Chapter Text
Mark didn’t even remember waking up. No, what he remembered was the ringing. His eyes blinking open, looking up at the dull white of his ceiling. And the ringing in his ears kept getting louder and louder until he was able to recognize it as his phone. He sat up on the couch, groggy and squinting his eyes at his gaming desk across the room.
The webcam was set right on him, the image of his own face staring back on the screen. A line of comments in the chat coming in like rapid fire.
Oh, right. He was live.
He sighed, reaching for his phone on the desk and picking it up. “Hello?” he answered, rubbing his eyes.
“Bro!” Jackson’s voice boomed. “You said a twenty-four hour stream! What are you doing?”
Mark sighed. “I know, I know,” he said, stretching his neck out. It always got a bit of a crick when he fell asleep on this couch. “I was just closing my eyes for a minute.”
“A minute?” Jackson questioned. “It’s been two hours according to your comments section.”
“Fuck,” Mark groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked up to the computer, waving and forcing a smile, “Sorry, guys.”
“Plus,” Jackson said. “Check your viewer count.”
Mark got up, holding the phone to his ear as he came closer to the desk. He leaned over, looking at the number count. Watching it rise higher and higher by the second. It was already three times his average for this time of day. “Who are all of you?” he murmured, eyes scanning the comments.
He’s up!
FINALLY. We can see his FACE.
Is that the guy? The one from the game?
WOAH the resemblance!!
Super handsome
He MUST have done motion capture for Higher Games
“Jackson,” he spoke into the phone. “What are they talking about?”
His friend laughed. “Ask them yourself.”
And before Mark could snap back at him, the line went dead. He sighed. Putting the phone down and taking a seat at his desk. He pulled on his headset. “Good morning, everyone,” he adjusted the microphone.
OW my ears are bleeding
rip headphone users
He groaned. “Yeah, yeah,” he waved. “I know my headset is shit. I’m working on getting a new one.” His eyes panned back down to that viewer count, watching it go higher and higher.
“Uh,” he stalled, biting down on his lips. “...Welcome. To all the new people. Um. This is my channel.” He tried to think, but that ever increasing number was just getting the better of any mental process. He let out a pent up breath. “I’m sorry. I have to address it,” he admitted. “Why are you all here?”
Trailer just went LIVE.
Watch it, Tuanzy man!
You have to see it!
React to it!!
The same comments just kept repeating over and over again. He furrowed his brows, “You guys want me to watch something?”
When the Dust Settles
the dust game
when the dust settles
Look it up!
new higher games release, bro
“Okay, okay,” he nodded. “Gimme a second.” He clicked around, starting to share his screen as he went to Youtube, typing When the Dust Settles into the search bar. The page loaded, his eyes scanning the first result.
When the Dust Settles - Cinematic Trailer
25 mins ago
“This it?” he asked, cursor circling around the thumbnail. Watching the chat spit out a plethora of positive responses. “Alright,” he settled into his gaming chair. “I’m watching.”
He clicked the video, putting it full screen. He sat back in his chair, putting his feet up onto his desk.
The black screen went sky blue, the sound of wind whistling in the background. The camera panned down to a realistically animated desert scene. A gas station that looked decrepit, vintage. Like something out of time. Outside, a red car sat, a person sitting on the hood, while two more stood in front. The camera progressively drawing forwards, creeping in to overhear their conversation.
“King,” said the figure on the hood. His face was turned away but from behind, he was wearing a red leather jacket, bright red hair glinting in the desert sun. “I need you to download anything that looks like it may be of use to us. Schematics, blueprints, schedules, anything.”
The silver haired figure nodded, smooth, handsome face smiling confidently. “Can do.”
“And Dandy,” he said, turning to the other one, looking up at his taller height, his yellow hair. “You need to see if you can find any written record. I heard he has a couple of locked file cabinets in there. Figure out why they are locked.”
“Yes, sir,” the man saluted.
The red haired man was still turned away from the animator’s lens. “I’m going to get the power online and then keep watch. Got it?”
“Got it,” the two responded in tandem.
Dandy hit King’s shoulder playfully, “I bet I can pick every lock in this place before you pass the first encryption.”
King smirked, “You’re on.”
“Go,” the leader commanded. “Let’s get this done and get out of here. There have been too many Crow sightings in this area already.”
The two laughed, jogging onward into the building. And as they did, the camera circled around, facing the figure on the car. His red bangs sweeping across his tanned face, dark eyes watching on with a glint of pride, the smallest workings of a smile across his face.
Mark’s eyes peripherally saw the chat explode on his other monitor, messages shooting off in thick walls of text.
IT’S TUANZY!
HOLY HELL
TWINS
Mark sat up, taking a closer look at the trailer. He paused the video on the character’s face. “This guy?” he circled his cursor around the man. “You think we look alike?”
DOUBLE VISION
WTF IS GOING ON?
Mark shrugged. “I don’t really see it,” he said dismissively. But the comments just kept flooding in multiple languages, all the same. Mark stared at the chat, completely perplexed by the wave of attention.
