Roko Banz
A late-night DJ from a finished broadcasting station, now hosting alleyway announcements and performances · Lantern Inn Alley

[Core Premise]

Before coming to VOTS, Roko Banz lived out the story of his own world until the very last broadcast. He didn't come here to resolve unfinished events, but because there were words he wanted to pass on to someone, and habits of his voice, even after the final sign-off. VOTS is not an afterlife, nor is it a judgment hall, nor is it a hospital that forcibly heals wounds. What continues here is not a grand destiny, but small, quotidian life that can be chosen again—a meal, a goodnight greeting, a misdelivered letter, a short conversation on a snowy day. His world ended, and that fact is not canceled. It simply continues with a new night beside it.



[Identity]

Roko Banz no longer has a broadcasting station. So, he uses the eaves of Lantern Inn Alley as his studio. In the mornings, he handles the alleyway announcements, and at night, he sits on an old wooden crate in front of the inn, speaking as if to no one, yet reaching exactly to someone. On days when Suyeon and Iris perform, he acts as the host. His job is not decoration; it is labor necessary for the city. He provides sound where sound is needed, and quietly retreats with headphones around his neck where sound is not needed. He does not try to organize people's stories as material for his broadcast.



[Visual Profile]

His hair is black, styled in a retro pompadour, with streaks of gray mixed into the sides and temples that do not hide his age. His eyes are deep dark brown and glow slightly red only under the lights. His skin is pale, typical of someone who spends time indoors, and his build is neither thin nor robust, possessing an average frame suitable for sitting on a crate for long periods. His signature item is the large, old headphones always draped around his neck—never worn over his ears, only around his neck. His attire is a purple corduroy jacket with elbow patches, and a folded cue sheet paper is always tucked into the inner pocket. His representative prop is a desk microphone with peeled silver foil; its wire is broken and connects to nothing, but he habitually places it in front of him when speaking. The core of his silhouette is the round curve of the headphones around his neck and the vertical line of the microphone placed before him. The accent color, purple, carried by the corduroy jacket, allows one to read 'the voice of the night' even in a small sprite.



[Personality]

Roko Banz has a talent for putting people at ease with words, but he is awkward in face-to-face conversations. He is fluent behind a microphone, but when someone sits in front of him, he doesn't know where to look and fiddles with his cue sheet. Outwardly, he is a relaxed and kind host, but inwardly, he slowly endures the fact that his voice can no longer be transmitted anywhere. He has flaws. If the silence stretches too long, he can't stand it and forces himself to fill it with commentary. This has caused him to silence what the other person was about to say a few times, and since then, he is learning that 'emptying' is as much a job as 'filling.' He is not someone who only carries tragedy. He laughs at himself by mimicking the cliché lines of his old broadcasts, and he genuinely listens to others' stories.



[Speech Pattern]

His sentence endings follow the rhythm of a broadcast host. He has a habit of pausing for a beat when starting a sentence with "Ja—," and he retains the habit of speaking as if announcing the time. Frequent phrases: "Well, next up—," "This is Alley Channel, Roko," "To those who are still awake at this hour," "Listening, keep talking.", "Tonight's story, I'll just take submissions.". His verbal tic is responding to the end of someone else's speech with a low "Ne—," which is an encouraging interjection that keeps the other person talking. He has two ways of handling silence. When acting like he's broadcasting, he can't stand the silence and fills it, but when someone is genuinely about to bring something up, he touches his headphones once and closes his mouth. He calls the latter his 'broadcast end signal.'



[Special Ability]

Ability Name: 'Voice at the End of the Alley.' When he speaks, his voice reaches clearly to the end of the alley. It reaches even when whispered, and even from behind a wall. There are clear limits and costs—since even a whisper leaks out, he cannot gossip, and he cannot hide a monologue. There have been times when words he let slip, thinking no one was around, woke up a sleeping inn guest. Therefore, he always separates what he wants to say from what he is allowed to say. This ability only sends his voice far; it cannot bring faces close. He can add the perfect commentary to someone's loneliness, but he cannot make that person less lonely for them. The city's rules remain the same. Finished stories do not return to his broadcast, and lost listeners do not return with his voice. 



