Chapter 11
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Ring-ring—!
Ring-ring-ring——!!
Riiiiing…….
The relentless ringing of the phone from early morning.
The crescendoing noise finally drove an employee to grumble as they opened the door to the PR team’s office.
“Hey, can you at least pick up the—”
BAM!
They slammed the door shut before finishing their sentence.
What did I just see……?
Energy drinks scattered everywhere. Employees with sunken eyes mechanically answering calls.
And their hands? Each of them holding multiple ringing phones.
Indeed.
If there was a hell on earth, it would be here.
“……T-Team Leader, the phones keep ringing. What do we do?”
“They’re all demanding more source material from the representative. They say they’ll use it to create an amazing promo featuring Mir Guild.”
“The article conversion rates are insane. Look at this! Our guild’s articles alone fill the entire front page. We used to be lucky to get one article a week.”
“What do we do, Team Leader? Do we keep going?”
“Team Leader!!”
“Team Lead!!”
“Unnie, get a grip!!”
The PR team leader, with her half-closed eyes, could only mumble a confused “Huh?” as her very soul seemed to dissipate before their eyes.
Who could have predicted it would be this extreme!
To be honest, when Lee Shin told them to use him as the focus, she thought he was just being egotistical.
Sure, he’s ridiculously good-looking, rich, and infamous for his “national-level delinquent” reputation. But at the end of the day, isn’t he still just a regular person?
He’s good-looking enough to rival top-tier actors, but he’s not actually an actor.
He’s technically the richest 20-something in Korea, but the money isn’t really his.
So all that’s left is his title as “national-level delinquent,” but how relevant is that anymore?
As a self-proclaimed fangirl, she thought people like her would just swoon for a while, save a few photos, and move on.
Spoiler alert—it was a huge miscalculation.
Our delinquent was also extremely popular with the masses.
And by “popular,” she meant extremely.
[ Real-Time Search Rankings ]
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(New) #5: Lee Shin
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Every little thing he provided turned into an article. Just a few photos? His follower count exploded like rain.
If that were all, it might still be manageable. But the real game-changer was something else entirely:
Aggro.
Delinquents live and die by aggro, don’t they?
This was Lee Shin’s specialty, his bread and butter.
When Lee Shin deliberately started pulling aggro, it was as if the world had just been waiting for this moment.
Entertainment reporters, social news outlets, variety show producers, even local women’s magazines.
Brrr—
The PR team leader shivered just remembering it.
It was terrifying.
The moment they posted the article, within three seconds, the office phones exploded in unison.
Since then, those phones hadn’t stopped ringing even once.
And the PR team hadn’t slept a wink since.
“They say superstars drive both fans and haters crazy, huh.”
Crazy calls. Crazy situation. Crazy workload. The whole world seemed to be losing its mind over Lee Shin.
It was starting to feel scary.
They had lit a fire because he told them to, but it was clear that the situation had long spiraled out of the PR team’s control.
Public attention was a double-edged sword.
Gaining this much attention in such a short time meant they needed to prepare something equally monumental to justify it.
If they failed to do so, the backlash could be catastrophic, burning them to ashes in the resulting firestorm.
“How does he plan to clean this up…….”
The picture Lee Shin had in mind was unfathomable to her.
Ring-ring—!
Ring-ring-ring——!!
Riiiiing…….
Of course, the phones didn’t stop ringing in the meantime.
* * *
“Hmm~ Hmmm~”
Lee Shin’s fingers danced to an upbeat rhythm.
“Nice. Piano sounds good.”
The elegant melody filled the car.
CF music, ringtone tunes—it was a common song you’d hear everywhere. But in the hands of an expert, it felt different.
The melody was elegant, the ride was smooth, the cushions were plush, and the sunlight streaming through the window was warm.
If he could snack on a soft, steaming potato from a rest area right now?
Ah, perfection.
“This must be heaven.”
The triangle-shaped smile on Lee Shin’s lips showed just how perfect the moment was for him.
But next to him, Chae Dong-ha wasn’t having it.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Yup. What’s this song called? Beethoven’s Four Seasons?”
“Four Seasons is by Vivaldi.”
“Eh, don’t sweat the details. As long as it’s awesome. Makes you appreciate the importance of good speakers.”