“Guys,” he smiled. “Come on. What is this about?” He watched, not seeing any change in the topic. “Is this your way of telling me to dye my hair red?”
omg I would pass away
DO IT DO IT DO IT
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
keep watching!
“Alright, alright.” Mark pressed play, focusing back on the trailer as the camera finished its half circle. Background coming into focus on the expanse of desert that lay beyond the car. And from the camera’s vantage point, there was a singular white dot. Weaving a slow trail down the sandy slope. Maybe a person in the distance, coming closer.
Mark watched as the man on the car twisted around, looking behind him. His head angling upward to spot that white speck just as it stopped in its tracks. Wavering on their feet for just a moment before falling over.
The man jumped from the car, eyes still settled on the horizon as everything slowed. Going slow motion as the background blurred out of focus in favor of the man’s strong shoulders outlining his jacket, his red hair feathering in the desert breeze. That figure in the sand too hazy to make out.
Overlaying the visuals, the audio of that desert wind stayed constant. The same man’s voice speaking over it. “Who are you?” he said, voice raw and full of force. But then, it was something softer, whispering alongside the desert wind. “Who are you?”
The screen went black. When The Dust Settles, it read. Coming This Spring.
“Hmm,” Mark hummed. “Cool trailer,” he remarked, clicking off of the video and switching his settings. Watching his own image expand on the screen. He shrugged, “But not really my kind of game.”
“So,” he clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “What do you guys want to watch me play this morning?”
A few hours later, Mark finished the stream. But by that night, he had an email at the top of his inbox.
Mr. Tuan,
I hope the new year is finding you well. Our marketing team has recently been made aware of some connections that have been drawn between you and our upcoming release, When The Dust Settles. We see that this could perhaps be a profitable opportunity for both of us. If you would like to get involved, please feel free to reach out to me personally at this email.
Kim Yugyeom
Marketing Officer
Higher Games
Mark stared at it, rereading it twice before checking the email address to see if it was spam. He read it once more. Before relocating it into his trash folder. Because surely, someone must have been messing with him.
And if they weren’t?
Well.
He still wasn’t interested.
The next day, he was relaxing at home when his phone rang. He looked to the screen, seeing an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” said a cheery voice on the other end. “Is this Mr. Mark Tuan?”
Mark went tense, “Who is this?”
“This is Kim Yugyeom, marketing officer at Higher Games?” he said. “I reached out to you via email yesterday evening.”
“How did you get my number?”
The man was silent for a long pause, “From a mutual contact.”
“Who?”
He ignored him, drawing in a breath before continuing to speak. “I wanted to potentially bring you into the office this week. I think we have some great ideas at the company-”
“Sorry,” Mark shook his head. “I’m not interested.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not interested,” he repeated. And as the silence fell, he felt the awkwardness burn right through him. “But. Thank you for reaching out,” he added. “Bye bye.”
“Wait, Mr-”
He hung up, looking down at his phone for a long moment. Wondering what the hell was going on.
Just then, there was a knocking at his apartment door. Mark sighed, thankful for any form of distraction. He tossed his phone onto the couch, going to the front door.
Jackson was standing on the other side, holding up a new Balenciaga tee to his chest. The tags still dangling from the collar. “Hey, can I borrow this?” he asked, looking down at it. “We have that conference coming up and I think this will fit me.”
“It won’t fit you,” Mark said bluntly. He raised a brow, “But why are you asking me?”
“Because it’s yours,” Jackson remarked. “You got a package today,” he said, slipping past Mark and into his apartment uninvited. “Guess who it’s from?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “I know who it's from,” he said. “Hand it over.”
“Not fair,” Jackson whined, tossing it to him as he collapsed onto the couch. “Why doesn’t your anon subscriber send me nice expensive gifts? I’m a cute streamer too.”
“Because,” Mark smirked, holding up the shirt and admiring it. “There’s a lot of streamers out there. But only one Tuanzy.”
Mark’s phone started to buzz on the couch. The same unknown number as before. He stared at it, paralyzed.
“Are you going to get that?” Jackson asked, raising a brow.
Mark blinked. “No,” he shook his head. “It’s just spam.”
Jackson dismissed it, crossing his arms in a pout. “So I can’t wear that shirt to the conference?”
“Nope,” Mark said, turning the tag over and seeing a little blue heart sticker. “I’m wearing it.”
---
Seoul’s biggest video game conference only came once every January. A massive spectacle that drew in players, creators, and businessmen from across the globe. And as Mark navigated around the convention center, he was trying not to feel those four missed calls burning a hole through his pocket. Or the six ignored emails stacked in his recycle bin, each with increasingly more urgent subject lines. None of which he took the time to read.
Come to Hall 4. QUICK, read Jackson’s text as Mark dropped his snow-dusted jacket at the coat check. He walked through the hall, trying to recall the path. Everything looked so eerily similar to last year. And he briefly remembered being shuffled around behind the scenes by hired security, doing panels and photo-ops with eager fans. But maybe more than that, he remembered fingers intertwined, running from the crowds. Finding solace in fancy hotel rooms where no one could hear them. He remembered navigating this same space, not as a fan, but a celebrity. And not alone, but with someone at his side.
