Chapter 7: Small streamers usually have a reason(4)

**VR Broadcasting Gallery.**

Some people sometimes mistake it for the VTuber Gallery, but this space was strictly for watching streamers broadcasting in VR.

Most of the content they watched was face-cam streams. They weren’t even interested in VTubers to begin with.

Of course, with VR games becoming mainstream, avatars had also become widely adopted. As a result, the Broadcasting Gallery regulars weren’t as hostile toward VTubers as they used to be…

But still, they disliked what they disliked.

Avatar or VTuber—it didn’t matter. These people just didn’t want to watch streams that didn’t give them a dopamine hit.

That was exactly what the VR Broadcasting Gallery was.

Talent is always a rare thing.

There were plenty of streamers, but the ones featured in the VR Broadcasting Gallery were always the same faces.

That’s how hard it was to find someone truly entertaining. No matter how much they got flamed, people kept coming back to watch them again.

But no one can maintain the same form forever.

Even athletes in the GOAT ranks have had their off days.

Streamers were no different.

<Why’s Pusik so boring these days?>

Can’t he stop playing *Eternal World* already?
It’s so hard to watch every time he plays that.

-The moment he dies once, he mutes himself and starts blaming others

-Anyone below Diamond rank should get slapped every time they blame others
These low-rank scrubs think they never lose on their own

Everyone had their own strengths.
There were games that suited them, too.

Even with the world’s top-ranked game, some people just couldn’t click with it.
The king of the VR Broadcasting Gallery, Ga Junshik, was one such person.

A person whose raw talent just didn’t align with competitive games, yet someone who genuinely loved them.
That was why Ga Junshik kept making *Eternal World* his broadcast content, even though he knew viewers hated it.

Rojon posted his video right at the peak of *Eternal World*’s hype, precisely when the VR Broadcasting Gallery folks were starting to complain.

As mentioned earlier, the same people were often featured on the VR Broadcasting Gallery, but it wasn’t always the exact same faces.

The gallery had a habit of swarming a random streamer, enjoying the chaos, and then losing interest just as quickly. It wasn’t intentional—it just happened naturally, over and over again.

The reasons behind being chosen as this toy were numerous. In other words, there were no set criteria.

However, there was a common thread. If it looked fun, regardless of whether the streamer was entertaining, if the situation seemed enjoyable, the VR gallery users would flock to watch the broadcast.

A man who had been part of the VR broadcasting gallery for a year sought out Han Yurim’s stream for just that reason.

It wasn’t an incredibly entertaining situation, but since there wasn’t much to watch these days, he decided to just fill the day with this broadcast.

And he was taken aback.

Not only had Han Yurim picked Lee Sahyang as if mocking her target, but her gaming skills were far beyond his expectations.

“Is that even possible?”

The man marveled as he watched Han Yurim consume a 4-tier object at level 1.

His tier in *Eternal World* was Diamond 3. Although that tier was considered low in the celestial realm above Master, Diamond was still among the top ranks. He understood at least the basic mechanics of the game.

To obtain a 4-tier object, players usually had to reach at least level 3. This was due to the ranged basic attacks launched by the boss mob of the 4-tier object.

In ‘Eternal World’, the basic attacks were not targeting, which distinguished it from typical AOS games.

However, it was essentially targeting.

It was akin to the idea that if your aim is precise in an FPS game, the opponent cannot evade your bullets.

Of course, there is movement in FPS games, but that is merely a fake meant to confuse the enemy’s aim tracking.

If the opponent doesn’t fall for it, movement holds no significance.

‘Eternal World’ was similar in this respect.

As long as your aim is precise, basic attacks generally hit.

Well, it wasn’t impossible to dodge them.

Unlike typical FPS games, *Eternal World* offered a variety of movements.

In theory, it was possible to evade basic attacks.

In reality, it was theoretically possible to dodge bullets fired right in front of you.

As far as the man knew, the difficulty of both was somewhat similar.

Dodge timing was challenging.

The boss monsters of the 4-tier objects fired ranged basic attacks.

Therefore, to effectively tackle them, leveling up was necessary.

Despite this logical progression, reaching level 3 and tackling a 4-tier object became the established norm.

However, Han Yurim had completely broken away from this norm.

The man recalled the number of basic attacks from the boss monster that Han Yurim had just dodged.

Out of five attacks, she successfully evaded three, yet her health was still hanging by a thread.

If she had taken even one more hit, she would have been executed by the object.

This wasn’t something anyone could just imitate at will.

Dodging the close-range neutral mob’s attacks while also avoiding long-range basic attacks?

It was questionable whether even a professional could pull that off.

