Please Turn On Your Mic
Wherever people gather in numbers, you inevitably find every kind of person.
Five people in a room, and one of them is trash… well, maybe not that far. But everyone has their own temperament, so conflict is only natural wherever crowds form.
And what of the internet, where even the law and the most basic courtesies between people grow thin?
Everyone peels off the social masks they wear in real life, tosses moral norms aside, and spits out the kind of vicious things they would never dare say face-to-face—about your parents, about your entire life.
The Abyss Gallery, currently sitting at number one in real-time gallery traffic, was no exception.
"Kayack, Kayack. It's nothing but Kayack talk…."
Han-mo, one of the Abyss Gallery's big fixed-nick users, scrolled through the board and muttered in irritation.
Every post flooding in real time was about Kayack. As someone who normally hated even hearing her name, moments like this made the gallery feel especially unpleasant.
The sensible move would have been to close the gallery for a while and do something productive. But for Han-mo, the Abyss Gallery was his entire life—more than half of every day's routine. He simply couldn't.
"Some random no-name pepper-dick nobody's ever heard of, and they're even running relays for him. What's so great about that?"
People have different tastes. Different senses of humor. Different likes and dislikes.
From Han-mo's perspective, he simply could not understand why the gallery was sucking up to Kayack this hard.
Early old-timer? The most fundamental of fundamentals? Proud of grinding a dead game back when it was circling the drain?
None of that landed for Han-mo, who had only come in during Season 6—Abyss's golden age.
"And it's not even a girl streamer."
If it wasn't a female broadcaster, there was no reason to watch. Male streamers had nothing worth looking at and nothing worth learning from.
That was Han-mo's fixed idea, and it was partly true.
After all, he himself climbed to Challenger every season on pure skill. Whether he scraped in by a hair or got lucky, forcing your way into the top five hundred among monsters of talent was impossible without real ability.
From that vantage, Kayack was an eyesore.
No skill, low tier, nothing to his name—yet just because he'd done a little networking in the gallery, people flocked to his stream and even ran relays for him.
It made his blood boil. Unfairness didn't get more unfair than this.
It was absolutely not jealousy. It had nothing to do with the fact that when Han-mo had finally steeled himself and gone live, fewer than ten people showed up and the whole thing flopped.
It was not inferiority either—watching the entire gallery race to relay Kayack's stream while no one had ever watched his.
Just a tiny bit of dissatisfaction at a situation that made no sense.
That was all.
So why, then, did Kayack's name keep snagging his eyes?
"Is she really that good?"
He had nothing better to do anyway. She was streaming—maybe he should take a look—.
The thought flashed through Han-mo's mind and startled him, yet before he knew it he found himself already opening Kayack's stream.
"…She's good, I'll give her that."
A fair amount of time had passed. As someone who hovered near the ranker level himself, Han-mo watched Kayack's play with a sharp eye.
He couldn't find any real weak points. Maybe it was because he didn't know much about Camilla as a hero, but there was nothing obvious to criticize. Her fundamentals were rock-solid either way.
Even a rotten mackerel is still a mackerel. A ranker was a ranker. Quoting the gallery: absolute ruler of Season 1, nightmare of Season 2.
So once you'd reached the absolute top, your form didn't just fall off with time. Han-mo felt a strange mix of impressions and, without realizing it, watched the stream with real focus.
Like watching a silent film—no human voice, only pure game sound effects—the broadcast had the effect of locking attention even tighter onto the streamer's play.
Han-mo and the rest of the viewers alike sank deep into Kayack's gameplay.
"What kind of confidence is that."
Han-mo felt the same as the chat.
That play just now had no guarantee of a hundred-percent success.
It was a high-risk gamble; failure would have cost her dearly.
Yet Kayack executed the gamble without a flicker of hesitation—and made it work.
High risk, high return. When a play that truly deserved the word "gamble" succeeded instead of failing, the viewers felt a quiet thrill. Looking at the result, it had been the best possible play from a difficult position.
Admiring the moment, Han-mo also realized something.
The reason the entire gallery was nothing but Kayack's game talk—
"You literally can't talk about anything except the game."
There was nothing else to discuss on Kayack's stream.
Usually when the gallery relayed a streamer, every kind of chatter poured out. From the relay alone you often couldn't even tell what the streamer was actually doing—pure chaos.
But Kayack's stream? Viewers begged for the mic and got total silence. She said nothing at all and simply played her game with absolute focus.
A streamer who refused to interact. Some people left disappointed—but Kayack reeled even those people back in with her play alone.
If she kept serving up successful high-stakes moments like the one just now, of course people would stay….
That was when a chill ran down Han-mo's spine.
A terrifying thought had just struck him.
Don't tell me… she planned even this…?
No cam, no mic. For a streamer, a highly experimental setup.
The biggest feature and selling point of personal broadcasting had always been real-time interaction with viewers.
What was Kayack aiming for by throwing that advantage away?
To make people focus purely on her play.
She already had a modest amount of name recognition in the gallery. Anyone who hung around the Abyss Gallery would drop by the stream at least once out of curiosity, just like Han-mo.
And once they arrived? They witnessed the bizarre sight of a streamer who never spoke while the chat exploded with activity.
Before they knew it, they were sinking in. Marveling at Kayack's play, sharing the feeling in chat, another game starting, another jaw-dropping play….
It was structured like an antlion's pit. By the time you came to your senses you were already deep in the swamp, struggling to climb out.
Kayack, you terrifying little….
It meant she was that confident in her own skill. No cam, no mic—she was saying she could still pull every eye with pure ability alone.
That was why she had prepared this setup.
Every single detail of the broadcast, designed from the ground up. This streamer called Kayack.
Having glimpsed her true intentions, Han-mo could not hide his fear.
While he was still reeling from the meticulous, cunning design of his rival—
PleaseTurnOnTheMic donated 10,000 won!
Please turn on the mic please T_T please turn on the mic please T_T
A viewer had sent a donation along with a message.
Sensing this might be the only chance, they had timed it perfectly for the exact moment a game ended.
Mic this, mic that…
This streamer Kayack was deliberately running no-cam, no-mic so people would focus on the game! Of course she wasn't going to turn the mic on!
Han-mo was sneering inwardly at the donor when—
Tap-tap—
?
Contrary to every expectation, a soft rustling sound came through.
To someone with as much streaming experience as Han-mo—both watching and broadcasting himself—the sound was instantly familiar.
This was… this was…
The sound of turning on a mic?
That little tap people give the mic before they speak.
Then a slightly nervous breath. Han-mo's thoughts froze for a second.
"The mic was off. I've been talking to myself this whole time…."
A voice—low yet clear, a pleasant, beautiful tone—rang out across Kayack's stream.
Han-mo sucked in a sharp breath. At the same instant the chat froze solid.
"Ah— hello. CamillaIsWeak… shortened to Kayack."
The voice brushed his ear again, almost teasing.
With a mind that was still decent enough to process the situation at once, Han-mo could only squeeze out a strangled mutter of pure shock.
"Holy shit…."
Just like his own reaction, the chat that had frozen solid now erupted with questions at high speed.