That Doesn't Match the Rate

The educational broadcast of sorts—teaching Camilla newbie Nikang—wrapped up successfully.

Truth be told, I hadn't even been thinking about streaming. I wasn't live in the first place. My entire focus had been on teaching Nikang and nothing else.

That was why I'd ignored the intermittent chat messages that seemed aimed at me, begging me to go live.

Stream? What stream. This was important lecture time.

Besides, Nikang's stream was already running. My voice was going out through that channel anyway.

I genuinely didn't understand why people wanted me to turn mine on. I'd been so locked into the lesson that I never had a moment to wonder.

And precisely because of that—because I'd poured everything into teaching—I believed the results had come out so well.

Five wins in a row. A full five-game win streak.

Even if Nikang had been buried in Gold after a catastrophic loss streak, even if the shattered MMR meant the enemy teams were a bit soft…

A streak was still a streak, and in a team game like Abyss, stringing wins together was extremely hard.

Unless the player themselves already had skill above their current tier.

In that sense, Nikang's skill was never something that belonged stuck at this rank.

I wasn't saying that just because she was my student. Objectively, it was true.

At this rate, probably—

"Diamond… should be reachable without much trouble… I think?"

"D-Diamond?"

Even with my slightly mushy pronunciation, Nikang understood perfectly and answered in a delighted voice.

Was she that happy? Well, she had said she was a newbie who'd only just started Abyss.

In any game, the first time you hit a high tier was a moment you never forgot.

Diamond was more than enough to call high tier. Look at the mountain of people sitting below it.

Thinking about it that way, Nikang's talent was genuinely outstanding.

Even as the teacher, I hadn't expected results this fast.

In the old days I might have been jealous of that talent, but now… I felt nothing in particular. Was this what they called peace of mind…?

"Heh."

A small, silly laugh slipped out.

Not peace of mind. Peace of bank balance, more like.

The money I'd received today—no, midnight had already passed, so yesterday. Thinking about yesterday's money made me feel good all over again.

Feeling good made me want a drink that made me feel even better, which made me feel better still, which made the donations float back into my head, which made me feel—

"—cher? Teacher?"

"Ah, yeees."

Nikang's voice cut through the infinite loop of my thoughts.

My answer came out a little drawn-out. My tongue had been getting tangled for a while now.

I wasn't drunk, but the pronunciation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was leaking. That made me sound properly drunk. I was still fine, though. Logically speaking, a few cans of beer couldn't get a person drunk—

"I'll be heading out now. I learned so much thanks to you. Really, thank you for today!"

"Aaah, yes. You worked hard too, Nikang."

My, what a polite student. Manners this good on top of everything else.

She couldn't see it, but I wore a satisfied smile and gave the screen a thumbs-up.

And so the master and disciple finished their farewells. Nikang's stream ended, and I was about to step away from the computer myself.

The moment the stream went dark, the chat exploded like a dam bursting.

This was the chat window I had deliberately ignored and locked down.

To keep the lesson from being interrupted, I'd asked Nikang's permission and set a short timeout on anyone who chatted about me or my stream.

After watching a few people get thoroughly scolded, the viewers had followed my intent and stuck strictly to Camilla and Nikang talk during class time.

Apparently, though, they had truly wanted my stream.

I hadn't expected a reaction this intense. I was briefly flustered, then nodded to myself.

—Guys.

—Just a little while, okay?

Fine. In that case… I'd stick around for a short chat and then leave.

I couldn't just cut off people who had waited this long and even obeyed the "no talking during class" request. That was the decision I reached.

Thirty minutes. That should be about right.

I hit the go-live button, headed back to the fridge for another beer, and by the time I returned people were already pouring in.

Pssst—

Watching the chat fill with completely different topics was oddly satisfying. Perfect beer snack material.

Just sitting here quietly drinking beer and reading chat would have been a perfectly fine way to spend the time.

Still, I should actually stream. I was the one who had called them over.

I set the beer down and was about to turn on the mic.

But then—maybe it was the alcohol, pure chance—

Despite a body with superhuman senses, I momentarily lost my grip on the beer can.

"Ah."

Thankfully I avoided the disaster of spilling it on the PC tower or the keyboard, but now I had to mop up the liquid trailing across the floor.

Feeling the waste of good beer, I scrubbed the floor with a wet cloth several times.

By the time I returned to the room and sat back down at the computer, a good ten minutes had passed.

The chat had become entertaining in a completely different way.

…Money-poisoned?

I squinted at the chat for a second, trying to figure out what that meant, then immediately understood the situation.

In other words, the donations that had flown in while I was briefly away were the problem.

Couldn't they have just assumed I stepped away for a second?

But then again, I was the one who had told them to come because I was going live.

This kind of misunderstanding wasn't that strange.

And then—

"Uh."

The exact moment that donation landed was the moment I turned the mic on.

I had been trying to get it on as fast as possible to prove I hadn't been deliberately stalling for donations.

I had turned it on that quickly, and yet…

It was pure coincidence, but of course those kinds of messages still flooded in.

Money-grubber, collection doctor, gold-water doctor, "you can't start streaming like that already"…

Whether they were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠serious or joking, the flames of the enraged masses showed no sign of dying down in chat.

"Mm."

Whatever. Explaining was too much work… maybe I'd just drink more beer?

I simply kept sipping my beer, using their chat as the perfect snack.

Maybe it was because of the donations that had arrived through pure misunderstanding, but the beer tasted especially sweet.

Extremely sweet.