And almost as if fate had some sick, twisted sense of humor, he heard someone calling out from behind him.
“Is that a little Tuanzy I see?”
And the voice tipped Mark off immediately. Having to fight off the childish instinct to run and hide. He took a deep breath, turning and watching exactly the person he’d been picturing walking up with a security guard at his side.
“Youngjae,” Mark breathed, forcing a tight smile. “Hey.”
The man smiled. Bright eyes giving off their usual charming glint. Arms crossing over his chest, a myriad of VIP badges dangling from his neck. “It’s good to see you in Seoul again,” he said, cheerfully. “When did you get back from California?”
Mark swallowed, “A few months ago.”
“It’s still Tuanzy, right?” Youngjae said, narrowing his eyes. “You are still playing games?”
“I’m at a gaming conference,” Mark said, perhaps a little sharper than he intended.
Youngjae’s smile staled a little, that glint in his eyes going smug. “How is streaming?”
“It’s fine,” Mark shrugged. “Great, actually.”
“Sponsors must be treating you well,” Youngjae laughed, beckoning to his shirt. “Still keeping up with the Balenciaga releases, I see.”
Mark shook his head, “I don’t accept sponsors.”
“Huh,” Youngjae tilted his head. “Why’s that?”
And Mark knew the reason, but he wasn’t about to say it. “I just don’t.”
Youngjae licked his lips. “So,” he looked him up and down. “You don’t miss the esports scene?” he asked, making it sound like an accusation.
“Nope,” Mark shook his head. “I’m quite happy with what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, right,” Youngjae scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You used to be Team Seoul’s secret weapon from the States. Had the whole gaming industry at your feet. But you decided to leave it all behind to pursue a streaming career.”
Mark felt his face go tight in a glare, heat pricking down the back of his neck. “I didn’t leave anything,” he snapped. “Team Captain Aura didn’t like sharing the spotlight and ended my contract and our relationship within the same day.”
Youngjae laughed, deep and callous, “And now, you stream yourself playing the same games I win grand prize money for.” He scrunched his nose, ”No wonder you sound so bitter.”
Mark stared him down, fuming.
“Come on, Mark,” Youngjae softened, stepping forward and reaching for Mark’s arm. “Tell me you don’t miss it. Not even just a little?”
Mark pulled his arm away. “I don’t miss it,” he said, firmly. “So if you don’t mind, I have a presentation to make.” He started to turn away.
“Is it true?” Youngjae called out, “What they are saying? Are you teaming up with Higher Games?”
Mark stilled, looking back at him. “Where did you hear that?”
Youngjae shrugged, “Everyone’s talking about it.”
Mark stared, trying to piece it together. Where would people even be hearing that? Why would they think that?
“So, is it true?” Youngjae asked, stepping closer. “Did they design that character after you?”
Mark couldn’t answer his questions. They didn’t even compute to him. So he just stayed firm. “See you around, Youngjae,” he murmured before walking away.
HURRY UP, Jackson texted him a moment later. I’m in the fourth row, center.
By the time Mark got to the hall, whatever presentation was going on had already started, leaving the room dark. Mark squinted his eyes, trying to locate Jackson among the crowd of thousands. Finding his row and having to awkwardly squeeze through a half dozen people. He whispered apologies, trying not to step on toes, before he took the seat next to his friend.
“Where have you been?” Jackson hissed, trying to be as covert as possible. “You missed the whole introduction!”
Mark sighed, “I ran into someone.”
“Oh no,” Jackson’s shoulders fell. “Don’t tell me it starts with Au and ends in Ra.”
Mark waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Youngjae can go on living his pro gamer fantasy. Lead the Korean team to another championship. I’m doing fine on my own,” he assured him, ignoring the presumptive stare of Jackson’s eyes. “What’s so important about this presentation anyway?”
And when he raised his eyes to the stage, he saw the logos behind the presenters. The intertwining blue and red arrows that made up the H in Higher Games. Mark’s shoulders fell, glare snapping over towards Jackson.
His friend shrugged, feigning innocence, “Don’t act like you aren’t curious.”
“I’m not,” he said firmly.
“Shh,” Jackson hit his arm, pointing up to the stage. “Pay attention,”
Mark looked up to the stage, seeing two men standing side by side. Both of them dressed formally. One with a black mullet with silver jewelry along his ears that shined in the bright stage lights. The other with pink and purple streaks intermingling in his hair, fingernails painted a deep black.
“So,” the dark haired one spoke. “As the technical lead,” he motioned to himself. “And the artistic lead,” he motioned to the other man. “We wanted to introduce the mastermind behind our newest release. I was privileged enough to work under his late father when he ran the company and I see just the same creative passion from his heir today.”
“So,” the other man spoke up, smiling wide. “Without further ado, our CEO and the director for our upcoming release, When the Dust Settles. Mr. Park Jinyoung.”
