Let's Live Easy with Internet Streaming
Internet broadcasting—or inbang for short. Some people feel a strong aversion to the word, others don't think much of it, and for some, it's a hobby they quite enjoy. Up until a few years ago, I fell into the first category. The emotions I associated with inbang were something like taking pleasure in watching low-quality people cause trouble for others... that kind of culture. Having lived as an otaku for years, it wasn't so much that I looked down on them with some sense of superiority; I just thought, oh, so there are people like that.
That perception shifted a bit when I encountered so-called "camgirls," turning into something like oh, there are people like that too. Then, after seeing healthy streams of various games, it evolved to they're not all weirdos. Still, I never made a habit of watching inbang myself. I didn't feel the urge, and mostly I just thought, why bother?
The thing that finally got me into inbang was, inevitably, VTubers—something I stumbled into naturally amid my otaku lifestyle that had basically become half my existence. The early days of VTubers, or Virtual YouTubers, weren't really "broadcasts" at all. If I had to pin it down... short anime episodes? That feels closer. But the era when I got into them wasn't that ultra-early phase; it was a transitional period as the times were changing.
Some folks wailed about "purity," claiming this wasn't real VTubing. Others said it was fine as long as it was fun, or jabbed with, "What's the difference from regular inbang anyway?" Heated debates raged in communities... but no "answer" satisfied everyone. In the end, the ones who couldn't accept it just left. I didn't know much about it myself, so I just enjoyed watching them fight.
Anyway... looking back, once the video scene shifted to live streaming, VTubers naturally fell into the inbang category. Of course, since "conversation" doesn't always mean the dictionary definition—and common usage splits hairs—saying "aren't VTubers inbang too?" would rile some people up. But flipping through popular web novels from Japan and Korea alike, you see it: in TS stories where a guy turns into a girl, if it's modern-day setting, they suddenly start streaming out of nowhere. The reasons varied by story—maybe their identity stayed male so they couldn't do normal jobs, or they were shut-ins to begin with, or they just wanted an easy life... Seeing how often it was the last one, you get a clear picture of how regular folks view streamers: making bank with minimal effort compared to the grind.
Sure, streamers have their own stresses and hardships, but from an outsider's perspective, it looks like easy money for the workload. And honestly... I thought the same. Becoming a successful streamer isn't simple, of course. You need standout talent—gaming skills, killer banter, good looks. Plus persistence to keep going without quick results, and some luck. Even just thinking about it, it's no cakewalk.
But other jobs? The glamorous ones people envy—can you succeed easily there? No one would say yes. In my mixed judgments, I figured streaming was relatively easier. Of course, now I'm playing it cool, stepping back like some smug analyst. But looking back at my dumpster-fire life, I can't deny there was jealousy underneath: what do those bitches have going for them to rake in cash like that? Ugh... let's drop this unpleasant tangent.
Anyway, modern-setting stories often feature streaming as a theme, with some standardized tropes. First: transforming into a stunningly beautiful girl. Check. Pro-level gaming from great physical reflexes, various talents, and unreal luck? On that front, condition one: cleared. Calling myself a "bishoujo" feels super cringey, but objectively, my looks were pretty cute.
Condition two... I glanced down at my scrawny, bony frame. This elementary-school body didn't scream "peak athleticism," even as a compliment. Sure, maybe reflexes were decent despite the weak strength... but I wasn't bad at games anyway, so even without superhuman skills, it should be fine. Diamond in League? Sounds like a joke to some, but objectively, it's solid. Especially as a female streamer—more than enough.
Third: luck. Can't do much about that. I'd feel it out living in this body. Optimistically, surviving alone in this frail form without major incidents so far? Proof of good fortune, right? Plus, I was fluent in Japanese (now my native tongue) and pretty good at Korean. Huge advantage. Your typical female streamer audience—otaku like me—loves anime and manga. A cute Japanese girl with an insanely adorable voice chatting in Korean? Irresistible. And decent at LoL on top? Success guaranteed.
I immediately dusted off the cam and mic, grunting as I set them up. Never done it in this body or my past life, but it wasn't rocket science, so it didn't take long. Referencing online guides like "how_to_start_streaming.txt," after some fiddling...
I went live. '[JP/KOR] Day 1 Broadcast: It's Yuri. Real Japanese Person!' No plans to use my real name, so I picked something phonetically similar for the ID. Not sure if the carefully chosen title worked—after minutes of waiting, viewer count stayed at zero. (Does the streamer not count?)
I'd half-expected it, but it still hit like a brick. No viewers? Still gotta talk and keep going. Some advice I'd heard somewhere—Korean or Japanese origin, who knows. Deep breath, then I faced the empty camera and rattled off my rehearsed lines.
"Hello, I'm Yuri. I love Korea and wanted to chat with everyone here, so I started streaming..." Basic greeting, hobbies, future plans. Short and sweet, soon over. Viewers: still zero.
I fired up Last of Legends—LoL—pre-installed. Login revealed a fresh level 1 account. No carryover from past life, and pre-transformation me never played, so new one.
"They say it's super popular in Korea, but in Japan, it's more of a niche thing... So I'm starting fresh today."
Muttering to myself, I dove in. That day, three hours of streaming—zero viewers the whole time.
...
"Ah, uh... that... um... you left, huh..."
Post-game, checking chat: someone had messaged. They'd asked questions; I was picking responses when I realized they were gone. Probably bailed when I didn't notice, too focused on the game.
I let out a small sigh.
...
"Hweee..."
My numb, aching arm—or shoulder? Whatever, tingling limb. I rubbed it nonstop, letting out pathetic groans. Not intentional, but dumb sounds slipped out sometimes. Whatever—priority was massaging the sore arm.
Why so sore? Unbelievably... from LoL. This frail body found the mouse heavy. Mind-blowing. I'd never realized mice had weight until now. With tiny hands and short fingers, fatigue hit harder.
Just a short break...
...
A few days after starting streams, someone finally showed up! Well, I finally noticed.
"J-ja... Japanese! I can do English too!"
Suppressing my habitual Japanified English, I managed passable American-style. Not fluent, but conversational.
Intrigued by my reply? The foreign-seeming viewer kept asking: age? Why stream? Past experience? Greet in Japanese/Korean? Felt like an interrogation, but thrilled at my first viewer, I answered eagerly. Stuck to my streamer persona, of course.
Age: a whopping... 16! Wanted younger, but feared Korean viewers nitpicking "LoL kid at 15? Why bother?" So 16 it was.
After chit-chat, the foreigner said they'd be back (lip service?) and left. A hollow void hit me, like the world crumbling.
...That's it for today.