“Well, professionals can’t use this strategy. The early design is just too predictable.”

Yet, the amazement didn’t fade away.

Having grown steadily, Han Yurim soared during the ensuing 4v4 standoff.

Han Yurim, the alpha and omega of sahyang, flawlessly blocked the enemy’s attacks with her second skill, [Gun Guard], and immediately dove into the massacre.

Many in the gallery questioned why she wasted skills on Isayang, but that was a statement made by someone who understood one thing but not the other.

The man could understand why Han Yurim’s opponents felt that way.

She was someone who could dodge even point-blank attacks.

To kill her, there was no choice but to unleash skills when she was briefly immobilized by crowd control.

It was the logic that a pitcher with few options would end up throwing a bad pitch.

[Victory]

Han Yurim, who had completely shattered the enemies, seemed satisfied with her play as she briefly looked at the victory screen before starting the queue again.

The man felt the same sense of satisfaction.

He had only intended to kill time for a short while, but it had truly exceeded his expectations.

“Is the microphone on?”

It wasn’t like it was a 20-year-old internet broadcast, so the lack of a microphone felt a bit off.

However, the gameplay was so satisfying that there were no complaints.

One match, two matches, three matches… Han Yurim’s carries continued.

The viewers cheered.

The gallery was flooded with comments about Han Yurim’s broadcast.

At that moment, it felt like this would last forever.

“Hey, Pusik is playing a horror game today!”

“This damn guy is finally stopping Eternal World! ”

“Gotta put out the fire since the café is burning.”

“Finally, something worth watching!”

But it wasn’t like that.

As soon as the first-tier streamer, Gajunsik, turned on his broadcast on the VR-exclusive platform V-TV, the viewers vanished like a mirage.

The audience, which had surpassed 3000, was now reduced to barely 200—less than half of that.

Only then did Han Yurim nod and end the broadcast.

It had been tough to watch.

Now it was time to think about game planning.

Although Han Yurim’s debut was like a storm, it hadn’t left a significant impact.

It was anticipated that when Han Yurim turned on her next broadcast, she would only have fewer than 100 viewers.

Perhaps it could even drop below 50.

Viewers were that cold.

In a no-mic, no-cam broadcast, no matter how good the skill, there was little reason to watch.

It wasn’t like the old days; nowadays, there was an abundance of content to choose from.

If merely having good skills was enough to attract viewers, professional gamers would have taken the top spot in viewership.

However, that didn’t mean Han Yurim gained nothing from the experience.

She left a strong impression on thousands of viewers, and that alone was a significant asset.

It would undoubtedly prove beneficial at some point in the future.

Her followers grew rapidly as well.

Some people struggle for two years to increase their follower count, but Han Yurim surpassed 5,000 in just one day.

On top of that, she had a steady viewership of several dozen.

This was a fantastic start for any broadcaster.

Every streamer knows that the toughest time is when they have no viewers and are talking to the void.

Having surpassed that phase in just two weeks, it was a pretty solid start.

So Rojon felt envious as he watched Han Yurim.

He noticed the series of events unfold, his heart racing as he pieced everything together.

Rojon didn’t do live broadcasts. No matter how hard he tried, his viewer count didn’t increase, so there was no reason to continue.

He only edited recorded gameplay and uploaded it to MyTube, and over the course of a year, he posted quite a few videos.

However, that didn’t mean Rojon disliked live streaming.

On the contrary, he wanted to do live broadcasts.

Amidst all this, Han Yurim achieved a peak viewer count of 3,000 from her very first broadcast.

And this was just two weeks after she started streaming.

The four of them had such a different start.

If only I had such an opportunity, I would have continued live streaming. But how can I make it happen?

While Rojon was deep in thought, he suddenly had a lightbulb moment and decided to create a video to upload to MyTube.

The title was **[I Apologize to Han Yurim]**.

If the video received a reaction, he would apologize in detail during a live stream and build on the audience he gathered.

The plan was perfect.

A day later, Rojon checked the views on the video.

181.

Neither more nor less—exactly Rojon’s average view count on MyTube.

Moss clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“It’s not my fault, but I feel sorry. You know what I mean?”

Honestly, you only reacted because I called you out.

Just chatting during the live stream was all there was to it. It’s not like I made a video and posted it on MyTube.

“Still, I’m kind of the middleman here. I turned on the stream because I saw that person being talked about in the game gallery, and I freaked out because of the chat!”

But it looks like you’re not really paying attention to the chat while you’re playing.

It’s not like you turned it off, considering you picked Han Yurim and did the teabagging, right?

“Anyway, I didn’t do anything wrong, but I felt a bit sorry, so I wanted to do something nice. You get it?”

