Let's Try Communicating

The video of Yubu and his underlings getting beaten to a pulp by Namcat had blown up all over again. It had been up for barely a day, and already the view count had climbed to an absurd height—not just in Korea, but with reactions pouring in from all over the world. Animal footage doesn't trip over a language barrier, so anyone could wander in and click.

I felt bad for Yubu and his lackeys, but the sight of them getting wrecked by Namcat pulled in a monstrous number of views. The earlier video of the two of them fighting had already done huge numbers, and this one did even more. Subscribers were shooting up at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a ridiculous pace because of it.

It had only been about a week since I'd applied for the Silver Button, and I'd already hit 530,000 subscribers.

"Whoa, at this rate the Gold Button won't be far off either. No—I might even get to request shipping on that before the Silver Button shows up."

"I want to tell myself to quit getting ahead of things…… but looking at this, I can't even manage that."

Noona couldn't bring herself to deny what I'd said, either. By simple arithmetic, another 400,000 subscribers in a single week meant that ten more days of this would make a million. Keeping a steady climb going was brutally hard, so it would take longer than ten days—but if you looked only at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠growth in front of us, hitting a million within ten days wasn't purely a dream. A fast rise and a warm reception didn't mean every reaction was warm, though.

There were more than a few comments pointing out my channel's flaws. Buried under the usual carnival of likes and dislikes, they were easy to miss, but nothing they said was wrong. The biggest problems were my editing, which still hadn't climbed out of amateur territory, and the monotony of filming inside the house every single time. People were also asking me to communicate. Aside from uploading videos, I didn't do anything like social media, and though plenty of people liked me, I never actually talked to them. Of course they were disappointed.

Then I'll start with the problem I can actually fix right now.

I decided to tackle the easiest one first, cleared my throat with a loud ahem, and opened my mouth.

"Noonaaaa! Come help me out!"

I called loud enough to make the whole house ring, and two or three minutes later Noona opened the door and came in.

"Whaaat."

Eight animals—no, more than ten, if you counted Yubu and his subordinates. She must have been portioning out their food, because she walked in still holding a kibble cup.

Call her in the middle of something and she always shows up exactly like that……

Last time she'd been midway through cutting meat, and I couldn't begin to say how badly she'd startled me by walking in with a kitchen knife in her hand. Anyway, I got straight to why I'd called her. She wasn't holding a knife today, so being a little bit of a nuisance was fine.

"Teach me how to use Outstar."

"Outstar?"

"Yeah. I was reading the Mutube comments. People were telling me to actually talk to them."

Noona let out an aah, the look of someone who understood.

"I was going to bring it up myself. You noticed first."

"You knew?"

"I check the comments a lot too. I was going to tell you soon anyway, but you got there first."

"Oh. Taking proper care of your husband, I see."

"If you know, then act like it."

"Ma'am. I live to serve."

I pulled her into a playful hug. She hadn't been shy even at the word husband, but now she seemed embarrassed at last, turning her face and turning the conversation with it.

"So what did you want me to explain? Outstar shouldn't be that hard."

If I turned the subject she'd just turned right back around, it was obvious the meat of my side was going to pay for it, so I sat back down the way she wanted.

"Mutual follows? That sort of thing…… No, honestly, I don't know any of it."

She looked at me with an expression that said what kind of guy even is this. But what was I supposed to do? I'd never used social media in my life. My friends didn't use it either, so I'd never felt the need.

The Rift, the games around it, and Deathcode were our social network. Yeah.

While I made excuses to myself, Noona let out a small sigh and began explaining, step by careful step.

"All right. Pressing this, right here—this is a click."

"Hey, even I know that."

The explanation she'd started as a joke turned out easy and simple enough that I couldn't understand why I'd called her over for not knowing it.

"So what are you going to do about this part? Making the account isn't the end."

"I already applied for a Mutube community. Should be usable around tomorrow. I looked it up, and they say it usually takes a day."

"Good. You have to talk with the fans, too, if you want this to last."

"Aah, I told you to stop treating me like a kid."

"And I'll say it as many times as it takes. To your noona, you will always be a child."

