Chapter 70: A Calculated Person

It was my long-standing habit to organize my thoughts internally and jump straight to the point without much explanation.

I didn’t like beating around the bush, nor did I enjoy lengthy conversations.

This habit often led to minor misunderstandings.

“Moving.”

The first to react to my statement was Ji-yeon.

She muttered the word moving a couple of times, then clapped her hands as if something great had occurred to her.

“Then why don’t you move back home, sis? Your room’s still empty, and we could see each other all the time.”

Back home.

That was definitely an option to consider.

It wasn’t uncommon for female streamers troubled by stalkers to return to their families.

Sure, if that “family” were real.

Ji-eun had moved out for a reason.

There must have been a story behind why a 23-year-old woman, with no job, shut herself away and lived independently.

Who could predict what might happen if I, posing as Ji-eun with no memory of her life, had to face those people again?

Returning to Ji-yeon’s family home was out of the question.

Without revealing my true reasons, I simply shook my head to decline.

“No, I’m more comfortable living alone. I make enough money now to find a new place.”

“Ugh…”

Sensing that I wasn’t going to budge, Ji-yeon didn’t press the issue further.

As she stepped back, another contender entered the discussion.

“Move to Busan.”

“…Huh?”

“Come to Busan.”

Ryu-ah, looking straight at me, made the suggestion with confidence.

Was this her usual personality? I vaguely recalled her being clingy when drunk, so maybe this wasn’t entirely out of character.

When I didn’t respond and just stared at her blankly, she began extolling Busan’s virtues.

The coastal views were beautiful, the milmyeon (cold noodles) was delicious, the gukbap (soup and rice) was iconic, and the weather was great.

Sure, living there would probably be nice. Busan wasn’t called Korea’s second capital for nothing—it was a huge city.

The seaside could offer a refreshing change of pace for walks or relaxation.

But moving my base of operations so drastically wasn’t something I had considered.

Having lived in Seoul for decades, I felt unfamiliar with other regions.

At most, I’d move somewhere within Gyeonggi Province.

For that reason, the suggestion to move to Busan was also dismissed.

“That’s a shame…”

Busan was far, after all. With a disappointed look, Ryu-ah backed down.

Though they each had opinions about where I should move, none of them seemed to oppose the idea of me moving itself.

When I asked why, their answers were simple.

“Well, I never liked you living here. It’d be better if you moved somewhere with better security and safety.”

“With the income you make, you could live somewhere nicer. Other streamers live in officetels or apartments, not tiny studios.”

“I feel the same way.”

It seemed I hadn’t fully grasped just how much money I was earning.

To others, it must’ve seemed strange that someone making enough to move and indulge in luxuries wasn’t doing so.

As the saying goes, those who’ve spent money know how to spend it.

Having lived my entire life as an ordinary citizen tightening my belt, I wasn’t accustomed to spending freely.

“Well then, how about this?”

I described the layout of the kind of house I had in mind.

Two rooms and a living room.

One room would be for rest and sleep, and the other would be solely for work and streaming.

I’d read somewhere that separating work and rest areas improves productivity.

I hadn’t understood it back then, but as a streamer now, it made perfect sense.

Every time I grew tired while streaming, I felt the overwhelming urge to throw myself onto the bed right behind me.

It was like facing temptation in real-time while trying to work.

Wait—just thinking about it made me happy.

Setting up one more room could free me from that psychological struggle.

Moving… it might be better than I thought.

“I’m even planning to install a soundproof booth in the streaming room.”

“A soundproof booth? But you usually stream pretty quietly.”

“Well, there are times, like during horror games, when I end up making noise. It’s always on my mind.”

Imagine living in a poorly soundproofed studio and hearing a woman’s screams late at night.

It’s a miracle my neighbors hadn’t called the police out of fear that something was wrong.

Granted, I hadn’t screamed that loudly, but it wasn’t impossible for such a thing to happen.

“Let’s make the bedroom the larger room.”

“Huh?”

“Sometimes I’ll come over and sleep there. Make the bed a queen size. A super single is too cramped for two people rolling around.”

