Chapter 9
—
“Shin, you’re really good at analyzing.”
That’s what Lee Shin’s older brother used to say when young Lee Shin played GM.
The GM status window was infamous.
In most games, the status window serves to convey information.
It simplifies things by presenting a few intuitive and essential words to make it easy for players to grasp their character’s condition or the game’s progress, thus lowering the entry barrier.
But GM was the exact opposite.
The GM status window was exceedingly complex. Far from intuitive.
Looking at the black screen crammed with dense information would make anyone think, “Why am I studying to play a game?”
Yet, young Lee Shin liked this infamous status window.
He found it fascinating how the scattered pieces of information in his mind assembled into a coherent picture. He liked the sense of superiority from seeing what others couldn’t.
Above all, he loved the praise he received from his older brother.
Perhaps those fond memories turned Lee Shin into the seasoned pro he was.
On the way down to Busan, as the acquisition process was being finalized, the status windows he had been so eagerly waiting for finally appeared before Lee Shin’s eyes.
【 The guild has been registered. 】
【 ‘Guild Management Window’ is now active. 】
[ Guild Management Window ]
※ Mir Guild
- League 4
- Representative: Lee Shin
- Raid Progress: 14/100
- Reputation: 40/100
- Finances: 5/100
- Facilities: 33/100
- Orientation: Preservationist
- Value: 3.17 billion
.
.
“Wow, this is it. If a guild is going to fail, it should look like this.”
“Representative?”
“Shh, one moment, Hyung.”
From the flood of information flooding his vision, Lee Shin extracted the pieces he needed, analyzed them, assessed the situation, and immediately devised a plan.
“Dong-ha Hyung.”
“Yes.”
“Hyung, we’ve got work to do.”
“What should I do?”
“Well, for starters…”
If the fans were the ones keeping <Mir Guild> alive, like a dragon on life support in the ICU, there were parasites leeching off its marrow, dragging it into critical condition.
“Bring me the dewormer. We’re starting with the parasites.”
The first task for Lee Shin, now the owner of the guild, was to eradicate those parasites.
* * *
Currently, Lee Shin was facing the people he defined as “parasites.”
How well-fed they were, with their plump, bloated appearances.
“Haha, ha… A transfer, you say?”
“Wh-what do you mean by that?”
The raid team looked at each other with question marks floating above their heads. But no matter how much they looked, no answers were forthcoming. After all, insects can’t think beyond their nature.
“Hmm~ Just as I said. A transfer. Starting tomorrow, you no longer need to show up at Mir Guild. Discuss your new guild assignments with your agents. For those without agents, you’ll likely receive personal notifications soon. Oh—someone’s phone is ringing already. And over there, too.”
No sooner had he spoken than the sound of phones vibrating began resonating from all directions.
Several members hastily checked their messages, their faces turning pale.
It was a unilateral notice of their transfer.
“Max Guild? Isn’t that the one we had a territory dispute with? If I go there, I’m dead!”
“This can’t be happening! Can transfers even work like this?”
“What the… Anchovy Guild? Where’s that? Wait, a League 5 guild!?”
Panic. Chaos. Utter mayhem.
It had all started with such rosy prospects.
Lee Shin was the grandson of the head of the Lee Do Group, and the Lee Do Group was filthy rich. Re-signing seemed like a given, with hopes for negotiations on even higher salaries.
But the feast they’d imagined turned out to be poison.
“This… This is unacceptable! How can you process a transfer without consulting us!?”
“This is invalid! You can’t just railroad something like this!!”
Amid the deluge of objections, Lee Shin scratched his head.
“Um, you might not be aware, but transfers are a front office’s exclusive right. This isn’t something for you to meddle in.”
Tsk. People who should know better acting like amateurs.
As Lee Shin’s firm demeanour silenced them, the team members turned their desperation toward Yang Pan-seok, their last lifeline.
“Hyung!”
“Captain!”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“What is this? Didn’t you say we were guaranteed to re-sign if we played along…”
“Quiet!”
Even as chaos erupted around him, Yang Pan-seok struggled to maintain his smile.
Confused and angry, sure. But first, he needed to understand the situation to figure out how to fix it.
“Please explain. What exactly is going on here?”
Clap, clap!
“Impressive! Smiling even in this situation! Everyone, take notes—this is a professional attitude. Pros maintain their composure no matter what happens. Unlike you all, flailing about.”
“Stop playing games.”
“I’m serious. It’s a compliment. They say the best smile is one given through tears, and your reputation precedes you.”
“Don’t test my patience.”
“Relax, relax. Fine, let me finish this drink first.”
