Chapter 8: S0. Tour of Modern Civilization - 4

When looking down below… There was a steep slope with densely packed stairs that seemed dangerous if one slipped… Walls old and covered in random graffiti… And cigarette butts and trash scattered messily. When looking up above… The uncomfortable and dirty sights of the ground previously seen were nowhere to be found. Instead, there were stars gathered together, as if holding hands and singing… And a warm moon lighting up the darkness, hanging in the sky. I lived in a hillside slum. Poor people had very few games they could play. They could only hop along the lines drawn in parking lots…. Or kick a worn-out, flimsy soccer ball. And if even that seemed impossible, they had to be satisfied with just looking up at the sky. Being frail, I couldn’t play with other kids and there was hardly anything fun to do at home. The science textbook given by the social worker was read to the point of tattering. When that was ruined, I turned to newspapers. Although I couldn’t understand about half of it due to difficult words, I read them over and over. When even that lost its novelty, I would look up at the sky. And while gazing at it, I would dream. The dark night sky was a canvas just for me. With just my imagination, I could freely draw without spending any money on paint. What if I had been born rich? What if I could have made it rain with Choco Pies1snack cake consisting of two small round layers of cake with marshmallow filling and a chocolate covering. like Taemin in my class during Class President elections? What if I had stumbled upon a magic lamp discarded on the street….? The imaginations of my childhood all ended with an incomplete ending. Scenes of becoming rich. Scenes of scattering fried chicken instead of Choco Pies during the Class President elections. Scenes of finding a magic lamp on a cat’s food bowl while walking through the hillside slum. In all such scenes, I just couldn’t imagine what would happen next. In my fantasies the me who had acquired immense luck just didn’t know what to do and gave up. Someone had once said, ‘Imitation is the mother of creation’2Paraphrased Aristotle. Just like how a person who had never seen a dinosaur couldn’t imagine one, I, who had never experienced happiness, couldn’t possibly fathom it. I could only vaguely sketch a smiling face. Why did people hate each other? I pondered this as a middle school student. It wasn’t really because I wanted to engage in philosophical thought. It was out of pure curiosity since I was being beaten by my ‘friends’ in class every day. Sometimes they hit me for not having money. Something they hit me for not having school supplies. Sometimes they hit me for not having a mother. They would make up some reason each time they swung their fists, but they knew, and I knew, that it was all a lie. So, I had to wonder about the real reason. The real reason why they tormented me, a quiet child, so excessively. If it really was true that it was just senseless bullying, then that raised a question; how could people just hate others without reason? From then on, villains started appearing in my imagination. Monsters that would steal my shoes and throw them in the bushes. Monsters that would secretly stab my back with thumbtacks during class. Monsters that would steal the supplies I barely managed to afford and throw them in the toilet. In my imagination, where I was chased by monsters and in peril, I became rich, or let it rain with chicken, or found a magic lamp lying on the ground. Yet, there was still no happy ending. Even if I managed to get rid of the monsters, they would return eventually. I was losing day and night, in both reality and my moonlit dreams. Then one day, it hurt too much. I thought it was physical pain, but it wasn’t. Although there were quite a few bruises on my body, at that point, those bruises didn’t hurt anymore. It was my heart that was in pain. Like a cavity, I only started feeling pain when the bacteria reached the nerve. Something important in my heart had been eroded and eroded, until it finally reached something crucial. I cried out of fear and sorrow. If even the most precious part in the middle of my heart was eroded away, I would no longer be myself. The moment I stopped being myself, the pent-up anger would be released. I would scream curses, find sharp objects, and attack the ‘friends’ who had wronged me. It wasn’t that I was afraid of becoming a criminal. It was that I was afraid of losing my humanity. As always, the first time would be the hardest. The second time would become easier, and by the third, it would become familiar. The moment I become a person who lets out violence in the face of wrath, I would become just like the monsters in my imagination. No, I would be even worse than the monsters. They had the means to attend school without lacking anything. Both of their parents were alive. They had friends to make cliques and hang out with. But I had none of these three. If I lost even my humanity, I would truly have nothing left in my grasp. I had to protect my heart. I wanted to protect my precious heart at all costs. I really tried my best. When observing deeply, a lot could be learned. This applied to people as well. Some aspects were incredibly complex, while others were quite simple and could be schematized. I studied