Chapter 9: “It’s not a sniper; it’s a viewer participation event.”

Actually, this isn’t the first time I’ve done a broadcast.

Back in the days when the closure announcement for Abyss was posted, which was about three years ago now, I used to stream fairly regularly, though only for a short time.

The reason was obvious.

I was trying to save a dying game.

It’s like watching your house slowly tilt, and you can’t just stand by and do nothing.

So, I streamed.

Though calling it a broadcast might be a bit of an overstatement—it was more of a half-hearted attempt.

For one, I didn’t use a camera or a microphone.

As for the camera, I figured, “What’s the point of showing my face when I’m not particularly good-looking?”

And as for the microphone, it just so happened that the panel on my computer broke, so I didn’t use one.

With such a setup, how could the broadcast go well?

The game was a dying one with no new players, and on the screen, there were just characters moving around without any sound.

It was no wonder viewers came in and left shortly after.

A few loyal folks from the forum hung around like totems, but my broadcast failed to meet its intended goal and ended in a sad demise.

Not long after, an announcement came out that the game itself was shutting down.

Looking back now, it’s almost funny.

I was trying to save the game, yet I didn’t even use a camera or a microphone during my supposed promotional streams.

I should’ve at least acted like a clown on camera if I wanted to prevent the game’s closure.

It would’ve been better to disregard my dignity altogether.

In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t do that.

But what if I had?

Would everything I did with my male face and voice now be associated with my current self?

It’s something I’ll never know.

“Hmm…”

One thing’s for sure, though—my past broadcasts haven’t disappeared completely.

After all, there’s still a record of my last stream three years ago, sitting there on the streaming site.

“The equipment… I’ll just use the old stuff for now.”

I have an old microphone that’ll do.

I don’t plan to use a camera just yet either—I’m not keen on revealing my face right from the start.

For now, I’ll be using a single PC, but that should be fine since Abyss isn’t a high-spec game and runs smoothly with good optimization.

So, I could start streaming right now if I wanted to.

But it’s still too early.

There’s more I need to prepare besides the equipment.

What does it take to succeed in personal streaming?

At first glance, it might seem like an easy way to make a living.

From the outside, it looks like all they do is sit in front of a computer playing games, or sometimes not even playing games, just passing the time, all while making as much money as the average office worker.

Setting aside the behind-the-scenes effort, from what you see, it’s easy to think it’s an easy gig.

And once you succeed, it’s true that the work is relatively light compared to the earnings.

So, how do I get viewers to watch my stream?

Three ideas came to mind.

The first was to become a top-ranked player in a popular game.

In the past, that would’ve been impossible, but now that Abyss has become a hit, it’s not out of the question.

However, my current rank, which I’ve achieved after two days of grinding, is Diamond 4—far from being able to claim the title of a top player.

I’d love to start streaming with a Challenger title, but that’ll take too long.

Considering the nature of internet streaming, where you never know when the money will start rolling in, it’s better to start as soon as possible.

So, this idea was naturally dismissed.

The second idea was to spice up the stream’s thumbnail to make it more provocative.

For example, I could place certain body parts in front of the camera.

A screen filled with skin would surely attract viewers’ attention.

After all, I’ve got my own impressive assets that could rival other female streamers…

No, no, no.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized this wasn’t the way.

This method was bound to harm my mental health.

I’ll only consider it when I’m truly out of options.

The last idea was to pull in a portion of the audience from other streams.

This could be done by collaborating with big-name streamers or participating in popular tournaments.

Even just benefiting from the overflow of viewers could help small-time streamers rise quickly.

But… right now, there weren’t any tournaments happening.

Even if there were, there’s no way I, who hadn’t even done a proper broadcast yet, would be able to participate.

Collaborating with big streamers was out of the question too.

It’s not like any streamer would invite a stranger to appear on their show.

The only way I’d be in their stream is by randomly being matched up with them in a game.

But stream sniping them would only get me added to the list of controversies on a wiki somewhere, so sniping is off the table.

So, was this method flawed too?

Was there no way forward?

Not necessarily.

I was thinking of drawing viewers by appearing on a big-name stream.

Surprisingly, there was a major streamer on Twitch who, without caring about status or compensation, would allow anyone to appear on their stream.

Feeling the time was right, I pulled out my phone and opened someone’s stream.

A short ad greeted me.

“My rank is Diamond 4 right now, isn’t it?”

His Abyss rank was probably also Diamond 4, same as mine.

That fit the conditions perfectly.

Wait, why am I thinking about rank all of a sudden?

Oh, don’t worry.

I’m not planning to snipe.

This is just…

“Alright, actors, please enter. We’re about to start the queue.”

…a simple viewer participation event.

“Wow, today’s actors are really on the ball.

The queue popped up so fast.”

[LOL, the queue hit in one second]

[Actors incoming~]

[How do the snipers always get into the queue?]

[Masquerade on]

[The Truman Show, now featuring 9 vs. 1]

[Is there a regular player among the actors?]

[Yeah, right, LOL]

The streamer, who goes by the name Taker—real name Jang Gun-hee—is one of the more well-known figures on Twitch.

He mainly plays Abyss and his viewer count ranges from 3,000 to as high as 20,000, making him a big-time streamer.

His main content, and the reason why he became famous and why so many people watch his stream, is all about getting sniped.

To be more precise, his main content is getting “sniped” by others.

That’s what he’s known for.

Gun-hee’s rank fluctuates between lower Diamond and Master tier, and ever since the old days, he’s had an abnormal amount of snipers following him.

Stream sniping, where players purposely queue at the same time as the streamer to get matched in the same game, is a common occurrence for him.

Naturally, when snipers are in a game, it’s impossible to have a normal match.

After all, they didn’t come just to play the game fairly.

That day was no different.

Gun-hee was once again being tormented by snipers.

After finishing a match with the snipers, he suddenly had a thought.

“What if I turned this into content?”

Sniping was inevitable anyway.

Since he couldn’t avoid it, why not embrace it?

After all, the viewers enjoyed watching him get sniped, so why not enjoy it too?

The thought was to set the stage for something big.

Thus, the concept of “filming” was born.

This “filming,” conducted once a week, created an unexpected ripple effect on Twitch, bringing him fame and serving as the driving force behind his rise as a streamer.

During the filming sessions, he wouldn’t get annoyed or angry when snipers showed up. Instead, he subtly encouraged them to snipe him.

He had essentially turned the gameplay with snipers into content. Gun-hee benefited from the engagement, the viewers found it entertaining, and the snipers enjoyed the attention they received.

In conclusion, it was the creation of a utopia where everyone was happy.

“Looks like everyone here is familiar.”

Gun-hee said this after quickly scanning the nicknames as the game started.

The streamers showing up for the filming hadn’t changed; the roster was mostly the same as always. While a few new faces appeared every now and then, the overall composition remained consistent.

Having been sniped so many times, Gun-hee had reached the point where he could memorize the snipers’ usernames.

“Hmm?”

But today, for some reason, he spotted a new face among the crowd.