The stage faded to black and the crowd erupted into applause, spirited woohoos, and deafening screams. The two men left the stage while the screens that spread across the width of the hall went blue. The same sky blue, beautiful and open wide. Same desert setting, every texture like something you could reach out and touch. The whole room feeling a few degrees warmer even in the middle of winter. It was the same cinematic trailer as the one online. Only this time, the whistling desert winds were accompanied by the cheers of the crowd as a man stepped out onto the stage. He was dressed in an all black suit, dark hair quaffed away from his face. His expression so stoic and calm as he stood in the middle. The crowd continued to cheer, spreading a small smile across his face.
Mark was quiet, staring up at the man. Wondering if he’d ever really seen the head of Higher Games before, knowing it wasn’t a company he typically followed. He hadn’t expected the CEO to be so young. And he also hadn’t expected him to be so striking. The game company CEOs Mark had met before when he was competing were all middle aged gamers. More likely to be found in jeans and a nerdy t-shirt than in an expensive looking suit. And everything about this Park Jinyoung character was immediately standing out from anything Mark had ever known.
“Thank you, thank you,” the man nodded, as the crowd died down. The hall fell silent and Mr. Park seemed to bask in the openness of it for a purposeful moment before he began to speak. “Higher Games has always been committed to telling compelling stories, presenting complex characters, and offering our players something significant that they can walk away with,” the man said, voice just as commanding as his presence. “When my father founded this company nearly three decades ago, he wanted games to have a higher purpose, a higher message, appealing to individuals in a totally different way from the games that came before. Throughout his career, he cemented that status of ours as storytellers, pathfinders, and changemakers. It’s because of him that I’m able to be here with you all today.”
“When I took over the company, four years ago at the age of twenty-three, no one had ever heard of a major game company being led by someone so young. And I knew that my first release was going to be a make or break for not just me, but the whole of my company. I knew how high the stakes were for this game to be more than anyone could have expected us to do. And I feel honored today to be bringing you a release that everyone at our company couldn’t be more proud of. A story that we’ve felt compelled to tell. Today, I present you with our upcoming release, When The Dust Settles.”
The crowd went wild, whooping and hollering as the trailer continued to play on the screens behind the CEO. The audio dialed back to almost nothing as Mark felt himself getting tripped up in all the visual details. The panoramic screens making everything so vivid and clear. From the subtle, muddy nicks on the tail lights of that red, vintage car to every perfectly placed silver hairs on King’s head.
Mr. Park took a deep breath, centering himself again. “In this adventure-packed first-person narrative, you explore the barren wasteland, aptly named The Dust. Just beyond the bounds of the glowing neon metropolis of Nova City. But things in Nova City aren’t as perfect as they seem with the all-powerful Lark Industries looming over everyone’s heads. Supplying their citizens with the drugs and propaganda to keep them complicit under the company’s reign.”
“When you come to, you find yourself being introduced to the Dust’s very own resistance. A group of colorful freedom fighters named The Surge. Surge are all fighting for the same cause; to dismantle Lark Industries and restore freedom and truth to the city. You immediately get pulled into a boisterous squad of young rebels. Most notably, your co-protagonist for the duration of the game, Z.” The screen behind him showed the red haired character sitting on the hood of the car.
Someone from the crowd suddenly stood up, shouting over the silence. “TUANZY!” he screamed, pointing towards Mark in the fourth row.
Mark’s heart went wild, panicked as the crowd’s eyes turned to him, erupting with cheers. Mark felt the embarrassment flush his ears hot as he tried sinking down in his seat, wishing for a quick and painless death.
“What are you doing!?” Jackson urged, pulling at his arm. “Sit up!”
Mark pulled himself back up, watching the smiles of the crowd glimmering back at him. Feeling his stomach churn with sudden nausea. His eyes flicked up to the stage and as they did, he found himself locking eyes with Park Jinyoung.
If the CEO was mad about the disturbance, he wasn’t letting it show. No, instead he was watching it play out, hands tucked behind his back. That smallest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, the stage lights glistening in his eyes. Just as black as his suit.
And Mark felt faint, unable to look away from him, as the crowd managed to subdue themselves again.
That smirk on the CEO’s face nearly broke, but before it could, he looked away, redirecting his attention to the crowd. “In this game, you’ll accompany the Surge as they ready a major attack on the governing corporation. And you’ll play a critical role in it’s implementation. But,” he paused. “Things in the Dust haven’t been the same ever since your character appeared. And it’s your job to find out why.”
Mark stared up at him, feeling the nearly imperceptible lean of his own body towards the stage. Wondering exactly what type of mystery Mr. Park was hinting at.
“Higher Games has prepared some very exciting content for the next few weeks leading up to the release of the game. We sincerely hope that you are just as excited about meeting these characters as we are.” And again, the man’s eyes flashed towards Mark in the crowd. That powerful firmness in his eyes. “We are so looking forward to welcoming you into this world. And until then,” he smiled. “Keep fighting. Thank you.”
The hall fell dark again, the crowd roaring to life with applause. House lights coming on as the applause turned to chatter. The dense crowd starting to stand, making their way out of the hall towards other presentations.
Jackson leaned into Mark’s shoulder, an annoyingly perky grin across his face. “So,” he singsonged. “What did you think?”
Mark rolled his eyes, getting up from his chair. “All feels a bit cryptic, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Mark asked. “Just leaves you with questions.”