“……Sure.”
Chae Dong-ha gave him a sidelong glance.
Dark circles under his eyes, his gaze filled with silent complaints, his entire demeanor screamed exhaustion.
It couldn’t be helped.
The entire guild had been running a relay of all-nighters to carry out Lee Shin’s orders.
As the control tower coordinating everything, Chae Dong-ha had barely had a moment’s rest.
Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Yet here was Lee Shin, casually talking about “Heaven” while lounging beside him.
Wasn’t it infuriating?
“You’re boring holes into my face, man.”
“……It’s your imagination.”
“Pfft. You’re so transparent. Want some potato?”
“No, thanks.”
“Why not? It’s tasty.”
As Lee Shin popped a potato into his mouth, he decided to offer some advice to the sulking young sapling next to him.
“Everyone has their strengths. Imagine me stuck in the guild office mingling with the staff. I’d be unbearable, wouldn’t I?”
Self-awareness.
Lee Shin’s forte.
He believed that solving problems started with objectively evaluating oneself.
The actions you take depend on your abilities.
So, whenever a problem arose, Lee Shin always asked himself:
Am I better at answering phones than the PR team?
Am I better at analyzing numbers than the finance team?
In the end, you focus on what you’re best at—your own unique strengths.
“Drawing a big picture.”
“A big picture?”
“Yeah. A really, really big picture.”
Not just any picture—have you ever heard of a masterpiece that comes with 20 years of experience?
At that moment, the ringing of a phone interrupted the conversation. Chae Dong-ha quickly picked it up, cutting their talk short.
Moments later, he reported the result to Lee Shin.
“They’ve contacted us. Director Jeong Soon-dong said they’ve pinpointed the location.”
“I knew I could count on our director.”
A few days earlier, back when Lee Shin confidently told the PR team to sell him as a product, he had a separate conversation with Jeong Soon-dong.
The gist of their discussion was simple.
You have to understand the means and the ends clearly.
Hype and fame were just tools. Their ultimate goal was to revive the faded glory of Mir Guild and rebuild it into a prestigious guild.
The answer lay in results, and for that, they had to achieve promotion this year.
Thus, Lee Shin handed a bundle of profiles to Jeong Soon-dong—profiles that Chae Dong-ha was now reviewing as part of their recruitment list.
“As expected, Director Jeong is much better at this than management. He’s efficient.”
“It’s fascinating. How did he manage to gather this information? Usually, guilds are reluctant to share details about promising recruits.”
“Connections.”
“Connections?”
“What drives Korean society? School ties, regional ties, blood ties—at the end of the day, it’s all about connections. And our Director Jeong has plenty of them.”
Director Jeong Soon-dong.
To Lee Shin, he was more familiar as Vice Chairman Jeong Soon-dong.
In the GM world, he wasn’t a major character.
If anything, he was a minor NPC who occasionally congratulated the protagonist during award ceremonies.
But there was something interesting about this character.
Despite being a minor NPC with only a few lines of description, one phrase stood out:
『 ……He has a kind personality and treats everyone sincerely, earning the nickname “Papa” among hunters due to his widespread support……. 』
Exactly.
This character had risen through connections rather than personal ability—a so-called “Social Butterfly” type.
Some people look down on connections, viewing them as a crutch for the incompetent or a shortcut for parachuted hires.
But Lee Shin thought otherwise.
Viewed objectively, connections were a form of competence.
For example, in his past life, Lee Shin despised his department head but still treated him with respect because the man’s social skills were undeniably effective.
Similarly, despite Jeong Soon-dong’s timid demeanor, stuttering speech, and overall unremarkable traits, his connections alone had propelled him to the position of vice chairman.
Of course, his kind nature had made him a pawn in Yang Pan-seok’s schemes, leading to his eventual downfall. But that was a future erased in this timeline, so Lee Shin saw Jeong Soon-dong as a highly usable asset.
After hearing Lee Shin’s explanation, Chae Dong-ha finally nodded in understanding.
“Having many connections makes it easier to gather information and discreetly approach promising recruits.”
“Exactly. Approaching someone through mutual acquaintances versus cold-calling them—it’s a world of difference. It’s like comparing blind dates to random pick-ups. The success rate for blind dates is way higher.”
