Share on:
“Wow, how many crab pots did you set up? There’s no empty space,” Jiwoo marveled.
“Must be a hassle clicking through all of these,” Hansol chimed in.
“And look at that huge house,” Jiwoo pointed out.
“But the interior design is kind of lame,” Hansol remarked.
Jiwoo snickered. “What would he know about interior design anyway?”
“Exactly.”
Jiwoo and Hansol chattered nonstop on either side of Noeul, who sat wedged between them, trying to focus on his game. He elbowed them gently.
“Hey, back off a little.”
The three of them were crammed side-by-side at an internet café, Jiwoo and Hansol fawning over Noeul’s Happy Farm setup. It was a strange luxury, having two pretty girls so invested in his game. As they giggled and bantered, Noeul caught glimpses of other guys stealing glances their way, their expressions a mix of envy and disbelief.
Is this what the good life’s supposed to look like? Noeul mused.
He’d started gaming to escape, but ironically, it had only brought him closer to Jiwoo and Hansol.
How did I end up here? he wondered. Yet beneath his confusion, a sense of relief and happiness bubbled up. He was still part of the group. He was still wanted.
Noeul had convinced himself he needed solitude, but deep down, he’d been terrified of true isolation. It was a pattern with him—deciding something was necessary, committing to it, and convincing himself he was on the right path. But looking back, he often realized he’d been going through the motions, doing what he thought he should rather than what he truly wanted.
Sometimes, when things didn’t go according to plan, he felt an unexpected sense of relief. That’s when he’d realize his heart hadn’t been in it from the start. Noeul wondered if he’d become so conditioned by the concept of what he “should” do that he had lost touch with his genuine desires.
“Hey, come check out my farm too!” Jiwoo insisted, tugging at Noeul’s chair. Instead of moving him, she ended up pulling herself closer. With Hansol’s help, they finally managed to scoot Noeul’s chair over, all three of them laughing at the absurdity of it.
It was a luxury, no doubt about it. The three of them huddled around Jiwoo’s monitor, taking in her farm—a vibrant, chaotic explosion of flowers.
Noeul’s brow furrowed. “How do you expect to make any money like this?”
“Easy,” Jiwoo retorted. “I’ll just sell honey from the beehives.”
“You’d get a much better return if you planted actual crops instead of all these flowers.”
“But it wouldn’t look as pretty.”
“Typical you, playing the game exactly like yourself.”
“What, you mean badly?”
“No, I said like yourself. Why don’t you ever listen…” Noeul shook his head and sighed.
As they bickered, Hansol clicked around Jiwoo’s farm. “Oh, you got hitched to an NPC.”
“Yep! Cool, right?”
“So you can marry a female character too? What made you pick this one?”
“She’s the prettiest, duh.”
Hansol chuckled. “Fair enough. Are you getting married in-game, Noeul?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “Been too busy in the mines to build up NPC affection.”
Jiwoo piped up, “For someone who’s been playing forever, you haven’t maxed out your affection yet?”
Hansol, now hovering over Noeul’s screen, cut in. “Actually, he has. Every single NPC. You’re nuts, Noeul.”
“Seriously?” Jiwoo gaped. “Then why aren’t you married?”
Noeul shrugged. “Didn’t see the point. Not much benefit to it.”
“If you marry Hazel, she sometimes gives you rare items,” Jiwoo pointed out.
“I know what she gives,” Noeul replied. “It’s just… not that great. No real perks.”
“You efficiency freak,” Jiwoo teased. “Planning a marriage of convenience in real life too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Hansol chimed in, “It’s not always about the benefits. Marriage is part of the game. You do it because it’s fun.”
Noeul cocked his head. “Is that so?”
They moved on to Hansol’s setup, Jiwoo and Hansol chattering about crops and livestock. But Noeul found himself wondering, Why didn’t I get married in the game?
He’d dismissed it as not offering much benefit. But as Hansol said, he could have done it just for fun—there was no harm in it. Yet he’d decided against it.
Noeul tried to retrace his thought process. He remembered weighing the pros and cons of each NPC—good rewards but boring dialogue, not attractive enough. Then, a fleeting thought had crossed his mind: What would someone think if they saw me doing this? Even though no one’s watching.
He imagined someone going, Poor guy, can’t get hitched in real life, so he’s living out his fantasies in a game. That thought killed any interest he had in virtual matrimony. From then on, staying single became Noeul’s unspoken rule in Happy Farm.
The idea kept nagging at him: Even though no one’s watching.
Sure, he had been alone in his room playing, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that someone might see. Life had a way of throwing curveballs, like now, with two pretty girls suddenly interested in his gaming.
Even if no one else saw, Noeul would see himself. He’d look in the mirror and think, You’re only doing this in-game because you can’t in real life. How sad.
