Chapter 52: “I don’t know anything.”

Jungheon loved games.

When he was a child, he followed his older cousin to a dimly lit PC room.

Even as his aunt sighed about her son playing too many games, Jungheon secretly snuck out and followed his cousin.

That PC room introduced Jungheon to a whole new world.

At the age of 7, it might have been only natural for a child gripping a mouse with his tiny, fern-like hands to dream of becoming a pro gamer.

Even after he joined a pro team and was finally able to play his favorite game all day, Jungheon still loved games.

People often say that once your hobby becomes your job, it loses its fun.

But Jungheon clearly didn’t belong in that category.

The only unfortunate part was that while God had given him an unquenchable passion for games, He had not given him an equal amount of talent.

He loved games more than anyone but wasn’t better than everyone.

Having both passion and talent for something you love is truly a rare thing.

In the end, he became one of the first-generation pro gamers — someone who paved the way for the next generation.

Every so often, fans would say, “Oh yeah, there was that guy, wasn’t there?”

Now, as he approached his thirties, Jungheon still loved games.

That’s why he couldn’t let go of the mouse.

He started a second life as a general gaming streamer.

It wasn’t bad.

He liked that it was still a job related to gaming.

In some ways, it was even better. Unlike his days at the club where he could only focus on Aeowar, he could now play a variety of games.

Perhaps thanks to his title as a former pro gamer, he managed to attract a fair bit of attention from people.

That was a relief.

Gaming was the only thing Jungheon could do.

There was no other path for him to make a living.

Even when people called him a washed-up relic, he kept going.

Even when he ended up more of a clown than a pro gamer, he accepted it.

As long as he could play games, nothing else mattered.

It had been five years since he started streaming.

He’d been a streamer longer than he was a pro gamer.

Maybe that’s why.

Or maybe it was just because he was getting older.

Or perhaps it was his gradually declining physical reflexes.

He kept streaming out of habit, but his passion for gaming had slowly started to cool.

He knew it himself, but he convinced himself that it was inevitable.

That’s how things had been.

Yes, that’s how it had been… until today.

<“Yesterday’s Legend” has donated 12,000 won! (Switch clip)>

— “Jungheon, have you seen this?”

It was a video clip sent in by a viewer.

Jungheon watched a warrior wielding a pure white, flame-engulfed sword on the other side of the screen.

He could even see the small hands of the player in the corner of the screen.

Jungheon had never been in awe while watching someone else play a game.

To others, this might sound like arrogance, but even during his pro days, when the world buzzed about a “monster rookie” threatening his position, he could predict their every move.

When he watched the plays of other pros, he would think, “If I had enough physical reflexes, I could do that too.”

But this time, something was different.

So why was he now so completely engrossed in this video?

Because the streamer’s playstyle was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

The strategy was genius.

When Jungheon watched other people’s gameplay, he could usually predict their next move.

No one ever strayed from his predictions.

This analytical mindset was why he sometimes did “reaction content” where he reviewed and critiqued other players’ gameplay.

But now, Jungheon had forgotten that he was in the middle of a live stream.

He stared at the monitor like he was in a trance.

How did they come up with a play like that?

Why would they make that decision here?

The protagonist in the video — what were they thinking as they played the game in real time?

On what basis did they make those decisions to pull off such plays?

Jungheon couldn’t contain his curiosity.

How long had he been watching the video in pure, silent amazement?

“Ah.”

It was as if he had awoken from a dream.

When the video, sent as a donation, ended, Jungheon returned to reality.

Facing viewers who were now questioning his sudden silence, he asked,

“So… who is that person, exactly?”

What’s the difference between internet broadcasts and traditional TV broadcasts?

There are many, but the first thing that comes to mind is the more relaxed atmosphere.

How many times have we seen public figures get harshly criticized for a single slip of the tongue on TV?

Internet broadcasts, in contrast, are freer in that regard.

Most shows aim for a more casual and less formal environment.

Of course, that freedom can sometimes be excessive, leading to negative perceptions.

People might give you strange looks if they see you watching internet streams in public, as if to say, “Oh, you watch that kind of stuff?”

But who cares?

If it’s fun for the viewer, that’s all that matters.

