please say ‘Status window.’]

……At this point, wasn’t this basically real-time chatting?

With a healthy dose of skepticism, Eun-chan quietly said, “Status window.”

A translucent window popped open in front of his eyes.

[Name: Shim Eun-chan

Star Quality: A
Vocal Ability: B
Performance: B
Appearance: A
Mental Fortitude: SS (Before adjustment: F)

Traits: Regressor (??), Soft Steel (Mental Fortitude enhancement / SS) — Active.]

“Eh?”

……What is this?

The first thing that caught Eun-chan’s eye was the appearance rank.

A.

It was an A.

He blinked, eyes wide.
He hadn’t misread it.

He’d expected maybe a C at best, so an A felt absurd.
Wasn’t the evaluation wrong?

What exactly were the criteria?
Frowning in suspicion didn’t give him any answers.
Tilting his head with a soft “tskk,” Eun-chan decided to look for the stat that had been adjusted.

Since “before adjustment” was listed, it had to be Mental Fortitude.
SS—that was the highest rank, wasn’t it?
Seeing that it had originally been an F, Eun-chan clicked his tongue.
People called weak mental strength “glass mentality,” but this wasn’t glass—it was tofu.
No, not even tofu.
It was soy milk-level fragility.
At the same time, he found himself thinking that it was impressive he’d managed to be an idol with mental strength like that.
He must have struggled desperately just to endure.
Strangely, he even felt a little proud of himself.

Looking over the status window again, Eun-chan felt that his overall stats weren’t actually that bad.
A and B ranks were objectively decent.
Especially appearance being an A.
It was still hard to believe, but it didn’t seem like a joke rating.

But what was with the question marks after “Regressor”?
Was it because it couldn’t be measured?

As that thought crossed his mind, Eun-chan unconsciously touched his face.

Still, the more he looked at it, the more regret crept in.
Wouldn’t it have been better if the SS had gone to appearance, vocals, star quality, or performance instead?
In a way, mental fortitude felt like the least flashy stat.

“…….”

Eun-chan shook his head.
Sure, it would’ve been great if another stat had reached SS, but having even one SS-ranked stat was still something.
Right.
No matter how good the other abilities were, they’d be useless if his mentality crumbled.
Though the name “Soft Steel” bothered him a little.

There had to be a reason it was written like that.

Eun-chan shifted his attention to the second gold card.
Just like the first, it glowed brightly, and another notification appeared.

[Congratulations!
You have selected the <Human Catnip (S−)> card!

Everyone forms a favorable impression of you.
You start with a positive baseline affinity.

However, this does not apply to people you already know.]

Eun-chan’s eyes lit up.

Jackpot.
If that meant people would already like him just from seeing him on broadcasts, then this was huge—

As if reading his thoughts, another line appeared.

[Limited to people you meet in person.]

“…….”

……This really is real-time interaction.

It felt like something hastily stitched together and patched up on the fly.
It almost seemed like it might respond if he talked to it, but it didn’t feel like it was actually trying to communicate with him.
If it were, it would probably include prompts he could respond to.

Eun-chan stopped thinking and reread the description of the second card.

It really was an excellent ability.
Even with the restriction of face-to-face interactions only, starting off with positive affinity was a massive advantage in human relationships.
And he was an entertainer.
In a profession that thrived on connections and goodwill, this was an undeniably powerful skill.

In the traits section of the status window, “Human Catnip” had been added as active.

Thinking he’d checked all the notifications, Eun-chan decided it was time to go outside.

But just then—

Ding-dong.

A cheerful sound rang out, and another notification window appeared.

[Regressor Quest Activated!

Simply regressing would be boring, wouldn’t it?

By the end of this year, aim for the target!
(Criteria: At least one Grand Prize from the following —
Golden Disc Awards: Album Daesang / Korean Popular Music Daesang
NANA: Album of the Year, Artist of the Year
AMA: Artist of the Year, Album of the Year, Song of the Year
WMA: Album of the Year, Best Song of the Year, Artist of the Year.)

Failure Condition:
Regression is wasted on one lacking desperation.
You will return to your pre-regression state.]

As he read the explanation, Eun-chan’s eyes widened in horror.

He barely managed to swallow the curse words that surged up his throat.

A Daesang?
Are you kidding me?
Do you think a Daesang is easy?

Not a single award listed there was easy to obtain.
The urge to grab the entity behind the notification window by the collar and shake it violently surged like waves hitting a massive hurricane.
Saying it was easy didn’t make it so.
Only someone actually in the industry could understand just how brutally difficult winning a Daesang truly was.

It was like this—

Back in his first year of high school, he’d laughed and said, “College?
If it’s not in Seoul, it doesn’t even count.”
Then, as a senior, he’d look back on that memory and slam his head against his desk.

From the outside, it all looked simple.
People only saw top-tier idols.
They didn’t understand the true value of a single award, or the cutthroat competition required to win one.

And honestly, that was fine.
People outside the industry didn’t need to know the gritty details.

Setting all that aside, the conclusion was simple.

Unfortunately, Shim Eun-chan knew exactly how difficult it was to win a Daesang.