Jackson laughed, “So you are curious, aren’t you?”
“No,” Mark shook his head. “I was just-” He sighed. “Nevermind. Let’s just head out.”
They started making their way towards the exit when Mark heard someone call out his name.
“Mr. Tuan!”
And he should have known already that nothing good could come from a stranger shouting his name, but he turned anyway, watching a taller young man maneuvering through the crowd towards him.
“Kim Yugyeom,” he said, extending his hand out towards Mark. “I’m the one you spoke to on the phone the other day.”
Mark felt his stomach sink. He shook his hand. “Pleasure,” he smiled tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-”
“Our CEO asked to meet you,” Yugyeom called over the crowd.
“Sorry?” Mark leaned closer, sure he must have misheard him.
“He’s waiting backstage,” Yugyeom nodded. “He would love to catch your ear for a few minutes.”
Mark looked back at Jackson, seeing the boy smiling, nodding. Mark’s mouth hung open as he looked back towards Yugyeom. “As I told you on the phone-”
Jackson’s hands pushed against Mark’s back, sending him two steps closer to Yugyeom. “He would love to,” he shouted, weaving through the crowd and out of sight.
“Wonderful,” Yugyeom smiled. “Follow me.”
Mark looked back, not seeing Jackson anywhere. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he started to trail behind Yugyeom in the crowd. Going against the current towards the back of the stage. Yugyeom led him through a narrow door to a hallway that ran behind the length of the stage.
“This way,” the man motioned.
Mark continued to walk behind him, stomach going more and more nauseous. Keeping his head down as his mind rushed for excuses, thinking of any way he could slip out of this. But before he could find a suitable option, his eyes were falling on black dress shoes.
“Mr. Tuan?” Yugyeom said, bright smile in his voice. “Mr. Park Jinyoung.”
Mark’s eyes slowly drew up the dark suit, all the way up to the man’s face. His gaze was just as fixed as it had been on stage, same intense eyes unwavering on him. Same smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. But from this close, he could see how light brown his eyes were. He could see the dimple indenting his cheek. The intensity seeming to mask some innate softness that he had, fighting against it. And the play between the two made Mark’s head feel a little lost as he watched Mr. Park’s gaze brush down towards his chest before flicking back up to his eyes, nearly smiling.
“Pleasure,” the CEO extended his hand.
Mark looked down to it, feeling awkward and nervous as he took it. Shaking it weakly. His mouth sealed tight, just praying he wouldn’t add to the incurring embarrassment.
“I got it from here, Yugyeom,” the man said, not pulling his eyes away.
And Mark heard Yugyeom’s footsteps trail back down the hallway. The only sound was the ambient chatter of the hall filling with another audience for the next presentation. Mark’s chest felt tight, aching, as he drew in a breath, trying to find his voice. “You asked to speak with me?”
Mr. Park huffed under his breath. “It must be some great privilege.”
“And why’s that?” Mark asked, not catching on to whatever joke the man seemed to have with himself.
He looked down, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, “I heard you’ve been giving my marketing officer quite the run around this week.”
Mark bit into his cheek. “I’ve been pretty busy,” he rushed to say. “You know streaming and everything.”
“Is that your way of apologizing?”
“No,” Mark furrowed his brows, arms crossing over his chest. “I don’t owe you an apology for being busy,” he said, firmly. Thinking, feeling out the wall behind his back just for something to lean against. “If anything, I’d apologize for today.”
The CEO looked at him, silence imploring him to explain.
“For the interruption during your presentation,” Mark said, hand combing the hair through at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t know I had any fans in the audience. Or that they would react that way.”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Mr. Park said. “It seems like I have Tuanzy’s name following my game coverage. I was hoping-”
“Mr. Park,” Mark shook his head. “I already told your marketing official that I am not interested.”
“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”
Mark stared at him, feeling like nothing would relieve the awkward tension that just kept ratcheting every muscle tighter. “My plate is quite full with other projects.”
“What other projects?” the man asked, brows barely lifted in a challenge.
Mark sighed, “They’re not really any concern of yours.”
“Because they don’t exist?” Mr. Park’s eyes glistened, mocking.
“How would you know?” Mark’s brows turned down into a glare.
His smirk grew. “Just assume I know everything.”
“About?”
“You.”
Mark felt the itch of frustration trailed down his spine, making his ears go hot. “Then you’ll already know that I have absolutely no interest in anything you could possibly offer me.”
“Anything?” he asked, wicked charisma dripping with suggestion.
Mark leaned into the wall. He could feel the bass of some other game presentation starting, thumping against his back like a ticking clock. Making his anxiety peak. Shakily exhaling and feeling no relief from it, “What do you want, Mr. Park?”
“An exclusive,” he said, voice steady. Nearly rehearsed. “I want Tuanzy to be the first person streaming gameplay.”
Mark stared him down, unyielding. “It’s not my brand,” he enunciated. “I don’t stream that kind of game.”
He scoffed under his breath, face going tight at one side. “So you're just going to keep playing that multiplayer shit? Like you’re just some hasbeen pro?”
Mark felt everything burn hotter, remembering his encounter with Youngjae earlier. The words too similar. Like a burn against his skin, bright red and stinging.
