“Shin really is good at analysis.”
Those were words Lee Shin heard from his older brother when he was young, while working as a GM.
The GM status window was infamous.
In most games, a status window simply delivers information.
It lowers the barrier of entry by presenting a few intuitive keywords that quickly summarize a character’s condition or progression.
But the GM system was the opposite.
The GM status window was extremely complex. Not intuitive at all.
Looking at a black screen packed with dense information made you think, “Why do I have to study just to play a game?”
However, young Lee Shin actually liked that notorious system.
It was fascinating how scattered pieces of information in his mind would assemble into a complete picture. He also liked the sense of superiority—being able to see things others couldn’t.
Above all, he liked the praise from his brother.
Perhaps those good memories from that time turned him into a “hardcore player.”
On the road to Busan, at the moment the acquisition process was finalized, the long-awaited status windows finally opened before his eyes.
【 Guild registered. 】
【 ‘Guild Management Window’ activated. 】
[ Guild Management Window ]
※ Mir Guild
·
·
“Wow, this is it. A guild really has to be this much of a mess to be worth saving.”
“Sir?”
“Shh, just a moment, hyung.”
Within the wave of overwhelming information flooding his vision, Lee Shin extracted what he needed, analyzed it, judged the situation, and immediately derived a plan.
“Dongha hyung.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve got work to do.”
“What should I do?”
“That is…”
If the Mir Guild was a dragon in an ICU hooked up to a ventilator by its fans, then there were also parasites who had been sucking at its marrow, dragging it into the ICU in the first place.
“Bring me deworming medicine. First, we need to eliminate the parasites.”
The first thing Lee Shin had to do after taking full control of the guild—
was exterminating those parasites.
Right now, Lee Shin was looking at the people he had defined as “parasites.”
They were so well-fed their bodies looked bloated and fat.
“Haha… ha… an ‘transfer’?”
“W-what are you talking about?”
The entire raid team looked at each other with question marks above their heads. But there was no answer to be found. Bugs, after all, could only think like bugs.
“Mm~ exactly what I said. Transfers. From tomorrow, you will no longer need to come to the Mir Guild. Please discuss your new teams with your agents. If you don’t have an agent, don’t worry—someone will contact you personally. Oh, speak of the devil, my phone’s ringing now. Looks like they’re calling you too.”
As soon as he finished speaking, phones began vibrating everywhere.
When they hurriedly checked their messages, several faces turned pale.
They had all been unilaterally transferred.
“The Max Guild? Isn’t that the one we fought for a spot against before? If I go there, I’ll die!”
“This is insane… transfers happen this easily?”
“What the hell—Enchovy? Where is that? A fifth-tier guild?”
Shock. Chaos. Absolute mess.
It had all started so brightly… Lee Shin was the grandson of the Lee Do conglomerate, and Lee Do had money—so everyone expected renewals, maybe even salary negotiations.
But what they drank so greedily turned out to be poison, not nectar.
“I-I refuse! How can you transfer us without any consultation?!”
“This is invalid! This is a scam!!”
At the outcry, Lee Shin scratched his head.
“Mm, everyone. In case you didn’t know, transfers are the exclusive right of management. It’s none of your concern.”
Tch. People who should know better are acting like amateurs.
The team members turned their attention to their last lifeline—Team Leader Yang Pan-seok.
“Hyung!”
“Team leader!”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
“You said if we just talked it out, renewals were guaranteed…”
“...Quiet!”
Even in this chaos, Yang Pan-seok forced a smile.
Confused and angry, but first—he needed to understand the situation.
“Could you explain what exactly is going on?”
Clap clap.
“Excellent. Smiling in a situation like this! That’s the attitude of a pro. A pro keeps their pace no matter what. Not like you all, panicking like this.”
“Stop joking around.”
“That was a compliment, sincerely. They say those who smile in sadness are top-tier. You really live up to your reputation.”
“...Don’t test my patience.”
“Relax, relax. Fine, I’ll just finish this drink first.”
He took a sip.
The carbonation felt refreshingly sharp.
Even as killing intent filled the room, Lee Shin leaned back casually, flipped a chair, sat on it backward, and scanned the room.
“Let me ask you something. Do I have any obligation to take you with me?”
“W-well…!”
Obligation.
That single word silenced them.
Because there was no answer.
“Difficult? Let me lower the bar. Give me any reason—logical, moral, anything—why I should be responsible for you.”
After some hesitation, a few voices finally emerged.
“I-it’s unfair to transfer us without discussion!”
“I’ve devoted 20 years to this guild! This kind of forced transfer is unacceptable!”
At least these were somewhat coherent.
“So you’re saying that,” Lee Shin replied calmly, “but if you’ve devoted yourselves for 20 years… why is your performance like this?”
“……”
Silence.
“Devotion isn’t everything. But in this line of work, results are everything.”
The Mir Guild’s current position: League 4.
“If your results are like this, isn’t it reasonable to question whether that devotion was even meaningful?”
Boom.
A verbal knockout.
And just as despair settled—
“If you send us out like this… do you really think there won’t be consequences?”
Yang Pan-seok stepped forward.
“If you think fans will accept this, you’re wrong.”
Fans.
He had shifted the battlefield from results to emotions.
And Lee Shin—
“Kyahaha…! Using fans as hostages. I didn’t think I’d see something this shameless in real life.”
…was genuinely impressed.
Of course he knew exactly what kind of character Yang Pan-seok was.
A well-built tank-type character with solid stats, decent looks, and good utility.
But he had fatal flaws:
Overinflated ego and “hero syndrome,”
Blame-shifting and shamelessness under pressure,
And worst of all, disguised elitism under the guise of “fan devotion.”
To Lee Shin, he was simple.
Trash-tier.
“Alright. You’re done attacking, right? Then it’s my turn.”
He gestured.
A silent woman behind him handed over a document.
And when Yang Pan-seok saw it—
his eyes widened as if they might tear apart.
Bribes from construction firms, kickbacks from equipment companies, manipulation of broadcasting rights, scouting interference…
A full list of corruption tied to the raid team.
“Didn’t you say the guild’s principle was investing everything into improving hunters?”
“Then according to this, the biggest ‘hunter’ here… is you.”
Cornered.
Yang Pan-seok’s expression twisted.
‘Should I kill him?’
For someone who lived off image rather than real strength, exposure would be catastrophic.
Then—
“Pffft. What a joke.”
Lee Shin stood up.
“Move, sister.”
Even his bodyguard hesitated at the pressure in his voice.
And so Lee Shin stepped forward alone.
Two options, he said.
“First: you raise your hand and try to kill me.”
Yang Pan-seok stepped back.
As expected.
“Second: spit everything out cleanly… and accept the transfer quietly.”
“You…”
“Don’t like it? Want to wear handcuffs instead?”
Then, calmly:
“Think it through. Might as well salvage whatever money you can.”
At that point, it was already over.
And Lee Shin’s conclusion was simple:
Sell them while they still had value.
Because once things got messier, their price would collapse.
“Alright. Decision made?”
Silence.
“Good. You agreed.”
He patted Yang Pan-seok’s shoulder.
Then turned to the rest.
“Listen carefully. I have a list of everything you’ve ‘taken’—including coffee mixes. If you don’t want trouble, confess and stay quiet. If this gets noisy later…”
He smiled.
“I’ll ruin you in my grandfather’s name.”
Dead silence.
Satisfied, he clapped his hands.
“Alright, that’s enough. It was fun. Dinner’s on me—eat well.”
And with that—
“I wish you all the best.”
Lee Shin and his secretary left.
Leaving behind a frozen room.
