This Is What a Real Fan Looks Like
I'm a loyal fan.
Honestly, I knew full well that what I was doing wasn't exactly model streamer etiquette.
Using a donation as leverage to make excessive demands of a streamer. Trying to barge into territory no ordinary viewer had any business touching.
Banning was a streamer's exclusive right. The only other people who could ban anyone were the room managers — and even the True Silver Sword was something a streamer handed out and took back at will.
I wasn't the host of this room. I hadn't been appointed as one of Ha-im's moderators either. So for someone like me to demand another viewer get banned was completely absurd.
Trying to steer a streamer around with donations or whatever else you wanted to call it — in the crude slang of the community, that was streamer-shaking. Grabbing a streamer and shaking them for what you wanted. The kind of thing that happened all the time in small-time rookie streams.
I knew this method was wrong. Rules existed for a reason. Laws existed for a reason. If word ever got out that I'd pulled a stunt like this, it might even end up on a wiki page under something like "Streamer / Kayak / Controversies."
I knew all of that. I knew every bit of it.
So what? What was I supposed to do about it?
I couldn't deny the whole thing had been a little impulsive — but once I'd done it, I didn't regret the choice for a single second.
That TimTim or TamTam or whatever his name was had just been too damn annoying. Spouting that kind of abuse at a user who was earnestly trying to play Abyss — and a kid from the next generation trying to pick up Camilla, no less.
His behavior was like kicking over a snowman kids had worked hard to build. Like stomping on a sprout just starting to grow.
Before I was a streamer, I was a gamer — and as a gamer, I simply could not stand it. Especially not someone like me, who'd lived through the days when the player base was so thin that every single newbie was precious.
Even if my identity got found out.
I swear on the Abyss gallery — I had nothing to be ashamed of. If you really thought about it, wasn't this the good kind of streamer-shaking?
Ha-im probably knew it too. That you couldn't just leave a viewer like that alone. Viewers like him poisoned the room's atmosphere and became a barrier of entry for anyone thinking of joining.
She knew — she just couldn't bring herself to do it out of fear. All I'd done was give her a little push from behind.
"Hieeek…! W-wait a second. What is this?"
"CamillaLover donated 50,000 won! This much money… thank you so, so much!"
Being a VTuber, there was no way to check her real face — but the way her avatar's pupils blew up to the size of dinner plates made it clear she was genuinely stunned.
The chat was swirling even faster than before. Judging by the reaction, a donation of this size was either a first for her or something vanishingly rare.
And after a stretch of nonstop thank-yous without so much as a pause for breath, Ha-im finally seemed to register my actual request — and her smile turned awkward.
"Ah, aaa… a reaction. So for the reaction, you want me to ban that person from earlier… TimTim…?"
"I'm sorry. Even so, bans are something I feel like I should be careful with…"
It was a frustrating response — but also exactly the one I'd expected.
Most of the chat had been calling for a ban earlier, and she'd said no. Then the second she got a donation, she flipped and banned him?
That would have been a problem in its own right.
"Even if TimTim talks like that… he's been a regular here for a while. He's watched the stream for a long time."
Right on cue with Ha-im's words, his chat popped up. Looking at it, I was so dumbfounded a hollow laugh almost slipped out.
"A 'loyal fan,' huh…"
From what Ha-im said, it did seem true that he'd been watching her stream for a long time. The irritated messages flooding the chat were proof enough of that.
Calling it "affection" just sounded ridiculous. What kind of loyal fan expressed affection like that?
Sure, in some streams where the banter between streamer and chat was dialed all the way up, words like "bastard" and "idiot" flew back and forth — but Ha-im didn't look like she ran that kind of broadcast.
"And he isn't even subscribed."
A freeloader. Free eyeballs. Had he ever donated even once? And he still had the nerve to call himself a loyal fan? My guess was no.
He was just a toxic viewer who'd picked out an easy small-time stream to use the streamer as an emotional dumping ground — the kind that only ruined the room's vibe.
"This is what a real fan looks like."
In the end, all I had to do was show Ha-im what an actual loyal fan was.
For the sake of this still-green streamer. To help her make the right call.
I started moving my mouse again.
What on earth was going on?
What was happening on her stream right now?
Streamer Ha-im felt her head spinning from the sudden chaos that had crashed into her broadcast out of nowhere.
A hundred thousand… how many times has that been already?
It was a number she'd never imagined she'd see on stream.
Even the so-called thousand-won punch — a tiny thousand-won donation — was something precious to Ha-im. Whenever viewers threw one her way, she'd react like she was about to pass out from pure joy.
And now? This mysterious benefactor who'd appeared out of thin air was tossing around money that could fund a hundred of those thousand-won punches.
Just like that. As casually as if they were throwing thousand-won punches themselves.
Is this… one of those whales people talk about?
Whales. Chairmen. The kind of people who either rained money across a bunch of different streams or parked themselves in one particular room and donated whenever anything happened — people with a suspiciously large amount of cash.
Ha-im had only been streaming for a little over three months. She still couldn't fill her audio properly, still burned through setup screens — she had a long way to go compared to the pros.
So the idea that a whale like this would ever find her room had never even crossed her mind. She'd figured she simply wasn't in that league.
People like that only showed up on the big corporate-level streamers. The kind of streamers like "Kayak," whose broadcasts Ha-im had been watching a lot lately.
The stream's atmosphere had improved. Chat was livelier than before.
Four-leaf clover icons now sat in front of the nicknames of all her regular viewers — courtesy of the whale who'd just been spraying gift subs everywhere.
"CamillaLover… how am I supposed to repay you for this?"
A slightly choked voice slipped out before she could stop it. The sight of a whale declaring themselves a loyal fan, saying the stream was so much fun, and pouring money into it — it felt like someone finally recognizing all the hard work Ha-im had put in.
"Ah…"
Ha-im wasn't an idiot. She knew exactly what this whale was hoping for.
Chat messages flying up like he was having a seizure.
And the nickname stuck in front of them felt more grating than usual today.
Then, like driving a stake through the whole thing, another donation came in.
"Pffft!"
The reason Ha-im couldn't hold back her laugh at that donation was probably because she related to it so deeply.
Truth was, she'd known. She'd known all along — but she'd been so starved for even that scrap of attention that she couldn't bring herself to cut him off.
But now that a far superior replacement had shown up? When a whale, a Chairman, wanted a pest exterminated — was there any reason to leave him alone?
Forcefully remove TimTim (xlmxlm12) from the room?
She didn't deliberate long.
Click.
Watching the cheering chat, Ha-im bowed her head. An apology to every viewer who'd suffered because of her poor judgment until now.
"I should've kicked him out ages ago. I'm sorry, everyone."
But the viewers eased her guilt, telling her it was fine.
The whale — the Chairman — included.
"Yes…!"
Ha-im queued up with a bright face.
On screen, Camilla was smiling back at her.