Mr. Park took a step forward. “Look,” he sighed, checking around for potential onlookers but there weren’t any in this hidden space behind the stage. He brought his face closer. His whole presence pressing Mark against that wall until he felt his shoulder blades trembling alongside the bass of the showcase.
The man licked his lips, slow and deliberate in a way Mark couldn’t help but watch. And when the man spoke, his voice was deep. Feeling even deeper than that rumbling bass. Making Mark tremble in a totally different way.
“Whether you like it or not,” he said. “You’re quickly becoming the face of this game. And my advice?” he raised an eyebrow. “Capitalize on it.”
Any trembling in Mark’s bones went stiff as glass. Brittle enough to break, to lose his cool. But he took a deep breath, calming himself before he spoke. “I’ll keep my multiplayer shit,” he bit out, all the venom going into his words. “And you can keep your knockoff Mad Max bullshit.”
The CEO rolled his eyes, “It’s not Mad Max.”
“Whatever,” Mark sighed, making a break to slip out from under him.
But as soon as he got off the wall, the CEO was grabbing his wrist. Not tightly, not hurting him. But firm, as firm as the look in his eyes when Mark looked at him. The fierceness draining out of Mark in one touch, stilling him.
Jinyoung’s eyes stayed firm, but his lips quivered. A fraction of what seemed to lie beneath. Whatever he was trying to obstruct with his magnetic arrogance.
And Mark felt like he was seeing him in vivid color. Not just the lightless black of his eyes and suit on stage, but something more. But it was like a painting, abstract and ambiguous in meaning. And Mark couldn’t understand any of it.
“They are more than they seem to be,” Jinyoung finally said, voice thick with self-control.
Mark’s eyes went as sharp as his tone. “Who?”
“Z, Blue,” he breathed. “They’re…” he gulped. That grip on Mark’s wrist going slightly weaker for a moment before tightening again. “Just play once,” he said, eyes intent. “Please.”
And the names meant nothing to him. He didn’t know who those people were. He had no reason to. This wasn’t his world, his business. No matter how many people kept trying to convince him it was. And maybe, there was some stubbornness in Mark’s indifference. Maybe some innate desire to be a rebellious contrarian. But regardless of the deeper motivations, it didn’t change the outcome.
Mark held his gaze, expression going detached. And when he spoke, his voice matched it. “Good luck with the release, Mr. Park,” he said, no inflection in his tone.
Jinyoung’s gaze went colder, maybe even hurt. But why? Mark couldn’t understand as the man’s grip loosened, letting his hand fall away.
Mark took one last look at him before turning on his heel and walking back towards the bustling hall. The deafening cheers from the crowd barely registering over the firefight of unanswered questions going off in his head.
---
“So, let me get this straight,” Jackson leaned his forearms over the cart, following Mark closely down the grocery store aisle. “You didn’t take his offer?”
“Why would I?” Mark scoffed, tracing his hand along the shelf. “The guy was… outrageous. A narcissistic asshole. I don’t want anything to do with him or his game.”
“Mark,” Jackson stopped the cart, standing up. Intent eyes focused on him. “Why do you stream?”
Mark looked back at him. Feeling the press of his stare, turning away from it. “What else would I be doing?” he mumbled.
“After you left the team, I supported you taking some time off, going back to the States, recuperating from the breakup,” Jackson nodded. “But ever since you’ve gotten back, you just hole up in your apartment and stream. You won’t accept any sponsors, partnerships, brand endorsements-”
Mark sighed, turning to look back at him, “What’s your point, Jackson?”
His friend looked up at him, eyes softened with empathy. Or pity. Mark couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “What’s your end goal here?”
Mark felt the tension he was holding in his shoulders, his jaw. Feeling like it hadn’t relaxed since his encounter with Park Jinyoung at the conference. And maybe, he could admit to himself that he hadn’t had much direction since him and Youngjae split, since he was forced to walk away from the competitive scene. But he wasn’t ready to admit it outloud. Not yet.
He averted his eyes, “I’m figuring it out.”
“Well,” Jackson breathed. “In the meantime, Higher is offering you money, promotion. Like come on, Mark. It’s one game. You play through the intro on your channel and you can cut ties. Move on with an even bigger fanbase than what you started with. It’s a no brainer.”
“Not everything is about money, Jackson,” he shrugged, grabbing a pack of ramen from the shelf and tossing it into the cart.
“Says the man buying ramen instead of lobster right now.”
“I like ramen,” Mark said. “And I like being my own boss. Not having to answer to anyone.”
Jackson huffed, rolling his eyes, “You mean the last time you had a boss, he turned out to be a huge dickwad team captain named Choi Youngjae.”
Mark bit into his cheek, not willing to confirm it. “I’m having fun being a streamer,” he said. “And yes, my community is tight-knit-”
“You talking about that anonymous subscriber that always sends you gifts in the mail?” Jackson raised a suggestive brow.
Mark glared at him. “Not just him,” he shook his head. “Everyone. I appreciate all of them.”
“Well, a tight-knit community doesn’t exactly pay the rent the same way a roaring and abrasive fandom does.”
