The Gallery Beckons
Today was the weekend. It was also the day RenaPpi fired up her stream early in the daytime after a long while, so I'd returned to my room, ready to assist. Chat moderation. And not just any chat—this was for a mega-corporate streamer who blew past 30,000 concurrent viewers without breaking a sweat. I was a little tense, sure, but who was I? The poster child for the most toxic fandom on all of Prwichi TV, that's who. A quick scan of the conversation flow, and I could spot the deliberate aggro-pullers from a mile away.
Besides, RenaPpi's chat was plush and soft compared to the viper pit I used to haunt. Crowded, yeah... but more doable than I'd imagined.
In the end, we settled on an hourly wage—pay for what I worked. 20,000 won an hour. Eight hours meant 160,000 won a day, a pretty sweet deal. Even that was after I-se threw a fit, insisting on paying me a full eight-hour minimum even if I only moderated for an hour. So yeah, 160,000 won was basically my floor. Meaning, even half an hour—or just thirty minutes—netted me that much.
RenaPpi's streams weren't that short on average, but still... it felt like too much. Sure, we agreed no stream, no pay, which wore me down enough to accept. But considering she originally wanted to pay me even on off days... maybe trimming it this far was a miracle.
She'd even tried to tack on cooking fees at first, but I shot that down with the excuse that we ate together anyway. Honestly, sharing meals saved a fortune on food. Humans gotta eat to live, and nothing's free. Not that my cooking was gourmet or anything.
Can't get complacent with treatment this cushy. Gotta aim for independence someday.
Humans adapt upward like demons but hate downward shifts more than anything—selfish creatures, really. If I wasn't planning to live with I-se forever, I couldn't let these sweet offers lull me.
We hadn't known each other long, but I had a sense of how Ryu I-se operated. Gratitude for kindness, never forgotten. And giving her all to her fans, always. Right now, those two traits were colliding in a feedback loop, exploding into this over-the-top care.
Our bond was sky-high thanks to that dramatic reunion. Her first viewer in a year of searching, first phone date, first donor, first big-money sponsor—four massive titles, all mine. No wonder she was treating me like this.
But emotions have shelf lives.
Yeah. Before I died, I thought feelings didn't expire. That as they cooled, you just stoked the fire hotter, turned barbs into passion with more effort. Half a year chasing her faded heart. Half a year grinding extra jobs to impress her parents who never approved. That year taught me: every emotion, love included, has an expiration date.
Someday, her thrill at finding me would cool too. Not erasing it, but no guarantee she'd cater to me forever like this.
If there was one way to lock it in, it'd be deepening our bond into something more...
...No.
I slashed the thought like ripping paper. A quick mental sim of confessing conjured I-se's face: "Uh? W-Well... I was just being nice to my first fan, but... I think you misunderstood..." Cringing away.
All her charm? Masterful yuksujigi—boiling simps—not because she liked me. A 32-year-old dude misreading kindness and blurting a confession? Classic.
No such premature acceleration.
I excused it as not wanting to offend the generous I-se and cleared my head again. Plus, on my end... I still struggled treating women casually. Years synced to my ex's routine made romantic approaches to new people feel alien.
Anyway, pointless worry since I'm not confessing.
Real talk: bust my ass at the job she gave me. And independence before her feelings thawed.
Goal set, mind cleared—peace at last.
And right on cue, a message: RenaPpi's stream starting.
Alright. Let's do this.
Finally. My first productive gig since waking in the hospital.
"Sandgrains, everyone! Hi hi! So glad to see you all today~! Moha~!"
I stared at the chat flying by, my face a mask of disbelief. Underestimated it. Big time. The chat of a 30k-concurrent beast like RenaPpi? Impossible to even parse the content—it was a blur.
My job: snip aggro, off-topic, or vibe-killing messages. I'd gotten the criteria from I-se beforehand. My call was her call. Using a dedicated mod account, not my personal one. Full focus mode.
"Before we dive into content, wanna check the fan cafe posts real quick? Oh right! Concert's not far off. Got something to tell you all first!"
RenaPpi rolled into her usual just-chatting stream. I tuned her voice like radio, eagle-eyeing every chat.
Game demands despite no games on schedule. Cut!
My request ignored, newfag whining. Cut!
Not even a fan, stirring division. Cut!
Line-crossers, all axed.
Vertical Infinite Noir spells get nothing. Cut!
Nailed five in this torrent? Not bad.
Time flew as I kept pruning. Whew. Total chaos. Human zoo central. Not a total cesspit, though—light on swears, everyone doting on their cute virtual streamer. No major grimaces needed.
Issue was scale. Too massive for a spotless chat. Impossible.
Still, manageable.
Compared to the original Subway-Old-Man-Denture-Stealer's stream—half insult bath—this was nothing. Wonder if that guy's still streaming.
As I settled in, one topic popped repeatedly.
Minaero—yeah, Infinite Noir gen 2, sole Korean. Good thing I'd wiki'd up. Banning them all, but simultaneous spikes from five-plus? Something blew up. Chat speed buried it, no vibe shift... but yeah, issue confirmed.
Check later.
Back to work.
Vertical crap again. Cut! Who even wants that anymore? Trend's dead.
Kept snipping trolls.
"That's it for today's stream, everyone! You all worked too hard~!"
Huaa. Stream over. Tough day. Tougher than expected—maybe 20k an hour's fair after all... Cocky thought, but only five hours in.
Five hours for 160k. Straight honey.
Confirmed room cleared, then recalled the Minaero spam. What happened?
Curiosity surging, I hit up that board after ages. The hub where every streamer freak traded takes 24/7.
Korean Streamer Minor Gallery.
Been a while since this place.
Nostalgia hit as I dove in.