"Honestly…… If you want to get scolded, just say you want to get scolded."

I scooped Noona up and dove for the bed. All that remained in that spot was the kibble cup she'd dropped.

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding—!

"Look at that firepower……"

Watching Outstar notifications hammer in like mad, I thought back to Mutube's early days. Back then the alerts had come in a string, enough to drag me out of a morning's sleep. This time, fortunately, I'd waited until the Mutube community was live and only then promoted Outstar, so nothing had interrupted me mid-sleep. Still, loud was loud. I immediately set Outstar notifications to Do Not Allow, then called in every animal in the house.

"What are you up to now."

"Walk time! A walk!"

"Could you brush my fur? It's getting a little tangled."

"Master. I'm hungry."

"………………What a pain."

"And what, pray tell, do you mean to do this time?"

"My claws itch. You got anything to scratch, or what?"

"A treat, if you please. I shall share it with the Captain."

Once more than ten of them had gathered, the noise was unbelievable. Woof, arf, mrow, mew, caw, hoo. Good grief—was this a family living room, or a zoo? Even so, I hushed them and settled them into places around me, one by one, then had every one of them strike a pose. The dogs and cats I had sit and lift a right front paw; the owl, the magpies, and the crows I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lift a right wing.

"Whoa……"

At the sight of Noona marveling, I let out a little smirk and raised my right hand. The moment I lifted it in a light, greeting sort of wave, she took the picture. In the photo that came with the click, more than ten animals were gathered around me, all holding the same pose—as if they, too, were saying hello to whoever might be looking.

"This should be plenty for a first hello, right?"

"I feel like a lot of people are going to pile in just to see this……"

Even though she'd taken it herself, Noona stared at the photo as if she couldn't believe it. I watched her for a moment, then took the phone from her and uploaded the picture. The first post went up on my completely empty Outstar account, and the reaction, of course, exploded. Greetings arrived in every language imaginable, and in a flash the follower count blew past three digits—and then the letter K tacked itself onto the end. I was this close to getting ahead of myself. At this rate, was I about to land in Guinness for the fastest follower count?

I couldn't beat the global celebrities. It was, quite literally, nothing but jumping the gun.

Anyway, once I started talking through social media with the people who called themselves my fans, I got to hear all kinds of stories. Noona and I sat together and took in the messages coming through Outstar's direct messages.

"Oh, this one's exactly like our dad. They ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠want to raise a puppy, but their dad said if they do, he'll walk out of the house."

"Pfft…… Should I answer this one? Most of them end up liking it anyway. Your father was the same."

"Right. These days Dad's so gone on Cottonpaw he practically lives for him."

Noona and I, recalling a story that was already halfway to a memory, snickered our way through the messages. Most of what reached me was curiosity about animals, or questions about one trouble or another. Not every message was like that, of course.

"……"

Noona, who had ended up reading that message alongside me, began to stare, long and steady. At the feeling of some aura I couldn't begin to describe seeping out, slow and creeping, I hastily deleted the message and blocked the person who'd sent it. Only then did the fear-raising pressure vanish with a pop.

"Huh?"

The next message, visible once I'd deleted the last one, caught my eye. The crying emoticons ran on in a long string, but that wasn't the only reason—I was pretty sure I'd seen a comment saying something similar while I was reading Mutube.

"Oh, right. Didn't you say before that you were going to do some kind of subscriber event?"

"I did say that, didn't I?"

She remembered even the things I'd tossed off in passing, and she pulled my own words back out. I caught what she was getting at right away and nodded.

"If this person allows the filming, sure. It's not like I can spend my life going around on charity house calls."

"Let's ask them right now!"

With Noona right beside me, urging me to ask this second, I started typing a reply. I sent a message asking them to tell me the story in detail, and saying that if they could appear in a Mutube shoot, I'd help.

Ding!

"What—were you just sitting there waiting for a reply?"

And the answer to that question of mine arrived before thirty seconds had passed.

They must have been that desperate: the reply had gone out before they could even fix the typo. Faced with how genuinely frantic they looked, I ended up making my first house-visit appointment with a subscriber.

This very Saturday.