“But it gives you autonomy,” Mark noted. “Which is exactly what I need.”
“If you say so,” Jackson shrugged, like he was growing tired of arguing.
“I have my own success now,” Mark assured both Jackson and himself. “And I might not be a national champion anymore, but who cares? I’m still doing what I love.”
“Mmhm, sure,” Jackson mumbled, sounding unconvinced.
“Mr. Tuan?”
Mark turned around, looking down the other side of the aisle and seeing two men with a half-full cart of groceries. One of them was broad, clumsily dressed in oversized clothing, a knit headband pushing back his razored mullet. The one next to him had streaks of purple and pink in his hair, pretty smiling face, a sharply tailored wool coat, and pointy heeled boots that were still dusted with snow from outside.
“Sorry to bother you,” the broader one smiled. Eyes crescenting into something sweet, albeit exploratory. He leaned across his cart, extending his hand. “Im Jaebeom. The tech lead from-”
“Higher Games,” Mark stopped him, crossing his arms across his chest. He looked to the other. “And you’re the artistic lead.”
“That’s right,” he smiled. “Bambam.”
Mark looked between them. “What is this?” he asked. “Is the company following me now?”
Jaebeom recoiled, standing straight and looking back at Bambam. “What do you mean?” he huffed, awkward smile showing through. “We are just grocery shopping.”
Mark glared at them. “Do you both typically grocery shop together?”
Bambam stared at him, raising a brow, “Well, we’re married so...”
Mark’s stomach sank. “Oh,” he blinked. “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
Jaebeom’s eyes went wide, mocking as he pointed to him and Jackson, “Are you two married?”
“Ew,” Jackson whined.
“Absolutely not,” Mark said firmly. “He’s my neighbor.”
“And I’m also a streamer,” Jackson smiled. He leaned across the carts, extending his hand. “T-Wang. My schedule is wide open by the way.”
Jaebeom and Bambam looked down to his outstretched hand, not amused.
“Alright then,” Jackson pulled back, dragging the cart backwards down the aisle. “I’ll leave you three to talk.”
As soon as he was gone, Jaebeom sighed, heavy shoulders falling. “We’re sorry,” he said. “We didn’t mean to ambush you. We just wanted to say hi.”
“Extend an olive branch,” Bam nodded. “You’ve been the talk of the office ever since the conference.”
“Really?” Mark said, taken aback.
“Totally,” Bambam laughed. “I think all of us at the company are happily surprised by the response you’ve gotten since the trailer was released.”
Mark huffed, murmuring under his breath, “Definitely a surprise.”
“And we heard you met with our CEO?” Bambam tilted his head, bright eyes holding some sort of suggestion.
Mark’s stomach sank at the memory. The darkened space behind the stage. The thump of the bass in his chest. The press of the CEO’s presence. The ambiguous mystery that seemed to lie beneath. “I did,” he nodded. “He’s… interesting.”
Jaebeom smiled down in his hands, “He’s admittedly not the most personable upon first impressions.”
“Jaebeom,” Bam hit his husband's arm.
“What? It’s true,” he defended. “On your first day at the company, he saw your art and offered you your manager’s position right in front of the guy.”
Bambam bit his lip, stifling a giggle. “It was pretty brutal.”
Jaebeom held his hands up. “He can seem a little rough around the edges,” he admitted, a defensive edge on his tone. “But no one cares more than he does about this game. And he wouldn’t have reached out to you if he didn’t see your potential to contribute something special to it.”
Mark heard the sincerity of his words, seeing plainly that Jaebeom and Bambam weren’t bad people. They weren’t trying to be conniving or manipulative. Not like Mr. Park at all. “I appreciate that,” he nodded. “But I’m just not that kind of streamer. I don’t play narrative driven games.”
Bambam came a little closer, curiosity lingering in his gaze. “May I ask why?”
And Mark looked into the man’s eyes and saw something he could trust with the truth. “When I play multiplayer,” he paused, thinking of how to say it. “I can just… tune out. I don’t have to think about anything. Not my stress, my problems. I don’t have to think about anything, but clicking heads.” He paused, wincing, “But something narrative driven, it-”
“Makes you take pause,” Jaebeom said, understanding. “Think.”
“Maybe even feel.” Bam shrugged.
Mark bit into his cheek. Stuck in some thought for a moment. “Maybe.”
“Maybe feeling wouldn’t be as bad as you think,” Bambam suggested. “Maybe it could even be good?”
Mark sighed, looking down the aisle and passively wondering where Jackson was. How he could leave this conversation. “I don’t know,” he murmured.
“Jinyoung wants you to be involved in this game,” Jaebeom said, more firmly. Drawing them back to the point. “He wants that more than anything. And maybe, he didn’t do a great job of conveying that the first time around.” His eyes went lighter, more hopeful. “But I’m sure if you give it a shot, it would impress you.”
Mark watched him, trying to add up every detail. “I can’t tell if we are talking about the game or Mr. Park anymore.”
“Maybe both,” Bambam said, exchanging smiles with Jaebeom.
Mark didn’t smile. He just looked to them, trying to make sense of it all. All the things that weren’t being said. What they could possibly mean.
