The Soviet Macho Doesn't Even Stop at Red Lights
"Hmm..."
I'm pondering this.
Is it illegal to crack open a bottle of booze while walking down the street in Korea? Or legal? I can't remember.
I know it varies by state in America, and it's probably legal in Russia, so what about Korea?
"Hmmmm..."
The urge to rip open these vodkas in this plastic bag right now is surging like crazy.
Can I... crack one open? I wanna so bad.
If I drink here, will they bust me for public drinking or some shit? Or not?
"Eh, fuck it~"
Act first, think later.
A Soviet macho doesn't stop even at red lights.
I roughly grab a bottle of vodka from the bag. Twist off the cap, take a big swig...
"Kuh..."
This is it—the insane alcohol blaze scorching my throat!
Yeah, this is the stuff.
"Gulp, gulp..."
I chug straight from the bottle, and people around me stare in shock.
That ajusshi drinking soju at the nearby bar has his eyes popping out like a cartoon character—whoosh?!
"Heh."
About 11 or 12 gulps in? A nice buzz kicks in, that pleasant tipsy haze starting to rise.
Of course, this weak-ass vodka croaked after just 12 gulps, dying a heroic death, but don't worry—we've still got four more bottles!
"Kyaha."
Plastic bag in my right hand, 50-proof vodka in my left!
How perfect is this?
"Now... Yongsan... Electronics Market..."
I heard if you wanna buy electronics in Korea, Yongsan is the spot.
Yongsan... isn't that where the presidential office is?
Like Russia's Kremlin, France's Élysée Palace, or the UK's Downing Street No. 10!
Buying electronics there?
"Kuh."
Seoul cyberpunk ain't just hype.
Man, I'm hungry.
What to eat for dinner?
"Lalala~"
Whistling a little tune, I head toward the electronics market.
"Huh?"
One step with my right foot, and the left follows automatically.
Or, to put it simpler...
"Right foot goes, left foot follows?"
Wild. Why's that happen?
No, duh, 'cause I'm walking, so the second foot follows.
...Huh?
Huh...?
Is this one of the mysteries of the human body?
"Right?"
Dunno.
Am I drunk already?
Whatever.
Walking aimlessly, the scenery starts whipping by like I'm on a train. Snap out of it, and the above-ground streets have turned into dank underground stairs.
When did I go down?
Guess my legs are smarter than me.
"Oh, oooo...!"
Cheap but similar! Real Seoul cyberpunk!
This is Seoul...?
Amazing, Seoul!
"Ahem."
Slap slap, I smack my cheeks to shake off the booze and head into the underground mall.
But even after slapping, my head's still fuzzy.
"Where..."
Look around—is there a smoking room nearby? Yep, right at the top of the stairs.
I boldly climb up, head to the smoking room, fling open the door, and step in.
"Hooah..."
As any Soviet does, I pull out a Cuban cigar from my pocket, snip it quick, light up with a flick, and puff gently.
"Outdoor smokes are the best."
My teeth might rot to hell, but at least it doesn't wreck my mouth.
Teeth? Implants'll fix that.
Hey, no defeatist talk! That's the Soviet macho way.
"One defeat, one something?"
Whatever, close enough.
I puff the cigar heartily, then toss the butt back into the bag.
Your trash, you carry it—that's the rule.
Don't be like that ajusshi tossing cig butts anywhere.
Tsk tsk...
Guess that's what happens when you're poisoned by Yankee capitalism—petty bourgeois bullshit that helps no one.
A true Soviet citizen, with society first, wouldn't do that.
"Ugh, stinks."
I pick up a cig butt rolling on the floor, chuck it in the bag with the cigar, exit the smoking room, and head back down the stairs.
"Welcome."
Into the underground mall—electronics galore, lined up like a dream. Mesmerized for a sec, then I pull myself together: what do I need?
"Uh... huh?"
What... did I come here to buy?
"Ah!"
Right, VTuber stuff! Not buying a VTuber, but to become one.
To be a VTuber... what do I need?
