Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Advertisement (2)
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Ding~ ding~ di-ding~ ding.
A cheerful melody echoed as the subway pulled in. Na Kyung-mo, who worked at Oju Foods, slumped into an empty seat. The moment he escaped the office, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.
"Overtime again today. Overtime tomorrow too. Sigh. I wanna quit."
For the past week, the marketing team at Oju Foods had been pulling all-nighters. It was all to gear up for the upcoming Chuseok holiday with a slew of food discounts and events.
They paid overtime, sure, but forced late nights always drained the life out of you anyway.
"What should I eat when I get home?"
Na Kyung-mo rubbed his shoulders and opened a delivery app. It was already 10 p.m. By the time he got home, it'd be around 11—too late to cook anything worthwhile.
Jjajangmyeon, jjampong, sweet-and-sour pork, chicken, jokbal.
"Tch. None of it sounds good."
Nothing appealed to him today. Truth be told, the accumulated fatigue from overtime had killed his appetite.
He just wanted to crash in bed.
Even as he scrolled through the delivery app, yawns kept escaping him nonstop.
"Maybe I should just sleep?"
He seriously considered it.
-Sky and Kite has uploaded a new post.
"It's up late today."
Na Kyung-mo switched from the delivery app to Starsta. Ever since discovering Sky and Kite's YouTube channel, he'd followed them there too.
The food they posted every single day was just that good.
Posts: 8 / Followers: 7,900
In just eight days since creating the account, they'd racked up a whopping 7,900 followers.
YouTube only had two videos, but Starsta got a new post daily.
First was seasoned ribs, then jjajang, followed by braised mackerel. Every dish looked like it belonged in a high-end restaurant.
"Today's is pasta. Wow."
A round plate with a shallow dip glistening with golden oil. Atop it sat a fist-sized tangle of pasta like a skein of yarn, garnished with parsley, cheese powder, and two vibrant peppers—one red, one green—blooming colorfully.
It looked mouthwatering just from the photo.
"Slurp. Bet it tastes amazing."
Before he knew it, Na Kyung-mo had swallowed hard. Even just looking at the picture stimulated his salivary glands.
-Aglio e Olio Pasta.
A classic pasta dish. The noodles were surely moist with oil, infused with the nutty aroma of garlic and the rich flavor of cheese.
Unbidden, memories of every aglio e olio he'd eaten before flooded Na Kyung-mo's mind.
Unable to hold back his surging appetite any longer, he ordered pasta through the delivery app.
"Guess I'm not the only one. All the comments are about people ordering delivery."
Sleepiness vanished. The comments on the post were hilarious.
Sky and Kite posted new content every day at 6 p.m.—right around quitting time for office workers. Who could resist getting hungry from those photos?
As Na Kyung-mo chuckled to himself, he suddenly recalled the afternoon meeting.
-Find an influencer to promote our Chuseok gift sets.
Chuseok was a goldmine for food companies. People bought tons of gift sets—not just individuals, but companies too. Very lucrative.
"This Kim Haneul guy... wonder if he could cook something with our Chuseok sets?"
Tuna, ham cans, assorted canned goods. Ham cans in particular were popular, so the internet overflowed with recipes. Most looked pretty similar visually.
But if they handed the ad to Kim Haneul, couldn't he turn it into something upscale like his Starsta posts?
"Come to think of it, all his dishes have restaurant-level visuals, but the recipes don't use fancy ingredients."
Stuff you could grab at any big supermarket.
And the recipes weren't even complicated. A few people had tried them with great reviews.
What started as idle curiosity was starting to sound more and more promising.
"Tomorrow at the office, I should bring it up seriously."
The subscriber and follower growth was explosive. With cooking content surging in popularity, he cooked well and had a fun broadcast vibe.
Just look at the two-day-old YouTube video's comment-to-like ratio.
It was the perfect chance to scoop up surefire rising stars at a low point.
The third meeting convened at our house.
After every shoot, we held a meeting to share feedback and brainstorm the channel's growth direction.
First up: editing on the second video.
Sister handled all editing, so she led the discussion. Comments were great, no subtitle typos or errors, so we moved on.
"Alright, next up. Let's decide what to cook for the next video."
The sub-theme was already set.
[Dishes Using Autumn Seasonal Ingredients]
All that remained was picking the menu, and I'd already decided in my heart. Something Sister loved.
I'd even seeded the comments and gotten plenty of hearts.
Now I just had to say it. Since I picked all her favorites, she'd love it, right?
"The autumn seasonal menu I'm thinking of is..."
Now for Sister's reaction.
