Exposing the True Nature of Geogeun ADC (2)
Thanks to Pororo's sniping, my viewer count had spiked—if only for the moment.
Most of them would vanish the second the drama cooled off, sure. But a few might stick around if I played this right.
Thanks, Pororo.
Free advertising, and I'd barely lifted a finger.
"Ah, welcome to all the new faces. You guys came over from Pororo's stream, huh?"
As the fresh flood of viewers poured in, the regulars split into all kinds of reactions.
…NTR?
"Subtle phrasing is banned, banned, banned. Freedom of expression is streamer-only."
Normally I wouldn't have cared one bit—but now that I actually had a woman's body, the hits landed differently.
"…Then become a streamer yourself if you've got a problem."
Didn't you know? This place has always been a dictatorship.
It was the middle of the night. I stepped outside to clear my head. Nothing cools the heat of a stream quite like a late-night walk.
Pretty crowded out here.
Even at this hour, there were a fair number of people moving along the streets. I pulled out my phone and checked the date—Friday. A full-blown flaming Friday night.
Living like a half-unemployed shut-in really wrecks your sense of time.
I ducked into a convenience store, grabbed a Chocomong, and kept walking. The night streets had a charm of their own, but the scenery itself was nothing special—my neighborhood was a one-room studio ghetto packed with bars.
"…."
I drifted through the crowd, sneaking glances at people as I passed.
—Side-eye.
Nobody met my gaze. They just stared at their phones or window-shopped the storefronts.
This feeling is weird.
In comics and novels, it always happens, right? The second you turn into a beautiful girl, random passersby do double-takes and start paying attention—the classic setup…
So why is nobody reacting?
Something like, "Whoa, who is that pretty girl?" Or maybe, "Is she a model?" with people whispering behind their hands. Hell, even just everyone freezing and staring as I walked by… None of that was happening.
Not that my looks were lacking. Objectively speaking, I was pretty enough. Grab ten random people and ask, and all ten would say I was cute without hesitation.
"Excuse me."
As a test, I stopped someone walking past.
"…Yes?"
"Am I pretty?"
I pushed the hood back. A cascade of bright blond hair tumbled free, glossy and soft. I barely took care of it, yet it still shone like I'd just walked out of a salon.
"…?"
The guy—mid-twenties, average college-student vibe—had been walking with his eyes glued to his phone. He stopped, pulled out one AirPod, and asked again.
"Sorry, what?"
"I asked if I'm pretty."
He looked me up and down, then answered like he was stuck in an awkward situation.
"Yeah. You're pretty. Really pretty, but I don't do religion, so…"
"It's not religion?"
"Sorry. I don't have any money. If this is for a video, please find someone else."
And with that, he took off at a brisk pace and vanished into the night. He'd probably clocked me as either a cult recruiter or someone filming a hidden-camera YouTube bit.
Didn't even look back.
I watched him go, folding my arms in irritation.
Boring.
Somehow I'd become a blond, blue-eyed pretty girl, and my life was still exactly the same. Nothing had dramatically changed. I was still just the kind of person who shuffled around in slippers and drank Chocomong.
That's reality for you, I guess.
Not that I hated it. I'd just been a little curious whether something might be different.
Anyway, the moment I got home I fired up the stream. And thanks to Pororo, the number of people pouring in was visibly higher than before.
Barely any time into the broadcast, and the growth was already solid—enough to slap the average girl-cam streamer clean off the top of the charts.
Skill-based streaming really is the answer.
In an age of makeup tutorials and lighting scams, "pretty girl" was a dime a dozen.
The wind was at my back.
Viewers climbing thanks to Pororo, and in Asgard I was already on a six-game win streak. Calling it a full-on roll wouldn't have been an overstatement.
Nike's arrows turned the enemy nexus into a porcupine, and the game ended.
Absolute psychos. These viewers had clearly shown up just to watch me suffer and scream. The second I started winning, they moped around like they were the ones who'd lost, dumping insults left and right.
"What am I supposed to do if I want to lose? I'm just too good."
My win streak was tanking chat morale, but I had zero intention of throwing. Making money from streaming came second to Asgard. As far as I was concerned, money only needed to cover three meals a day.
"Nope. Absolutely not throwing."
Was spring finally arriving for me? No more grinding side gigs every time my wallet ran dry, bleeding stamina and hours. Streaming covered the bare minimum living expenses—which meant I could pour everything into Asgard.
"Heh heh heh…"
I tried to hold it in, but the laughter kept leaking out.
At this rate, even Challenger isn't a dream.
My game form was sharp, and Pororo had given the stream a little boost on top of it.
Everything was going my way.
"Queueing next."
Challenger Geogeun ADC.
Let's go.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Pororo was glaring at his monitor with bloodshot eyes.
"Kh-h, kh-heuk…"
Geogeun ADC's stream was playing on the screen. Already a seven-game win streak. That bastard was laughing in a bright, carefree voice, celebrating every victory.
—Seven wins in a row is skill. How is this luck? Honestly, all those losses before were just bad luck.
"…."
—Grit. Grind.
The sound of teeth grinding escaped Pororo's mouth. Because of the sniping incident, Geogeun ADC was thriving harder than ever—while his own viewer count had been cut in half. For someone who'd carefully cultivated that audience through consistent streaming, it was nothing short of a catastrophic hemorrhage.
"That piece of—this doesn't make sense. Something is wrong with the world."
Geogeun ADC was pure evil. A toxic player who spewed abuse and ruined games for everyone.
And somehow I was the one getting flamed?
Even getting my carefully gathered viewers stolen?
"This kind of thing isn't supposed to happen…!"
About half his remaining viewers—the loyal ones—flooded chat with worry. His condition was that far gone. He looked ready to put his fist through the monitor at any second.
"Kh, kh-khuk…"
Then, abruptly, Pororo pressed a palm to his forehead and started laughing—like something had genuinely delighted him.
"Puh, puh-khuk, hahahahaha!"
It was the complete opposite of his state mere seconds earlier. But the viewers could tell immediately this wasn't ordinary laughter.
Pororo laughed and laughed, thoroughly enjoying himself. And when, after a long stretch of it, the smile finally began to fade from his lips…
"No. I'm fine. Perfectly fine."
He spoke in a voice so chillingly calm it was hard to believe this was the same person who'd been cackling like a madman moments earlier.
"I've been thinking about it, and I was wrong."
"I was too soft. To face a demon like that, I needed to become a demon myself."
"Don't worry. I finally feel like I've found my path."
Pororo opened the shop window and purchased a nickname change ticket. A prompt appeared, waiting for a new name.
"The weak Pororo of the past is dead, you bastards."
He swept his bangs back from his eyebrows and hammered the keys.
Pororo → Heok-roro
Blackened Pororo
"From this moment on, I am Blackened Pororo. Address me as Heok-roro."
If no one else would punish evil, then he would do it himself. Heok-roro willingly steeped himself in darkness—all for the sake of bringing Geogeun ADC crashing down.