“That’s true. According to some survey, blind dates are six times more likely to result in relationships than random pick-ups. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Hmm~ Our dear hyung is lonely, huh?”
“…I saw it with my sibling.”
“Sure, if you say so.”
“Ahem. Anyway, your argument is oddly convincing. I understand why you entrusted the recruitment task to Director Jeong.”
“Do you see the big picture I’m painting now?”
“Hmm….”
Just as Chae Dong-ha seemed to be coming around, he raised another concern.
“But don’t you think this picture is a bit too big?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about public opinion. The fire you started with the fans is still raging.”
Lee Shin’s logic was sound.
Despite being infamous as an irredeemable delinquent, his actions within the guild had been nothing short of extraordinary. His keen insight and exceptional decision-making skills were undeniable.
However, even considering all that, the plan Lee Shin envisioned seemed dangerously ambitious.
“I think you plan to quell the public’s anger through recruitment—calming the fans with new talent. But, Representative.”
Chae Dong-ha gathered the profiles he had been reviewing into a neat stack.
“That public anger has long since spiraled beyond our control. Recruiting a few promising talents won’t be enough to douse the flames.”
The raid team had been completely transferred, and half of the front office had been reorganized. The only thing left in Mir Guild now was its fanbase.
And yet, they were practically at war with those fans.
Sacrificing them as mere kindling for publicity? That was akin to burning all bridges.
“If we can’t put out this fire, we’ll be left with nothing but ashes. We’ll lose the fans, the guild’s reputation, and everything else.”
As Chae Dong-ha expressed his concerns, Lee Shin’s expression shifted—not to worry or frustration, but to admiration and pride.
It was as if he were marveling at a cactus that had grown overnight.
“And?”
“Pardon?”
“And what’s next? Is that all you’ve got?”
Anyone can point out problems. To prove your worth, you need to propose solutions.
Faced with Lee Shin’s question, Chae Dong-ha pondered deeply before finally replying.
“Well, for now, I think we need a recruitment move with real impact.”
To balance a scale, the weights on both sides must be similar.
If one side holds public opinion exploding like a volcano, the other side must carry an equally shocking acquisition to balance it out.
“Yes, no matter how much I think about it, that seems to be the only solution. Whatever the reasons may be, Representative, you drove out Yang Pan-seok, a guild legend. Fans will expect this vacancy to be filled with someone even more exceptional than him. Only then can some of their anger subside.”
After concluding his answer, Chae Dong-ha turned his head, only to see Lee Shin grinning ear to ear.
Clap, clap.
“Everyone, give him a round of applause! You too, hyung. Noona, clap—oh, right, you’re driving. My bad. Anyway, wow~ When did our hyung grow up like this?”
Eighty out of a hundred.
In an environment where it’s easy to remain passive, Chae Dong-ha had analyzed the problem and actively proposed a solution. That alone deserved applause.
This is why inherent rank matters.
While an S-tier could grow into SS-tier, a natural-born SS-tier is on a different level from the start.
“You’re almost there, hyung. Your answer is close. But, you know…”
Countering the uncontrollable publicity with a new recruit—this was correct in the broad sense.
But Lee Shin was thinking further ahead.
“What if the acquisition is so hot, so overwhelmingly sensational, that it doesn’t just counter the publicity but amplifies it?”
In that case, the result wouldn’t merely be support.
“This impact would establish itself as an ‘image.’”
Image.
It’s no exaggeration to say that the defining difference between lower-league guilds and major-league guilds lies in how strong their image is.
At first glance, an image might seem pointless. But when commercially utilized, it becomes a brand and a mascot that unites the fanbase.
“Shock! Isn’t that the very image our Mir Guild, soaked in failure and bitterness, needs the most?”
Something outrageous yet never dull. Insanity that’s absurd but also exhilarating.
Days that feel precarious yet electrifying in their thrill, like walking a tightrope every day.
This was the grand picture Lee Shin envisioned, and the way to revive this ICU-ridden dragon.
“That’s why where we’re headed now is important.”
“Why is that?”
“Because.”
Putting the eyes on the dragon — the finishing touch.
“We’re on our way to recruit the dragon’s eyes.”
At the end of this road lies the final key to Mir Guild’s rebirth.
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