Take Responsibility

Twish Korea's service is shutting down!

Barely two months left on the clock. In other words, the end of service was right around the corner.

All sorts of chaos always erupted right before a shutdown. Once the idea that it was over anyway got lodged in people's heads, a "it's the last stretch, so who cares" attitude took over.

And so, while every kind of content was still rolling inside Twish, a subtle, watchful atmosphere hung over everything.

Everyone was waiting for someone else to make the first move. Especially the big corporations—the ones sitting at the very top when you sorted streams by viewer count.

Their choices had become critical.

Twish wasn't the only one suddenly facing a new phase, either. Daeryuk had woken up to find the house next door collapsed, leaving them just as stunned—but in situations like this, the side that moved fastest always came out ahead.

Daeryuk wasn't sitting still either. To shake off the outdated image stuck to the name "Daeryuk" and push forward anew, they founded a brand-new platform, linked Twish subscriptions for transferring streamers, and kept dangling every possible lure to make streamers choose them.

Viewers who already watched Daeryuk streams matched that effort, roaming around and tirelessly promoting the platform.

Some slipped into certain Twish streamers' rooms to plant positive impressions of Daeryuk; others acted like scouts in communities, posting things like "it'd be great if this person switched over." There were quite a few of them.

(A clip of Kayak chatting with viewers about platforms)

While Daeryuk communities were buzzing with talk about Kayak, her announcement dropped.

Not even a simultaneous broadcast—solo only. It was just a test stream, sure, but while other streamers were still hesitating, Kayak had already taken action.

The people in Daeryuk communities watching that could only hide their disappointment, waiting for the day Kayak might visit them too.

"Aaa, can everyone hear me okay. Hear me?"

The moment I turned on the test stream. People said Jijijik's vibe was a lot like Twish, and sure enough, it was.

Whether they'd deliberately benchmarked it or not, the basic UI was similar, and as a streamer there wasn't much extra prep needed to go live.

No wonder they called it the successor to Twish. Viewers and more than a few streamers definitely got the strong sense that Jijijik was the proper choice.

Unlike Daeryuk, which ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was already packed with people who'd been streaming on an existing platform, Jijijik was brand new.

A true new continent, an unknown world. That was why so many people said that if you just switched platforms and streamed on Jijijik, it'd be no different from streaming on Twish.

But nothing was decided yet. Streaming on Daeryuk had its own advantages—lots of floating viewers, big spenders, that sort of thing…

I'd heard they were starting a major overhaul over there too. Linking Twish subscriptions and all that. Every option had its pros and cons.

Then, a sudden donation flew in.

And as if answering it, another donation followed right after.

What a complete mess.

Whether the donations had pulled the aggro or not, chat started scrolling fast. That was the overall stream atmosphere these days.

No matter which stream you entered, the second anyone so much as mentioned "Daeryuk is good because of this" or "I like this about Jijijik," perfectly normal people got hit with a mass berserk spell.

If they were deliberately starting a platform war, fine—but familiar nicknames, meaning my regular viewers, were mixed in and picking fights too, and that was the problem. What exactly made them so angry?

"Alright, quiet quiet. From now on, anyone who brings up platforms first without my permission gets banned. Even if it's too heavy-handed, too bad. You guys brought this on yourselves."

The moment I said that, I slapped a huge notice across the top of the stream screen: Mention Daeryuk, Jijijik, or any platform = ban.

"'Gasp, she put Daeryuk first, does that mean…?' Does that mean what? If I say mom and dad, does that mean I like mom more? What kind of nonsense is that. Get out."

Even if the control felt strict, there was no choice. Without it, the stream itself couldn't continue. Lately it really felt hard to stream at all.

Whether some factions had swarmed in from somewhere or my regular fans were just having meltdowns, anyone without a firm spine would get swept up easily.

Anyway, even someone as somewhat indifferent as me could feel it by now. Platforms were a major issue.

Which meant I absolutely couldn't let myself get swayed by viewers' opinions on a whim.

Of course personal streams were something streamers and viewers built together, but for these people it was ultimately someone else's business.

They couldn't deliberate more carefully than me, the person actually involved. All the "this place is better," "go there" talk was just them expressing their own opinions or offering advice.

It would be rare, but if I picked the wrong platform and completely tanked, all these people would do was go "ah lol, I told you to go to Daeryuk—" and laugh. Or maybe pity me and say that was too bad.

I wasn't alone anymore—I was a boss with two employees under me—so I needed to be careful.

Viewers couldn't take responsibility for me, after all.

"Will you take responsibility so I don't go under?"

"Take responsibility for what? I'm the one who has to take responsibility for you guys."

The viewers blurting out that they'd take responsibility without thinking were somehow so funny that a laugh slipped out of me before I knew it.