Chapter 20
“Wow, how many traps did you set up? Not a single gap.”
“Clicking on all of these must be a job in itself.”
“Hey, look at that big house.”
“But the interior’s kind of lame.”
“As if he knows anything about interior design.”
“True.”
Ji-woo and Han-sol chattered nonstop on either side of No-eul.
No-eul elbowed them both away.
“…Hey, you two, scoot over.”
The three of them were sitting side-by-side in a PC café.
Ji-woo and Han-sol were marveling at No-eul’s Happy Farm Farm on No-eul’s monitor.
What a luxury this was: two pretty girls pressed up next to No-eul, chatting about the game he liked.
Passing guys kept sneaking glances—eyes that said jealous, who is that guy, must be some sucker, and so on….
…Yeah, this counted as a luxury, right?
No-eul had started gaming to be alone, but the game had ended up making solitude impossible.
He wondered how it had come to this—and yet he felt relieved and happy. Relieved to still belong to the group. Glad Ji-woo and Han-sol had come looking for him first.
No-eul had thought he should be alone, but deep down he’d been afraid of actually being alone.
That was how he always was: he decided, I need to do this, then did it. And he did it well, telling himself, You’re doing fine. Just keep it up.
But looking back, he often realized he hadn’t truly wanted to do those things. He’d done them only because he thought he had to. And when those efforts sometimes fell apart, he’d feel oddly relieved and happy. That’s when it hit him: I never really wanted that, did I?
Maybe he’d been ruled too long by I must and I should, until he could no longer tell what he genuinely wanted.
“Come see my farm too,” Ji-woo said, tugging on No-eul’s chair.
Instead Ji-woo herself slid closer as she and Han-sol combined forces to push No-eul’s chair aside.
It really was a luxury.
The three of them huddled close to peer at Ji-woo’s monitor.
Ji-woo’s farm was covered in a riot of colorful flowers.
No-eul said, unimpressed,
“How do you make money like this?”
“Why? I can raise bees and sell honey.”
“Planting crops instead of flowers is way more cost-effective.”
“That’s not pretty, though.”
“You sure play this game your way.”
“You mean like trash?”
“No, like your way. You. Ugh, you never catch what I mean….”
No-eul shook his head and sighed.
While No-eul and Ji-woo bickered, Han-sol, clicking around the farm, said,
“Oh, you married an NPC.”
“Yup! Awesome, right?”
“Girls can marry girls in this game too, huh? Why’d you marry her?”
“She’s the prettiest.”
“Simple enough.”
“Uh-huh. You aren’t married yet?”
“Not yet. I’ve been holed up in the mines and never raised any NPC’s affection.”
“Looks like No-eul isn’t married either. All that time playing and still no affection points?”
Han-sol walked to No-eul’s station and fiddled with the mouse.
“Whoa, max affection with everyone. You maniac.”
“For real? Then why didn’t you marry anyone?” Ji-woo asked.
“…No reason. Marriage doesn’t give much of an advantage,” No-eul said.
“Marry Hazel and she gives you rare items sometimes,” Ji-woo replied.
“I know what they give, but… not really worth it.”
“Such an efficiency nerd. Gonna have an arranged marriage in real life?”
“Shut up.”
Han-sol said, “Forget the perks—marriage is part of the game’s content. It’s fun, that’s all.”
“Is that so?” No-eul tilted his head.
They moved on to Han-sol’s farm, and Ji-woo and Han-sol chattered again about crops and livestock.
No-eul suddenly wondered:
Yeah… why didn’t I get married?
He remembered thinking NPC marriage had no real merit. Still, as Han-sol said, he could have done it just for fun. No downside. Yet he hadn’t.
He retraced his thoughts:
He’d clicked on different NPCs, weighing rewards—this one’s boring, that one’s not pretty—when suddenly he’d thought, What if someone saw me doing this?
Even though no one would.
If someone did see, they might sneer, Can’t do it in real life so you try it in a game, huh?
That thought killed any desire to marry. From then on, staying single became his personal Happy Farm Farm rule.
The idea kept echoing:
Even though no one would see.
He played this game alone in his room—who would ever see?
But he still imagined that one-in-a-million chance. And now here it was: two pretty girls actually watching his game.
Even if no one else watched, he was watching.
He looked at himself and thought the same thing: Can’t do it in real life, so you’re doing it here. Pathetic.
He hated being that kind of person—someone who longed for what he couldn’t have. He didn’t even want to be like that in a game. He didn’t want to show that side of himself, even to himself.
Showing it felt… shameful. Yes, shame. Chasing an unattainable desire felt unbearably shameful.
Wanting to be handsome.
Wanting to be loved.