Wouldn’t it be easier to just have two beds? Or perhaps add another room to use as a guest room?

Regardless of the number of beds, having a spacious bedroom seemed like a must.

It wasn’t like I could tell Ji-yeon not to come over. If I tried, she’d probably tear up and put me in an awkward spot.

And so, the plan started to take shape.

Today, considering my condition, I decided to rest.

Starting tomorrow, I’d begin looking for a new place.

In the meantime, I’d have at least one person staying by my side as a precaution against the stalker.

Tonight, Ji-yeon would stay over. Tomorrow, I’d go house-hunting with Si-young, and the day after, I’d spend time with Ryu-ah.

It was practically a three-shift rotation.

I tried to protest that this level of overprotection seemed unnecessary, but my complaints were promptly dismissed.

It seemed the stalker incident had shaken them as well.

“Shouldn’t you be heading back to Busan, Ryu-ah?”

“I’ll be in Seoul this week, so it’s fine.”

“Then Ji-yeon will stay on Thursday, I’ll take Friday, and Saturday…”

Si-young calmly sorted out the schedule.

It seemed they had already coordinated among themselves. The plan was proceeding smoothly, with no input from me.

Couldn’t they at least consider how exhausting it might be for me to have someone hovering around me all the time?

At least I didn’t have much stuff to move, which was a relief.

My place barely had any furniture—a bed and some clothes.

That was it. No sofa or anything you’d typically find in a regular household.

The hard bed, which I didn’t even know how long I’d been using, was something I planned to get rid of and replace anyway. So, there wasn’t much to pack.

Just when I thought I had considered everything for the move, another issue came to mind.

“What about streaming?”

“You’ll probably have to take a break—at least for a week.”

“It hasn’t been that long since my last week-long break.”

There wouldn’t be an immediate problem, but once I started moving and packing in earnest, streaming would be impossible.

The scenario that would follow was clear.

My stream had inadvertently become something like a refuge for overly passionate viewers.

If I announced a long hiatus, it was obvious what some of them might do.

The chaos they caused during my last break was still fresh in my memory—my hardcore fans storming into Ryu-ah’s stream, creating a ruckus.

They’d probably understand if I explained it was due to a stalker, but I had no intention of sharing that on my stream.

As a known figure in the streaming world, I had inevitably attracted people who bore me ill will.

Even if I couldn’t see them, I was certain there were plenty of them out there.

I didn’t want to give such people the satisfaction of knowing they had caused me trouble.

At most, I’d mention moving houses and leave it at that.

But honestly, all of this was just an excuse.

No matter what happened to someone else’s stream, I expected that streamer to handle it themselves.

After all, viewers hopping from one stream to another was a common occurrence.

The real reason was simpler: I wanted to keep streaming.

I’d picked out a game, but I hadn’t been able to play it for days because of my illness.

If I was going to game, I preferred having an audience react with me. For me, that role had always been filled by my chat.

Now, the idea of playing a game with an empty chat window felt unthinkable.

I wanted to move, but I also wanted to stream.

As I wrestled with these conflicting desires, it was Si-young who offered a solution.

“Why not stream from my place?”

“Uh… are you sure that’s okay?”

“All you’d need to do is connect your microphone. Should be fine, right?”

I recalled her dimly lit workspace.

She had at least three monitors, displaying multiple screens like a security control room.

She’d been editing videos there—90% of which were mine.

She worked as if she had multiple pairs of eyes, pinpointing edits across several screens at once.

For that kind of work, her setup would definitely be capable of handling streaming.

If anything, it might be overpowered. Logistically, it was perfect.

“Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer, just for a bit.”

“Great! You can even stay over for a few days if you’d like.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Ugh…”

It was decided that I’d stream from Si-young’s place.

Beside me, I noticed Ryu-ah quietly grinding her teeth as she glared at Si-young.

She’d been giving her side glances of disapproval for a while now. Did something happen between the two of them?

And so, my moving plans were set up in a flash, like cooking beans over a lightning strike.

Hopefully, everything would turn out okay… probably.