He despised the thought of being that person—someone foolishly chasing the unattainable. He didn’t want to be like that, even in a game. He couldn’t bear to show that side of himself, even to himself. It felt… shameful. Pursuing impossible dreams was deeply humiliating.
Wanting to be handsome, loved, popular with women, seen as attractive… These were normal desires, yet Noeul felt ashamed for having them. If someone else expressed these wants, he’d say, “Isn’t that natural? Who doesn’t want that?” But for himself, admitting to these desires was mortifying. So he pretended not to have them at all, burying them deep inside.
Noeul glanced at Jiwoo and Hansol.
Maybe they wanted to be friends with him, despite his looks, because of this desperate act of pretending not to want. By now, Noeul probably seemed like someone genuinely free of desires. That likely made him appear cool and detached.
Even if it was just an act, it had protected him—socially and psychologically. Without it, Noeul might have been an outcast or ended up with such low self-esteem he’d need therapy.
That pretense was Noeul’s shell.
It wasn’t his true self. It was fake. But without it, he couldn’t survive.
Jiwoo’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Let’s play for a few hours and grab dinner.”
“I’m done with Happy Farm,” Noeul replied flatly.
“Huh? Why?”
“I’m over it. Nothing left for me to do. I’m quitting while I’m ahead.”
“What? You got us hooked, and now you’re bailing?”
“Well, at least you found a good game thanks to me. You’re pros now, right? You don’t need me anymore. Have fun.”
***
“…Byung-jun.”
“…”
“…Byung-jun Kang!”
“Huh? Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“…Planting blueberry seeds…”
Laughter rippled through the lecture hall.
The professor snorted. “Want to plant some seeds in your grades too? What are you, a middle schooler playing phone games in class?”
“Sorry, sir…”
“Ugh… We’re done for today. Don’t forget those reports by next week.”
The professor cracked his neck and strode out.
As soon as he left, Hyunsoo mimed planting seeds as he approached Byung-jun. “Planting blueberry seeds, huh? Seriously?”
“Shut it.”
Hyunsoo guffawed, then turned to Jiwoo and Hansol in the front row. “Thanks to you two, the whole department’s hooked on Happy Farm.”
“It’s addictive,” Hansol admitted. “But we’ve quit.”
“Why?” Hyunsoo asked, puzzled.
Noeul glanced at Jiwoo and Hansol.
Jiwoo piped up, “We’ve peaked. Time to quit while we’re ahead.”
Hearing his own words echoed back, Noeul felt a twinge of guilt.
Jiwoo turned to him. “Noeul, you’re free, right? No classes, no meetings, assignments done, and you’re over Happy Farm?”
“Uh… Yeah.”
“Then let’s grab some mala soup.”
Without waiting for an answer, Jiwoo headed out. Noeul realized it wasn’t a question.
As he sat there, caught off guard, Hansol spoke up.
“You… weren’t trying to ditch us, were you?”
“What?”
“Were you trying to distance yourself?”
Noeul felt a chill, like a knife at his throat. “What are you talking about? I was just gaming.”
“…I hope that’s true.”
“I swear…”
Noeul busied himself with his bag, pretending to check if he had forgotten something.
Hansol added, “Jiwoo might seem like she’s just goofing around, but she’s sharp.”
Noeul’s mind raced. Hansol, who knew him well, might be suspicious, but Jiwoo—how much had she figured out? Did she know he’d used gaming to avoid them? How obvious had he been? Had he seemed unnatural? Did Jiwoo think he was annoyed by her? That would actually be a relief. But could she have guessed the real, petty reasons behind his behavior? Had Hansol told her? Probably not. But then what was Jiwoo thinking?
“Come on, I’ll wait outside.”
Hansol stood and started walking away.
Noeul watched as Hansol walked out of the lecture hall and saw Jiwoo waiting by the door.
***
Noeul felt stuck. Jiwoo and Hansol had somehow caught on to his attempts to distance himself. If he made up another excuse now, they’d know for sure he was pulling away.
So what now? Was he supposed to keep hanging out with them? He worried he might crack the protective shell he’d built around himself. He’d come close a few times already, and now he wasn’t sure he could trust his own self-control.
The real problem was that Noeul couldn’t completely squash the possibility of something more with Jiwoo. Even though he knew it was ridiculous—after all, what girl goes for an unattractive guy?—that hope kept sprouting like a weed in his heart, no matter how many times he tried to yank it out.
Living with this part of himself was exhausting.
Noeul had tried everything he could think of to manage it. What else was there to do?
Then, an idea struck him.
It would be better if Jiwoo had a boyfriend, he thought. Someone ridiculously perfect, so far out of reach that Noeul’s silly hopes would finally die. And then it hit him—it wasn’t entirely impossible to make that happen.
Noeul slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the lecture hall.
Jiwoo and Hansol were waiting for him.
Noeul approached Jiwoo and asked, “Hey, Joonki mentioned he might want to join us. Should I tell him to come?”