Wanting to be popular with girls.
Wanting to be seen as attractive….
All perfectly natural desires.
If someone else confessed them, he’d say, “Of course. Who doesn’t?”
But in himself, those same desires felt shameful. So he pretended not to have them—hid them, even from himself.
No-eul looked at Ji-woo and Han-sol.
Maybe the reason they stayed friends with someone as plain as him was precisely that desperate act of pretending.
By now, to others, he probably looked like someone with almost no desire at all—a cool, non-clingy person.
Pretending or not, it had protected him—socially and emotionally. Without that shell, he might have been ostracized or ended up in therapy with shattered self-esteem.
It was like a snail’s shell: not his true self, a fake, but without it he couldn’t survive.
Ji-woo said to him,
“Let’s play Happy Farm Farm for like three hours, then grab dinner.”
“…I’m done with Happy Farm Farm.”
“Huh? Why?”
“I’m bored. There’s nowhere left to climb. Time to descend the mountain.”
“What, you got us hooked and now you’re quitting?”
“Thanks to me you found a great game. You’re pros now—you don’t need me. Good luck.”
“…Kang Byung-jun.”
“…….”
“…Kang Byung-jun!”
“Yes? Huh?”
“What are you doing?”
“…Planting blueberry seeds….”
Snickers echoed around the lecture hall.
The professor scoffed.
“Want me to plant seeds in your GPA too? What are you, a middle schooler, playing a phone game in class?”
“…Sorry….”
“Honestly…. That’s all for today. Don’t forget your reports are due next week.”
The professor cracked his neck and left the room.
As soon as he left, Hyun-soo mimed sprinkling seeds as he approached Byung-jun.
“‘Planting blueberry seeds,’ my ass.”
“Shut up.”
Hyun-soo cackled, then turned to Ji-woo and Han-sol in the front row.
“Because of you two, everyone in the department is playing Happy Farm Farm.”
“It is a god-tier game,” Ji-woo said.
Han-sol added, “But we’re done now.”
“Why?”
No-eul looked at Ji-woo and Han-sol.
Ji-woo said, “There’s nowhere left to climb. Time to descend.”
Hearing his own words echoed back, No-eul felt a twinge.
Ji-woo turned to him.
“No-eul, you’re done with classes, no club meetings, no assignments, and you quit Happy Farm Farm too, right?”
“Uh? …Yeah.”
“Then let’s go get malatang.”
She didn’t wait for an answer before heading out of the lecture hall.
It wasn’t even “Wanna go?”—it was “Let’s go.”
As No-eul sat there blinking, Han-sol said,
“You… weren’t trying to ditch us, were you?”
“…What?”
“You weren’t trying to shake us off, right?”
A chill ran through No-eul, like a blade pressed to his carotid.
“…What are you talking about? I was just playing the game.”
“…I hope so.”
“I mean it….”
He fussed with his bag, pretending to be busy.
Han-sol said, “Ji-woo might seem carefree, but she notices things fast.”
“……”
Han-sol knew No-eul too well, sure. But how much had Ji-woo figured out?
Had she sensed he’d used the game as an excuse to avoid them? How? Was it that obvious, that unnatural?
And if she knew why he’d done it? Did Han-sol tell her? No, Han-sol wouldn’t.
So what was Ji-woo thinking—that No-eul just found her annoying?
If so, that might actually be better. Hopefully she hadn’t seen through to the petty, pathetic truth….
“Come on. I’ll be out front,” Han-sol said, heading for the door.
No-eul looked back and forth between Han-sol’s retreating figure and Ji-woo waiting by the lecture hall entrance.
No-eul no longer knew what to do.
They’d sensed, almost supernaturally, that he’d been trying to keep his distance.
If he made another excuse, they’d be sure he was pulling away.
So… should the three of them just keep hanging out?
But he worried. Worried that he might smash his own protective shell.
He’d already come close a few times; he no longer trusted his own willpower or reason.
Worst of all, he couldn’t reduce the possibility of Ji-woo to absolute zero.
He knew better than anyone that she’d never like him, that no girl likes a guy who looks like him.
He repeated it like a mantra, etched it into his brain—
yet a tiny weed of hope kept sprouting.
Living with that part of himself felt exhausting.
He’d already done everything he could think of.
What more could he possibly do?
Then a thought flickered:
If only Ji-woo had an amazing boyfriend so out of my league that I couldn’t even dream…
And then he realized—that wasn’t impossible.
No-eul slung his bag over his shoulder and left the lecture hall.
Ji-woo and Han-sol were waiting.
He walked up to Ji-woo and said,
“Hey, Jun-gi said he wants to come too. Should I tell him to join us?”
