Chapter 114: Project ARCUS

“Now, let’s begin the report.”

At Gideon’s words, Bharat, the head of the technology strategy department, flipped through the documents.

Reaction speed figures and brainwave synchronization records poured onto the angled 3D graph.

“It’s even faster than anticipated. Choeun’s CDD is 0.018 seconds. Predictive latency error is less than 3.1 frames.”

One of the policy analysts raised a hand.

“…Excuse me, but what exactly do those figures mean? I understand that a lower CDD value indicates higher immersion, but…”

Bharat glanced at the CTO, and Gideon answered in his stead.

“It’s faster than any user recorded so far. Choi-Wong’s case isn’t simply a matter of fast reaction speed; it means the user is acting before the server responds.”

A brief silence fell over the meeting room.

Gideon slowly began to speak.

“The problem of latency is simple.”

He rose from his seat and continued.

“No matter how fast the server, there are limitations imposed by distance and the speed of light. But we are overcoming this with ‘prediction.’”

Text appeared on the monitor.

“ESNR. The server learns the user’s neural responses, pre-simulates their next action, and transmits it to the client preemptively. In other words, before the command arrives, the server already knows the response. This isn’t ‘real-time synchronization,’ but a new concept: ‘preemptive reflection.’”

As he was about to move to the next slide, the policy analyst raised a hand.

“Then… what happens if the prediction is wrong? Isn’t it ultimately impossible to predict perfectly?”

Gideon nodded.

A new graph appeared on the monitor as he continued.

“Correct. That’s why the ‘error’ itself is another key aspect of ARCUS. A misprediction isn’t simply a system error, but evidence that there are human responses we haven’t yet analyzed.”

Gideon advanced the screen.

He showed a single frame of data from Choi-Wong’s test, frozen in time.

Neural signal – input – server response, just before drawing the bow.

He pointed to the curve that spiked first among the three lines.

“This is Choi-Wong’s data. When we first saw this figure, everyone said the same thing. 0.05 seconds. ‘This isn’t human.’ But… the real shock came after.”

He traced the line with his finger.

“We simply thought it was fast. But that response was controlled. It wasn’t a random reflex, but a deliberate choice, restraint.”

A murmur rippled through the meeting room.

Another engineer asked,

“Then… was Project ARCUS initiated to find individuals like Choi-Wong?”

Gideon paused at the question, then shook his head.

“No. ARCUS was originally a project to realize fully immersive virtual reality, a full-dive environment. For that, the machine needed to predict the human, and the human needed to perceive the machine’s response as reality.”

He looked at the screen reflecting the ARCUS logo and said,

“But after Choi-Wong’s appearance, we had to change direction. It’s no longer about the machine catching up to the human, but about the human the machine can’t catch up to becoming… the standard.”

Another silence fell over the meeting room after Gideon finished speaking.

Someone cautiously inhaled. Another voiced a question they had forgotten.

“Choeun… can we truly call her ‘human’?”

It was a scientist’s lament, and an engineer’s fear.

Though unspoken, at that moment,

No one viewed ARCUS as a mere project anymore.

They felt overwhelmed by the existence of someone who had surpassed the limits of technology.

Only after a long silence did Sylvia Lemaire, the lead system designer who had spearheaded the Spirit Ranger character design, quietly rise from her seat.

She was also the chief executive of the ARCUS division responsible for the integrated design of gameplay flow and input structure.

“The new character, ‘Spirit Ranger,’ was designed based on analysis of Choeun’s practical data. It’s a hybrid Executor position requiring precise distance control, pattern response, and rhythm manipulation. Not a simple numerical DPS character, but a control-based position-switching character.”

She unfolded the data sheet.

“Based on current server data, the pick rate is 3.7%. The win rate is below 28%. Even considering the initial launch data, the player churn rate and adaptation failure rate are high.”

Gideon glanced at the sheet.

Sylvia took a sip of water and quietly continued.

“We intentionally designed the Spirit Ranger with precise ‘risk-reward zones.’ The structure allows for accumulating more stacks in close combat, triggering awakening conditions for explosive damage, but almost no players have been able to implement that rhythm in actual gameplay.”

Gideon nodded, summarizing Sylvia’s words.

“The data-driven design itself was valid, but the complexity of the requirements and the diversity of real-time responses were too broad… The analysis suggests that for the average user, it feels like a character that ‘only works on a fixed route.’”

He added with a slightly bitter expression,

“In the end, the data-driven design failed.”

“To be precise… it’s because Choeun’s data was too perfect.”

Some in the meeting room chuckled softly at her words, but the seriousness quickly returned.

One of the engineers voiced a question.

Gideon answered.

“To be precise, ordinary users can no longer provide valid feedback for ARCUS. In the current situation, the only one who can estimate and correct the technical threshold is Choi-Wong.”

This time, one of the policy analysts asked,

“Is she still active?”

Sylvia nodded and replied.

“Yes. Choeun is currently participating in a streamer lecture broadcast requested by the Korean branch. Headquarters suggested user education, considering the difficulty of the new character and the user adaptation data. Locally, they seem to have accepted it simply as a ‘lecture to address the lack of user understanding.’ It’s a scenario we orchestrated.”

The policy analyst asked again,

“So, we haven’t formally requested her cooperation with the experiment until now?”

Gideon quietly began to speak.

“That’s correct. To be precise, we judged it would be premature and risky to make a request without clear standards. Both technically and ethically. Collecting her data was within acceptable limits, but… requesting experimental cooperation wasn’t something we could bring up before we were prepared.”

Gideon looked around the meeting room and slowly continued.

“But now it’s different. Now we have the foundation to interpret this data, and above all… we’ve clearly seen where this technology is headed.”

He tapped the screen to advance it. Next to the project title, ARCUS, a new label appeared.

[Proposal Target: REFRACT_01 | Shin Choeun]

“We can’t just observe anymore. We need to formally request her cooperation with clear conditions and compensation.”

One of the policy analysts nodded.

“A proposal for her to become an official technology partner?”

Gideon slowly picked up the digital pen on the desk. He turned it over a few times, then set it down and continued.

“To be precise, it’s a contract with the most crucial… reference point in ARCUS. A proposal to approve her as a full technology collaborator, reflecting her will and dignity.”

Gideon gently set down the pen. He looked straight ahead and spoke in a low voice.

“Choi-Wong doesn’t know this yet. She probably believes… that she’s still just playing a game. But now, we need to tell her her true name.”

As he finished speaking, the lights in the meeting room slowly dimmed.

After the Spirit Ranger lecture stream ended,

Leah felt strange from head to toe.

Her chest was tight, her nose was stuffy, and her eyes felt slightly hot. When she placed her hand on her forehead, she felt a fever.

“…What?”

She slowly rose from her seat. Her body felt heavy, and even her breath was deeper and more labored than usual.

To be precise… this was closer to a symptom of illness. And she had never experienced this before.

Meaning, she’d never experienced minor ailments, as opposed to curses or magic.

“…A cold?”

She uttered the word aloud, pausing at its unfamiliarity.

With a half-elf’s unique physique and immunity, along with the spirits’ blessings—a common cold had been a foreign concept.

But now, the spirits’ blessings were gone, and she had overexerted herself today—

She usually played Ori, which demanded precise physical control, for three games a day, but today she’d played four.

One of which was while simultaneously lecturing.

And two where she’d had to focus even harder to carry a troll to victory.

Well, it felt like her body was protesting the strain.

“…Guess I’ll have to take a break from Ori.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled softly.

She couldn’t play Ori on stream for a while anyway.

Starting tomorrow, the Blooming Core server for Voxel Craft, including the third generation, would be open.