"Right, computer!... but I have one."
Computer's at home. Mouse and keyboard too.
So... camera, audio gear, webcam maybe...?
"Ahem, hem."
That cigar must've done it—throat's phlegmy.
"Ahem, comrade?"
"Yes? You mean... that in your hand—is that booze?"
"Hey now, booze? This is vodka, the soul of our great motherland Russia..."
"No, that's alcohol... Sigh... Whatever. What do you need?"
I grab a lady who looks like staff and start chatting.
"See, I wanna send my soul into the cyber world..."
Slap!
Smack my cheek again.
Drunk is fine, but not that drunk. Cyber world? What cyber bullshit.
"...Got any webcams... condenser mics, audio interfaces, lights... Stream Deck?"
"Webcam, condenser mic, audio interface, lights... Stream Deck? Sir, you planning to stream online or something?"
"Not yet, but gonna."
Tongue didn't slur this time. Phew.
"Then Elgato or Logitech for webcams... Yamaha for mic and interface okay?"
"Uh...?"
What're those?
Wanna ask, but noob vibes would make me look like a mark.
"Yeah... around... hmm... 4 million won?"
"Pardon? 4—four million?"
"Yep."
Dad's spotting me 2 mil, so this spend's fine, right?
"O-one sec...!"
She bolts off somewhere. Comes back with arms full of gear.
"Total... 3.8 million won, sir..."
Dazed by the shiny boxes, I swipe my card like a boss.
"...Huh?"
Come to, and I'm home.
"...Huh?"
Huge paper bag in right hand, vodka bundle in left. No clue why receipt's in my mouth.
Spit it out, check the total...
"What the fuck?"
Webcam, mic, misc—3.8 mil. And... what's this bar tab?
When did I hit a fancy bar? Did they dust the vodka with gold? How the hell's booze 8.8 mil?
"How much did I blow?"
Key point: no memory of swiping the card.
Ha, booze is scary stuff.
"...Whatever, I'll drink it all anyway. Investment in future me."
Yeah, I never lose money.
It's right here as prime liquid assets—vodka.
Like swapping cash for gold—you don't call that a loss.
This transcends capitalism's gold standard: the mighty Vodka Standard.
Liquid gold by my side—no loss. Yup yup.
"Phew, now... unbox?"
Stash the vodkas properly. Wrong spot and it's real money down the drain.
Unpack the electronics boxes one by one.
"Ooo..."
Shiny webcam, mic that screams power, fresh-off-the-shelf Stream Deck!
"Wait, it is fresh."
Duh, just bought 'em.
"Still exciting."
Lalala, whistling as I set 'em up.
"This... right?"
Plug in webcam, mount Stream Deck, hook up audio—and boom: a horrific Frankenstein rig, like battlefield scrap patched together.
"No, this... ain't it."
Manual looks nothing like this. Wonder if I got scammed, but nah.
"I'm just shit at this."
Sob sob, if you're turning me into a hot girl, bump the dexterity too!?
Subculture stuff shows TS folks get reflexes, gaming skills, tolerance, handiness boosts. Why me only get screwed!?
"Fuck this."
Sobbing alone, fuck it. Crack a fresh vodka, chug hard.
"Kyaha~!"
That smooth winter barley glide down the throat! Perfection.
"Huu... goooood~!"
Gulping from the bottle, I grab my phone.
I'm self-aware: klutz here, so outsource.
"Hello~?"
"...Sis, you drunk?"
Line connects—sharp voice from the phone.
Tanya's so haughty.
"One bottle... nah, two a bit~?"
"Sigh... what? Heard you landed in Korea, but why call?"
"Nooo~! Wanted to hear my fave Tanya's voice, hate that?"
"Don't hate it, but really just for that?"
"Come to our house. Bought webcam and stuff... can't set up."
"...Just plug it in?"
"Dunno, do it for me."
Cut her off before reply.
She'll come, hehe.
"Nap time..."
Hug the vodka tight, hit the bed, close eyes—wake up to Tanya!