But... the mood felt off.
Worried maybe it wasn't in the comments, I pulled up YouTube to show them. I'd logged out of the accounts I'd used for the fake comments.
"See? Real comments. What do you think? Lots of likes and replies."
"Haneul. Want me to show you something fun?"
"What?"
Sister grabbed the laptop from the sofa. She opened YouTube, hit account switcher. There were a few of her IDs and a few of mine.
And at the very bottom of the list—shockingly—was the account I'd used for the comments, logged in.
"Why's... this logged in on your account?"
"This is the account you made to grill your professor about exam questions back in freshman year."
Professor? That was from my first year. Decades ago—I didn't remember a thing.
One thing was clear: by showing me this, Sister already knew everything about my scheme.
-Membosha Lover liked your comment.
Incredibly timed heart notification.
My comments had 27 likes, so at least 27 alerts must've gone off.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Well... it's better if the food's something people actually like, right? And..."
As I hesitated, a DM pinged on my phone.
-From Oju Foods. Inquiring about advertising.
My eyes lit up. I thrust the phone forward.
"An ad! Oju Foods sent an ad inquiry."
"An ad? For real? You're not just changing the subject?"
"Slurp. Do I look like the type? Look."
Sister took the phone. Her eyes locked on the screen.
The sharp glare that had been interrogating my little trick was gone, replaced by wide-eyed surprise and excitement.
I was just as stunned.
Oju Foods? One of the top food conglomerates in the country. They made all sorts of products and were riding high on recent new launches.
We, on the other hand, were total newbies with a fresh channel. Sure, we'd gotten hearts and DMs via Starsta, but that had zero to do with landing an ad from a mega-corp.
"Doesn't look like a fake."
"What's it say?"
We huddled over the phone, reading the DM together.
—————-
Hello. This is Na Kyung-mo from Oju Foods, who reached out via DM before. We love your YouTube and check your daily Starsta posts. The quality you achieve with everyday ingredients is beyond imagination... So, we'd like to entrust you with promoting our canned ham [Stam]. It won't be exclusive—we're giving it to multiple influencers. The terms are one YouTube video and one separate Starsta post. We'll also provide a discount code for...
————-
Even though it wasn't exclusive, we were thrilled.
A week after starting the channel, a massive company was offering an ad deal.
"Check the price first."
"Oh, right. Yeah."
We scrolled to the bottom for the ad rate.
-8 million won (7M YouTube + 1M Starsta)
"Terms okay?"
"Hmm... Honestly, it feels a bit stingy. Proportionate to our subs and followers, sure, but ads usually factor in average views too."
Sister pulled up her ad rate analysis file.
Ever since I said I was doing YouTube, she'd compiled key data every night.
This file was fresh, finished two days ago.
YouTube ads weigh subs and average views heavily. Lots of subs but low views? No dice. Same for Starsta: followers, likes, views, shares—all combined for pricing.
And our channel punched way above its weight in views relative to subs and followers.
"It's iffy. Generous for a newborn channel, cheap compared to views."
"Then we negotiate."
"How? They probably won't budge much."
In my past life as a Michelin chef, ads poured in endlessly.
From basic foods to restaurants, tableware, kitchen gadgets—even unrelated tea ads.
They offered huge flat fees, but I stuck to one thing.
Running guarantee contracts. Give me a cut of sales.
If it flopped, I got zilch—not even minimum. But hit big, and it dwarfed any flat fee.
Bottomless low, sky-high high.
"... That's a huge gamble. You sure? Running guarantee could slash it to 2M max."
"Don't you trust me?"
"I do. I trust you... but."
Sister couldn't answer easily.
Too high a chance of losing.
No one's stupid—they'd minimize payout. Lower the percentage and advance.
Strict power imbalance: them on top, us below.
Sister pondered deeply, weighing pros and cons inwardly.
I headed to the kitchen for coffee to help her think, but she grabbed my hand.
"You know this is a massive gamble, right?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. Screw it, let's do it. What's a few million?"
Her words downplayed it, but her hand trembled. Eyes full of faith, yet palms slick with cold sweat.
Even as YouTube and Starsta grew, Sister lived frugally.
Comparing prices, tracking expenses, hunting discounts and perks relentlessly.
For us, self-reliant since losing our parents, a few million was huge.
I squeezed her hand reassuringly and drafted a reply to Oju Foods.
-Thank you for the ad offer. After internal discussion, we'd like to tweak the terms slightly. Could we meet to talk?
If future clients saw this, they'd freak. One running guarantee ad alone had netted me tens of billions back then.