Sssip! The refreshing fizz of the beer was almost tantalizing.
Even as the atmosphere grew so tense it practically reeked of killing intent, Lee Shin casually enjoyed the crisp sensation of his drink.
Then, fixing a fallen chair to sit properly, he leaned back and crossed his arms, surveying the room.
“Let me ask you this instead. Am I obligated to take you all with me?”
“Well, that’s…”
“Obligation.”
Despite their anger boiling over, the word “obligation” left them speechless.
How could they refute what didn’t exist?
“Finding it hard to answer? Let me lower the bar. Tell me why I should take responsibility for you. Any reason—logical, ethical, whatever works.”
Lowering the hurdle helped a bit. Some of them, who had been too stunned to speak, started mumbling weak responses.
Their desperate efforts were somewhat commendable, but most of what they said was meaningless.
Those who resorted to whining were skipped. Pleading about sick parents or spouses? Too cliché.
Apologies filled with self-deprecation? Also skipped. They didn’t even know what they were apologizing for.
Out of everything, only two arguments seemed worth considering.
“Where is it written that you can process a transfer without consulting the individuals involved? At the very least, we should have been given time to prepare!”
“I have devoted 20 years of my life to this guild. I cannot accept such a unilateral transfer!”
It’s pitiful that these weak protests are the most reasonable arguments being made, but Lee Shin’s principle is to honour the words spoken.
He decided to answer as politely as possible.
“Hmm, you’re correct. Normally, transfers are conducted after ample discussion with the parties involved. However!”
That’s merely etiquette or a customary practice. It’s not enshrined as a ‘law’ anywhere.
“And another small detail—this sort of courtesy only applies starting from League 2. Apologies for being blunt, but this place is League 4. None of that applies here.”
Next.
“Devoting 20 years to the guild, huh? That’s admirable. These days, young hunters jump around every two or three years, chasing higher paychecks like migratory birds. But 20 years! Yes, your loyalty deserves applause. But here’s the thing.”
Lee Shin’s smiling eyes suddenly sharpened.
“You’ve certainly been loyal, but why are the results so dismal?”
Performance isn’t everything, but in this cutthroat world of guilds, performance often is everything.
At the very least, if you’re carrying the title of ‘pro,’ you need to justify your existence with results.
Yet Mir Guild is stuck in League 4.
“Don’t you think that with these results, there’s a serious problem with the loyalty you’re so proud of? That’s my view.”
“……”
“……”
Ding, ding, ding—! Knockout!
The merciless truth bombs left the raid team reeling.
Feelings of denial, humiliation, and injustice swirled around the room, but from the moment Lee Shin presented the cold, hard metrics of performance, the outcome was already decided.
However, as everyone bowed their heads in despair…
“Do you think you’ll be able to handle the fallout from this?”
A true leader finds a way out even in the direst situations. In that sense, Yang Pan-seok was a decent leader.
Unlike the others, who were flustered and panicking, he quickly assessed Lee Shin’s personality and identified the best position to take.
“The fans won’t stay quiet. While our dedication might not mean much to you, Representative, what about the fans who endured the long dark times with us? Do you think they’ll accept this situation?”
A battle over results would be unwinnable.
So he shifted the focus from outcomes to the process, from logic to emotion.
Yang Pan-seok boldly played his strongest card: the fans.
And in the face of this petty manoeuvre, Lee Shin…
“Wow… Holding fans hostage. This level of shamelessness is truly something.”
…was impressed. Genuinely!
He almost shed tears, overwhelmed by the brilliance of this underhanded tactic.
Did Lee Shin not know about Yang Pan-seok’s character?
Of course he did—he’d played through the story to its conclusion.
A useful set of stats, decent traits, a good-looking appearance with marketability, and the ability to fill various roles.
But despite his strengths, Yang Pan-seok had fatal flaws.
His excessively high self-esteem and belief that only he could be a “hero.”
His tendency to shirk responsibility and shamelessly shift blame to others.
And above all, though he appeared to care about fans, he was ultimately driven by an elitist mentality as a hunter.
Because of these five negative traits, Lee Shin’s assessment of Yang Pan-seok was clear.
Deadweight.
Unless you’re planning to play as a villain stirring up trouble, he’s not someone you should keep around.
“Alright. You’re done attacking, right? Now it’s my turn.”
“Hey, give me that.”
At Lee Shin’s gesture, the woman standing a step behind him handed over a file.
The excitement in the room died down as everyone noticed her for the first time.
Lee Shin briefly skimmed through the documents before handing them to Yang Pan-seok.
“Here. This is my counterattack.”
As Yang Pan-seok looked over the file, his eyes widened to the point they seemed ready to pop out.