Mos spoke to the viewers and opened Han Yurim’s broadcast channel. Although she wasn’t streaming at the moment, the donation feature was still active.

Mos casually donated 100,000 won.

“At this point, I’ve really given away money like a fool. Can’t deny that, right?”

“Fool? That’s definitely you, Mos!”

Honestly, Mos hadn’t done anything wrong in this incident. It felt a bit ridiculous to even call it an “incident.”

However, this left her in a tricky position when it came to making any gestures. If Mos were to go and apologize to Han Yurim, she’d immediately hear, “Why is Mos apologizing?”

So, Mos decided to go live and chose the option of donating to Han Yurim as her way of expressing herself.

She hadn’t apologized, but she still wanted to show that she had done something.

Nobody had asked her to do it, but it made Mos feel more at ease.

She took a drag of her cigarette, filling her lungs with nicotine, and planned to continue her broadcast afterward.

Han Yurim: “Thank you for the 100,000 won.”

And then she dropped her cigarette.

A nickname appeared that definitely shouldn’t have been there.

“Is that… for real?”

?

???

Nicknames shouldn’t overlap.

What the hell?

Mos quickly pulled herself together.

Han Yurim had her mouth shut and was putting on a performance, hard-carrying with Lee Sahyang.

This meant she had grasped the flow of events, and it wouldn’t be strange if she had also become aware of her own broadcast.

Since the donation was made under her main account, Mos figured it was reasonable for her to come looking for an explanation.

“Honestly, I feel like this incident got bigger because of me. I’m sorry, so please accept this.”

It was a humble statement. Under these circumstances, the other party would surely respond that it wasn’t Mos’s fault…

Han Yurim: “If you really feel sorry, can we do a 1:1 voice chat? I have something I want to say.”

Well, that wasn’t the response he expected.

What was going on?

Taken aback, Mos willingly shared his voice chat ID with Han Yurim.

**Ding ding ding.**

The call tone rang, and the other party answered.

“Hello?”

[Hello, Mos-nim. How are you?]

“Uh?”

Mos blinked in surprise, as if he had stumbled upon an unexpected situation.

The viewers felt the same way.

?

??

Wait, Han Yurim is a girl?

It didn’t make sense that she chose a feminine nickname just for the fun of it, while being subjected to harassment from trolls.

Mos and his viewers, along with the VR broadcast gallery, had never once considered Han Yurim to be a girl.

Her skills were simply too impressive for anyone to think otherwise.

“You said you had something to say.”

[Yes.]

Mos calmly waited for Han Yurim’s response.

It was surprising that she was a girl, but he didn’t let it fluster him.

People like him wouldn’t have been able to keep close ties in a community for nearly ten years.

They would have been swept away by the periodic “queen bee” events that caused members to leave the gallery.

By the way, what did she want to say?

With that question in mind, Han Yurim asked him.

[Why didn’t you play the game?]

“?”

Mos furrowed his brows.

What was she talking about?

Not playing the game?

Was she implying that his scout play wasn’t human-like?

“Uh, what do you mean?”

[You didn’t play, right?]

“So, can you clarify exactly what you mean?”

“Excuse me, but how do you know my fixed nickname, ‘Malangmabbak’?”

[It’s not hard to find out about you if you look around a bit. Your old streams and videos are still floating around. Plus, it’s kind of a memorable nickname.]

Mos felt a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

He had thought that name was long buried in his past.

“Yeah, well… I haven’t used that name in years. I go by Mos now.”

[Right, but it’s still you, isn’t it?]

He could hear a hint of amusement in her voice.

“What do you want with me about that game?”

“What’s your gallery nickname then?”

He pressed on, curiosity mixing with a hint of frustration.

[I’m just a lurker, so I don’t have one.]

“Come on. No one lurks in a small gallery for over seven years without a nickname. What’s your nick? Or at least your IP address!”

Mos shouted, his voice rising in excitement.

The chat echoed his sentiment, reacting with a flurry of messages.

**”Wait, are you telling me you were just lurking?”**

**”No way! Is she actually part of our community?”**

The tension in the call was palpable.

“Were you part of our little community all along?” he asked, still in disbelief.

[Maybe I was. But let’s just say I enjoyed being a ghost.]

“Seriously, it’s hard to believe you just watched without ever joining in,” he replied, trying to piece together the situation.

The chat exploded with reactions, filled with both disbelief and excitement.

**”So she might have been there when we were all having fun?”**

**”What if she knows all our secrets?”**

“Next episode, let’s find out who you really are!” Mos suggested, feeling the thrill of the unknown.

The night was getting more interesting by the minute.