The Failed Camping Streamer
"Hello, subscribers. Camping is consistent. Today, we're camping right here at the Taebaek Forest Campground in Gangwon-do."
I flashed an awkward smile and waved at the camera. This YouTube thing had started as a hobby. Even with no viewers, I'd told myself, 'It's just a hobby,' and uploaded dozens of videos. But after years, this damn greeting still never felt natural.
I finished the intro and turned around. I unrolled the tent that would be my home for the night.
The moment I grabbed the mallet for pegging it down, my body—which had been stiff and awkward in front of the camera—relaxed like magic.
"Alright, today we're pitching the basics of the basics: a dome tent."
No one asked, but the explanations just flowed out. The camera still felt awkward, though. I glanced at it. Peeked again. Looked back at the tent, then at the camera once more. I knew exactly how this would look on screen: some suspicious middle-aged guy hyper-aware of the camera, pretending to be cool while setting up.
I slid the poles into the sleeves and tensioned them to make it self-standing. After over fifteen years of this, my hands moved naturally, like I could do it blindfolded. Experience doesn't fade.
Sweat poured off me like rain, but seeing the tent standing firm and taut filled me with pride.
"Perfect, right?" I grinned, patting it proudly.
But that satisfaction was all mine. No one was watching anyway.
With the tent done, I unfolded my camping chair and flopped down, catching my breath. I pulled my smartphone from my pocket and opened my channel out of habit. The numbers at the top jumped out:
Subscribers:302▼
Latest Views:104▼
Avg Watch Time:2:11▼
That 300-subscriber count was an illusion anyway. One was my alt account for self-encouragement, and another... I scrolled down to the comments on the latest video.
A self-encouragement comment from my alt. One suspiciously loyal fan who always comments. And one crypto spam ad questioning the channel's vibe. That was it.
They say no comments are scarier than hate comments. I felt that in my bones.
"Sigh... life..."
Fifteen years of camping experience. It started as a kid tagging along with Dad and became my one true hobby. Money from my job went straight to new gear or renting fancy campervans. No savings left—just enough to scrape by. But even that's history now. The severance from quitting my job was running dry. Two or three months left, maybe? At over thirty, I'd have to jump back into the job hunt grind.
The carefree camping days were over.
I genuinely loved camping, travel, rolling around in nature. But that passion never reached anyone. The editing was choppy like bad cuts, old-man vibes, and worst of all—no fun. Objectively or subjectively, my channel was boring as hell.
If someone asked why, after years, I only had this many subs, I'd confidently say, 'Cause it's no fun.'
Lost in thought, I heard drops plinking on the tent: plip, plop.
"Mm, yeah. This is nature's orchestra, right?"
Muttering about camping romance, I slipped inside, opened a book. Reading to the sound of rain—peak camping perfection.
But the romance didn't last. Plip, plop. Patter-patter-patter. ROARRR!
The gentle drizzle turned into a tent-shredding downpour in seconds.
"Fuck? This ain't orchestra—it's heavy metal!"
Bad vibes hit. I unzipped and peeked out. The ground around the tent was already flooded.
"Damn, should've dug the trench earlier."
Water in the tent was inevitable. I stood, stepped out. Clothes soaked instantly. Cold rain stabbed my skin, but no time to care. Grabbed the field shovel from the trunk and dug like mad. Mud flew everywhere.
After a while, the shovel hit something solid with a clunk.
"Ugh, a rock..."
Bigger than expected. Digging it out would take forever. Rerouting the trench? Terrain sucked. Rain intensified.
"Fuck it! Smash the damn thing."
No choice. Gripped the shovel like a hand axe, raised it high. Iron blade to the sky.
BOOMCRACKLE!
Sky split with thunder. Vision blacked out. Something slammed the raised shovel. Every cell exploding in agony.
That was my last memory.
How long passed? Chirping birds woke me. Rain had softened to a gentle tap on the tent.
I opened my eyes. Sprawled in cold mud.
"Ugh... ow, my back..."
Even assuming I passed out on the ground, why so stiff? '...Lightning.'
Faint memory: I'd been struck.
'Holy shit, struck by lightning. Oh right—should've filmed it...'
Forcing positivity, I sat up. Something felt off. Body light. Not just condition—actually lighter. Like 30kg gone. Shorter? Hands and feet unfamiliar.
Then, from my lowered neck, a soft whoosh—long strands cascaded forward.
"...?"
'Tree branch? Rope caught?'
I brushed my head casually. But it wasn't rope or branch. Wet from rain, but definitely my hair. Very long hair.
Shock gripped me. Stumbling to the coppel nearby, rainwater pooled like a mirror.
I peered in.
A face I'd never seen. The kind you'd double-take on the street—a perfect beauty.
"......"
Brain reeled from the visual mismatch. Dazed, I crawled into the tent, fumbled for my wallet in my pants pocket. Trembling hands opened it to my ID.
Name:Han Areum
Birth Year:0X (21 years old)
Registry No.:
0XXXXX-4XXXXXX
"What the... fuck?"
The curse slipped out reflexively. But my voice wasn't a gravelly thirty-something guy's—it was clear, bell-like, like jade beads on a tray.
"Fuck... fuck..."
I hurled the wallet like a madman, snatched my phone. Facial recognition unlocked it. Screen lit; front camera showed my face. Click—unlocked smoothly.
Terror over doubt, I let my fingers move on autopilot. Banking app opened, fingerprint prompt. Thumb pressed instinctively.
This is a dream. Yeah, a nightmare. Dreams don't hurt—they wake you with the disconnect, right?
Denying reality, I slapped my cheek full force.
SMACK!
The crisp crack echoed through the mountain campsite.
"...That fucking hurts?"
Clutching my stinging cheek, I muttered. Pain was vivid. Not a dream.
Then it hit: 'Oh, fuck! L-lightning!'
Yeah, lightning strike. That's why I'm crazy. Hallucinating from the aftereffects.
But rubbing eyes, slapping cheeks—no change. The reflection was still that stranger girl. Fingers slim and pale.
I'd become a woman. Completely.
"Heh, hahahahaha!"
I burst out laughing like a lunatic. Rolled in the tent clutching my gut for ages. When was the last time I laughed like this? Even the laugh was clear and pretty.
Fine, whatever. Might as well stay positive. At least I didn't die or get paralyzed. And...
...I can still...
"Camping... can keep going, right?"