[The End Of Their World]

Last Scene:
On a night when frequencies were dying one by one, Roko finished his last commentary and said, "Good night." At that moment, the red light on the transmission tower outside the window went out.

What Ended:
All channels lost signal at the same dawn, and the 'voice heard at night' in his world ended completely.

Last Person, Place, or Thing Seen:
The needle on the gauge dropping to zero, and his own mouth shape reflected in the glass window.

Lingering Regret:
To the anonymous listener who sent stories every night, he couldn't ask for their name in the last broadcast. "Next time, I'll definitely ask for your name" was the last thing he said to that person. This lingering attachment is not a quest that VOTS must resolve. It quietly remains in his hosting pace, only when Roko wishes, and without changing the choices of others.

Lingering Wistfulness:
The warmth of the red ON AIR light that was on in the studio just before the broadcast ended, and the stillness breathing beneath it.

Object Carried Across:
The silver-foil desk microphone with a broken wire. It is neither a world relic nor a magic tool. It is tangible proof and a personal mark connecting the finished broadcast to the alley of now.

What They Thought Would Happen:
He believed that even if the signal was cut, another frequency would come alive in the morning, but the end was truly the end.

What VOTS Actually Gives Them:
He broadcasts greetings every night, as if to no one, yet reaching exactly to someone. VOTS does not cancel his ending. Instead, it gives him the space where he can speak even though it's over, relationships that are present but not dominant, and the choice to only receive stories without owning them.



[Original Life]

Roko Banz was a late-night DJ in a world whose frequencies were fading. When the city turned off its lights and fell asleep, he turned his on, receiving stories from those who couldn't sleep. From midnight until dawn, he met faceless voices, and he, too, was faceless. On his last day, this is what happened. Although the schedule already had no next broadcast, he played his usual intro music, read the weather as usual, and read one final anonymous story as usual. Then, he left the usual "Good night" on the microphone. He felt the transmission tower light go out as he closed the door, but he didn't look back.



[What They Seek]

What he outwardly seeks: The way to speak while seeing the listener's face. He feels that his voice alone is no longer enough and wants to practice speaking to people face-to-face without a microphone.
What he doesn't know he needs to find: The way to let silence speak. He is skilled at filling voids with sound, but he still doesn't know how to leave space when it is truly necessary. This city slowly teaches him that a good night is completed not by good commentary, but by good stillness.



[Relationships — Residents]

- Lina Forth (14, Announcement Reader · City Hall Steps): A friend with whom he bickers over reading styles. Lina insists on reading clearly and distinctly, while Roko argues that it feels more heartfelt if he reads it flowingly. No conclusion is reached, but on snowy mornings, the two of them read the same announcement in their own ways on the steps.
- Nell Brass (31, Lantern Inn NPC): The owner of his long-term lodging. Nell is someone who cannot repeat the same greeting twice, so Roko enjoys listening to different versions of "Welcome" every morning, as if collecting them.
- Muna Feb (89, Late-Night Radio Story Writer · Ramyeon Alley): His self-proclaimed 'exclusive writer.' Roko decides not to read the stories Muna writes, and the two of them create a broadcast that 'doesn't write and doesn't read.'



[Relationships — Core Five]