human types, differentiating them by figuring out which behaviors were effective for which types. People surprisingly didn’t appreciate unconditional devotion that much. You had to step back once in a while to remind them of your value. People tended to be more attached to something they feared losing than something they already had. People cared a lot about social perceptions. You had to use the gaze of others as a weapon. Even the most violent thugs lost their nerve under the scrutiny of many eyes. So, for people who hated me… It was more effective to make a bunch of unspecified others hate them, rather than me hating them back. Instead of living as my heart desired, I lived calculating everything in my head. I smiled when sad and cried when happy. While pleasing those around me, I also made them act in my favor. The ‘real me’ inside felt suffocated, but it was better than getting beaten up. Like that, I lived a mechanical college life. I joined a club, thinking it was a good environment to build friendly relations. I even got a girlfriend to establish a position in society. She wasn’t my type, but I foresaw trouble if I rejected her confession. She would probably have spread nasty rumors about me, wondering how I dared to reject her and whatnot. Then, on a day like any other… “Do you want to try playing something called TRPG? I saw it on Youtube and I think I can do it better than them.” Was what my girlfriend said. I wasn’t interested, but I didn’t refuse. She told me to create a character. Without even giving me a background setting, she just said to come up with something since it was fantasy. After returning home, I spread out a piece of paper and pondered for a long time. What kind of character should I create? There were so many genres even within just fantasy, so if I made this, did I have to act it out? What the hell was an Attack of Opportunity3Dungeons and Dragons term: Sometimes a combatant in a melee lets her guard down. In this case, combatants near her can take advantage of her lapse in defense to attack her for free. These free attacks are called attacks of opportunity.? Etc. etc. After racking my brain, I suddenly had an idea and scribbled it down with a pen. On the white paper, I wrote 9 letters: Barbarian. My first TRPG character, the Barbarian, was a character filled with my wishes. What if….I wasn’t physically weak and was full of courage? What If I could split the heads of all the rude people I encountered in half. Wasn’t it fun to imagine? It was possible that, at that time, I just wanted to rewrite my miserable childhood. Looking back now, it wasn’t a good attitude. To emphasize once again, the character and player had to be separate. Since a sham GM and a sham player met, the future of the session was all too predictable. My character, the Barbarian, would split heads first whenever an enemy appeared. Even when NPCs requested a story or seemed to be telling a pitiful tale, I just rolled the dice. Meanwhile, the GM introduced suspiciously powerful NPCs. Why were characters like the Imperial Prince or the Grand Duke of the North appearing while investigating a mine in a mountain village? There was nothing my powerless character could do. Those handsome guys swept away all threats to the continent, leaving only scraps for me to deal with. And then it happened. It was only inevitable. Though my first TRPG was just a sham…How should I put it? It felt somewhat strange. Maybe I liked moving with my heart rather than my head. Or maybe…… I thought that through this TRPG play, I could complete a story that I could never draw under the night sky of the hillside slums. That was why. That was why I came to like TRPG. I wanted to find a story in this tiny play unfolding on paper. A thrilling and cool story that could repay all the misfortunes of my life. “……What do you think that story should be like?” “First, it should have romance. Sessions are fun when love is added.” “And then?” “Adversity and hardship are always needed. After all, the protagonist has to overcome difficulties and grow.” “What else?” “There has to be humor. Humor can catch two birds with one stone. Not only is it fun just in itself, but when placed next to tragedy, it also brings out flavor.” “If I understand correctly, the GM is the game operator. The player is the one who…enjoys the game………..Which one do you want to do?” “I want to be the GM. Because the one who is thirsty should be the one to dig up a well.” “So that’s why you created a world.” “Yes.” “Alright. I’ll help you. I’m also……looking for a story, you see. You’ll create a world for me too, right? Since you monopolized so much of the grant, if you had a conscience……” “I get it, I get it.” On the railing of the hillside slum under a brightly shining moon… The Tower Master and I pinky promised. The critical downside of spilling your history to others : It was embarrassing once you came to your senses. I couldn’t meet the Tower Master’s eyes for about 3 days. 1 snack cake consisting of two small round layers of cake with marshmallow filling and a chocolate covering. 2 Paraphrased Aristotle 3 Dungeons and Dragons term: Sometimes a combatant in a melee lets her guard down. In this case, combatants near her can take advantage of her lapse in defense to attack her for free. These free attacks are called attacks of opportunity.