So, why do these differences exist?

It’s because of the unique advantage that only internet broadcasts have: real-time interaction with viewers.

Unlike pre-recorded television shows, internet broadcasts allow the host to read and respond to live feedback from viewers.

Rather than one-way communication, it’s a two-way exchange.

Even though the broadcaster and the viewers are physically apart, they can have quick back-and-forth interactions.

This live, conversational format is one of the biggest hallmarks of internet broadcasts.

It’s also called personal broadcasting because anyone can become the main host of their own show.

There’s no need for dozens of cameras, lights, or those big boom mics.

All you need is some basic streaming equipment and yourself.

So, why am I suddenly giving you this whole lecture on internet broadcasting?

“Hello…”

[The Great Mollru has arrived]

[Mollru is here]

[Ah oh ah oh ah oh ah ah]

[I didn’t think he’d stream again so soon, but here we are after just two days?!]

[Diligent Mollru…? We can’t stop this.]

[Why are there so many people here?]

[Please pin a notice.]

[We should be grateful he even turned it on.]

[LOL, back in the day, he barely ever streamed, but now people are acting spoiled.]

[“Back in the day” = 2 weeks ago.]

It was because I was taking advantage of one of the greatest perks of personal broadcasting — real-time communication.

— “Good afternoon.” (Just Chatting)

[What is this?]

[Just chatting??]

[No games?]

[Suddenly… chatting?]

[Mollru has started chatting with viewers?? We can’t stop this.]

[Where’s the old Mollru who didn’t listen to viewers…? Who are you?!]

[Fake Mollru detected;]

[New Mollru is different.]

[Mollru and communication… is there a more awkward pairing?]

[Let’s chat~~]

[Give us a hug~~~]

On Switch (a fictional streaming platform akin to Twitch), there are countless categories.

The majority of them are game-related, and each game genre has its own category.

The categories are designed so that viewers can watch the broadcasts they want, based on their preferences.

The category I’ve selected, Just Chatting, is not a game category, but one used by streamers who chat with viewers or just talk about whatever.

It’s a category created specifically for communication.

Except for special cases, I’m someone who turns on the broadcast and jumps straight into the game.

But right now, viewers must be confused, seeing me do something unfamiliar — maybe even behaving strangely.

There’s a reason why I made this choice.

It all started with a conversation I had with Siyoung while taking a break yesterday.

Mollru: What kind of broadcast should I do?

Rain: Suddenly?

Mollru: I feel like I need new content.

So, I had just woken up after a long nap and checked YouTube.

My fresh new YouTube channel, which I had started not long ago, was growing smoothly under Siyoung’s care.

It had 70,000 subscribers, and considering it had only been a month since I created the channel, that seemed pretty good.

Siyoung was excited about how quickly the channel was growing, even getting overexcited at times.

But maybe I was more greedy than I thought.

I wanted my YouTube to grow even more.

I wanted it to become so big and impressive that people would be shocked.

To achieve that, I needed videos that would grab people’s attention.

Something like the new route I found during the Dragon Road stream yesterday.

This kind of content idea started to extend beyond YouTube and onto my broadcasts, and eventually, I turned to Siyoung for advice.

She listened silently to my concerns, which might have seemed trivial to others, and gave a simple answer.

Rain: If that’s the case, communication broadcasts would be perfect.

Mollru: Communication?

Rain: Why not try making time to talk with your viewers on stream, instead of just playing games? Even if it’s just for a short while before or after the game.

Oh my, what Siyoung said felt like a very difficult task for me.

But when I looked at it statistically, her words made sense.

Ironically, the video with the highest views, even though it was the longest, was one where I talked about my food preferences in the World Cup style.

So now, back to the present — it felt awkward, but the one thing I really needed was communication with my viewers.

And big data analysis shows that it’s been the most positively received.

So, I set Just Chatting as the category and got ready to communicate with viewers.

Looking at the screen, I thought:

[Where did the host go?]

[Is there someone who turns on the broadcast and then goes silent?]

[Where did you go, Tenryan?]

[Teacher????]

[Is anyone here~~~]

[I’ll hold my breath until Mollru comes back.]

How do I communicate?