“Well,” Jaebeom nodded. “We should let you shop. But it was good meeting you. In person.”
“You as well,” he said, carefully, suspiciously.
Bambam waved, smiling wide and bright, “We hope to see you around the office soon.”
“We’ll see,” Mark said, tone stale as he walked back down the aisle. Moving around the grocery store in a daze, trying to replay every little word, facial expression. And he could tell that Jaebeom and Bambam were being genuine, but there was still something deeper there that he couldn’t piece apart. And it was feeding into those deepest curiosities that had been lingering ever since the conference.
He found Jackson a few aisles down, smelling from multiple shampoo bottles at once.
His friend looked up at him, “How did you manage to dig yourself out of that one?” He sniffed another bottle. “Oh, that one’s nice,” he nodded, tossing it into the cart.
“Something’s going on,” Mark said, eyes and thoughts still somewhere far off.
“With who?” Jackson questioned, narrowing his eyes. “Them? The company?”
“Everything.”
Jackson looked at him, bewildered. “Well, what is it?”
“I don’t know,” Mark murmured. “But I’m going to find out.”
“What do you-”
Mark pulled out his phone, looking into his recent calls and dialing. He held the phone to his ear, hearing it ring.
Jackson stared at him, eyes round with confusion.
It only rang once before someone picked up. “Mr. Tuan?”
“Yeah, Mr. Kim?” Mark answered, fingers feeling over his crinkled brow. “It’s me.”
“O-oh, please. Call me Yugyeom,” the man stammered, tripping over his words. “Yugyeom is just fine.”
“Alright,” Mark nodded. “Yugyeom.”
“Um,” Yugyeom hummed. “How can I help you?”
“So, I thought over Mr. Park’s offer,” he said, feeling near physical pain as he spoke the words.
“And?”
Mark sighed, trying to push down the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “And I’d like to accept. I guess.”
Jackson’s eyes and smile went wide.
“Seriously?” Yugyeom questioned, sounding out of breath, maybe astonished.
“Just one stream,” Mark said firmly.
Jackson jumped, clenched fists raising over his head in silent cheering.
“That’s wonderful,” Yugyeom laughed, smile in his tone. “I’ll- uh,” he breathed. “I’ll call you back in a bit with the specs you’ll need to run it.”
“Sounds good,” Mark nodded. “Just wondering. When would we do it?”
Yugyeom was quiet for a minute, the sound of pages flipping in the background. “Uh. How does this weekend sound?” he asked, voice pitching up towards the end with optimism.
Mark took a deep breath. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll give it a shot.”
---
Mark spent the next few days oscillating between feeling like he had some horrific lapse of judgement and convincing himself that he had to know more. And as Yugyeom’s number became saved in his phone, as the company started advertising the stream on social media with Mark’s photo, as the initial payment was deposited into his bank account, he had no idea what this stream would even be able to tell him. If it would satisfy his curiosities at all. But he had to try.
The day of, he was shaken with sudden nerves. And it didn’t make any sense. He’d been streaming for months. He’d won competitions in front of live audiences in past years. Why was he getting so worked up over one little stream?
He got himself ready, putting in extra effort to look his best. He had a few minutes before he was due to get started, his standby graphic left on the screen as viewers filtered in. He was watching the numbers soar higher and higher along with the nervous churn of acid in his throat when there was a knock at the door.
On his doorstep was a package. And as soon as he saw it, it had his smile pulling across his face. He brought it inside, sitting down at his desk and opening it up. On top, there was a note. Handwritten in pretty blue ink. For your stream today, it read. You’re going to do great. A little blue heart sticker alongside. And it was funny the way that just seeing it made him feel stronger, more confident.
Mark couldn’t remember the first gift his anonymous subscriber had sent him. But ever since he came back from California and started streaming full time, this fan had sent him at least one gift a week. Most often they were small things, sweet things. A gift card to get himself a coffee. A game he’d been interested in playing for the stream. But sometimes they were bigger, nicer. Like the designer clothing that he sent every so often. Or the Nintendo Switch Mark had docking on his desk.
Mark rustled through the packaging, pulling out a box. A game accessory logo printed on the side. He slid it open, revealing a custom red gaming headset. He felt the smile on his face go twice as wide.
He plugged them into his computer, getting himself ready. He looked down at the note on his desk. Smiling at it for a moment before pulling off the blue heart, sticking it to the side of his headset. Admiring it in his camera.
Mark looked at the clock, noting the time and clicking around to start the stream. Seeing the number of viewers continue to rise, the intensity of the chat following.
“Welcome everyone,” he smiled. “It’s crazy to see so many of you here.” His eyes drifted over the comments.
Finally! A new headset!
The color looks good on you
Very Z approved for our TuanZy
“Oh, right,” Mark laughed, tapping against the headset. “Thank you to a certain someone for this. You’ve saved a lot of people’s hearing.”
Don’t make us wait any longer!!
LESS TALKING, MORE PLAYING
“Alright, you all seem eager to get started,” he took a deep breath. “So without further ado, here is your exclusive introductory playthrough of When the Dust Settles.”