Kickbacks from construction companies, bribes from equipment suppliers, underhanded deals involving broadcasting rights and scouting operations—
The document listed all the corruption that had been carried out under the guise of benefiting the raid team.
“What did you say earlier? That the guild’s core is its hunters and that investing in their skills is the guild’s motto?”
Based on this list, Yang Pan-seok’s name could replace ‘Hunters’ in that statement.
The guild’s core was Yang Pan-seok, and the investments were all for his personal wealth.
And when his “motto” was threatened, his trump card always came into play:
“For the fans! To repay the fans’ support!”
Caught in a corner, Yang Pan-seok’s face lost all its usual composure.
His lips, which usually spoke of fans, now muttered curses, while his eyes gleamed like a desperate beast looking for a way out.
And then, he glared directly at Lee Shin.
‘Should I kill him?’
For someone who thrived on his image, the fallout from these revelations wouldn’t just tarnish his reputation—it would end him.
Criminal charges, lawsuits… The longer he thought, the more his eyes fixated on Lee Shin’s neck.
The atmosphere turned deadly, and the raid team, unsure of what to do, whispered among themselves.
“Shouldn’t we stop this?”
“You stop it!”
But before anything escalated further, the secretary standing in front of Lee Shin reached into her pocket, her face unreadable.
The tension was palpable.
But Lee Shin’s reaction?
“Pfft. Look at this clown.”
He laughed.
Getting up from his chair, he stretched languidly and spoke.
“Move aside, Noona.”
“…….”
“Hurry up. Don’t make me say it twice.”
The secretary stepped aside, visibly shaken for the first time.
An inexplicable sense of pressure lingered. Was it just her imagination? Lee Shin’s back appeared unusually large.
Standing face-to-face with Yang Pan-seok, Lee Shin was unfazed, even at a distance where a single bad move could mean death.
“In front of you are two choices. The first is to raise that hand and stab me.”
What will it be?
Lee Shin took one step closer, and Yang Pan-seok unconsciously stepped back.
He had tucked his tail.
“I knew it. That’s just like you.”
From “Shifting Blame” to “Elitism,” Yang Pan-seok’s defining trait was clear: preying on the weak and cowering before the strong.
He blamed others because they were weaker.
He adopted an elitist mentality because they were beneath him.
And when confronted by someone stronger—someone like Lee Shin, the eldest grandson of the nation’s most powerful corporation, Lee Do Group?
Undoubtedly, he would do nothing.
“That leaves only the second option. Spit out everything you swallowed and quietly transfer.”
“Tch…”
“What’s the problem? Upset? Or do you want to wear handcuffs?”
Lee Shin smiled brightly, leaning closer to Yang Pan-seok with his hands clasped behind his back.
“You can do the math, right? Might as well salvage what you can. Don’t you think?”
Having lost control, Yang Pan-seok was already finished. All that remained was for Lee Shin to decide whether to roast him or fry him.
And the choice was transfer.
Considering all factors, it was the best option.
Causing a commotion would only result in losses.
Exposing Yang Pan-seok’s corruption would reveal the guild’s shortcomings, leading to a decline in its value.
While that might be manageable, it would make selling Yang Pan-seok and the other fools at a fair price impossible.
No front office would throw away its most valuable players. After all, each one represents money.
To Lee Shin, they were deadweight. But for lower leagues, they were considered assets. Selling them off while they still had value was the optimal move.
“I must have a soft spot for sentimentality. Even cleaning up this trash. So? What’s your decision?”
“…….”
“I’ll take that as agreement.”
Patting Yang Pan-seok on his slumped shoulders, Lee Shin smiled warmly.
Then he turned around and shouted.
“You all heard that, right? Keep this in mind. We’ve got a detailed list of every single thing you pocketed, down to the instant coffee mix, so make sure to declare it voluntarily and keep your mouths shut. If there’s any fuss later on…”
At that point.
“I’ll make sure you’re utterly screwed, using my grandfather’s name.”
Lee Shin’s final warning left everyone frozen in place.
Satisfied, Lee Shin clapped his hands with a smile.
“That took a bit longer than expected, but I trust everything is clear now. It was fun, albeit briefly. To mark the occasion, I’ll cover the tab. Eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves. And…”
I sincerely wish you the best of luck in the future.
With that, Lee Shin and his secretary left, leaving behind a wrecked banquet hall filled with Yang Pan-seok and his defeated subordinates, unable to move.
* * *
※ Mir Guild
- League 4
- Representative: Lee Shin
- Raid Leader: Yang Pan-seok ▶▶ (None)
—
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