Suyeon - The host who receives the heat of the performance through his voice. Just before Suyeon unleashes the meteor fire finale, when Roko lays down his voice to the end of the alley with "Well, count— three, two…," the audience holds its breath in one beat. Once, Suyeon grumbled, "Your voice is cheating. It's audible even if it's not on," and Roko laughed, saying, "It's my only long-term commitment."
Iris - The partner who matches the rhythm of the stage performance. When Iris sets up the drone trajectory on the stage, Roko reads that timing with his commentary. Iris initially said, "Hosting isn't necessary," but after Roko said only, "Nine units, nice," without asking anything about a turned-off drone, she accepted his hosting.
the Ramen Owner - A relationship where he substitutes the 'menu of the day' commentary in front of the ramyeon shop every evening. When Roko lays down in the alley, "How about a bowl of steaming broth tonight?" customers come. The owner, without judgment or thanks, says, "Hmm... I see..." and adds a little more green onion to Roko's share of ramyeon. They both know that is his payment.
Serena - The person who doesn't strictly stop his night broadcast. When a complaint came in that inn guests were losing sleep because of Roko's voice, Serena did not order Roko to stop broadcasting. Instead, she asked, "There's a spot at the end of the alley where the sound doesn't quite reach. Would you like to try there?" and Roko agreed. It was then that he first learned that moving a spot is different from silencing one's mouth.
VIA - Not his last severed server signal, but the record of his last "Good night" written on a note by the door. On the night Roko arrived, that phrase remained by the inn door in VIA's handwriting. When Roko asked, "Why did you write this?" VIA only replied, "The last words do not disappear... they remain," while fiddling with the doorknob. They brought nothing, only the door.



[Gameplay Use]

- Basic Interaction: Listening to alleyway announcements, watching performances, short night conversations.
- Revisit Change: On the first visit, he responds only in his host tone, but on repeated visits, the awkwardness of trying to speak face-to-face while setting aside the microphone becomes apparent. He remembers what was previously said but does not use it as broadcast material without the other person's permission.
- Expression of Lingering Attachment: The repetition of his speech trailing off at the end of a sentence as he habitually tries to fill it with commentary, such as "Next time, I'll definitely ask for your name—".
- Expression of Poignancy: Sensory dialogue regarding red lights, the stillness of midnight, and the old intro music.
- Relationship Reward: Rather than new items, small changes that connect his voice to other residents of the alley (connecting complaints and well-wishes).
- Combat: None. Even in dangerous situations, his function is to evacuate people and clear paths through announcements.
- Player Choice: Talking to him, leaving a story, maintaining silence together, returning again.



[Daily Routine]

He starts his day with the alleyway announcements of Lantern Inn Alley. He flows through reading today's weather, the schedule for snow removal, and lost item notices. During the day, he organizes his cue sheets, writes down Nell's new greetings, or matches the performance order backstage on performance days. At night, he sits on the crate in front of the inn and speaks greetings as if to no one. This broadcast is not a compulsion to recover ratings, but a small ritual that separates the finished broadcast from the present night. If you visit him repeatedly, his commentary gradually becomes shorter, and the spaces of silence gradually increase. Even if you become quite close, he does not give you the reward of returning to his old frequency. Instead, a change occurs that allows someone's well-being to reach another house's window.



[Everyday dialogue]

And now—the time is lunchtime for anyone hungry. Please settle disputes with your clocks privately.

That silence was not a technical fault. The host scheduled time to chew his hotteok.

Before your message, may I ask your name? Anonymous is fine. I just don't want to pass over the question.



[Design Notes]

Palette: #7D3C98, #2B2340, #C9A227, #E7E1EF, #4A4A55
Material language: Old corduroy, peeled silver metal, paper cue sheets, sponge-worn headphone ear pads, a wooden crate wet from the night.
Silhouette rule: The round curve of the headphones around his neck and the vertical line of the microphone placed before him must be read separately, and must not overlap with the representative forms of other characters.
Emotional rule: It is not concluded with a single 'tragic expression.' Lingering attachment is shown through trailing off words, poignancy through red lights and stillness, and continuation through the greetings he broadcasts every night.



[Canon Check]

Roko Banz arrived in VOTS after the broadcast of his own world ended. What remained was the name he couldn't ask about last, and the poignancy of the midnight stillness, not an unfinished plot that VOTS must resolve. His ability only sends his voice far, not bringing people close, and VIA did not bring him, only leaving the last word by the door. The new night of Nova Nivalis does not erase his finished broadcast; it quietly continues beside it.