Streamer Tournament: Parakshil
A few days later.
On the screen, a monster the size of a house came crashing down.
Blood Burn—an action game infamous for its vicious difficulty, the kind that had broken countless hardcore streamers.
The hidden boss’s foreleg slammed down toward the character’s crown in a deliberately off-beat rhythm.
“Too slow.”
With a line she personally thought sounded cool as hell, her fingers flicked across the controller. The character slipped past the attack by a hair’s breadth and dove straight into the creature’s guard.
Slash!
Slash-slash!
A rapid chain of cuts shredded the boss’s weak point—its eyeball. The monster thrashed, whipping its tail in every direction, but the character was already clear and in the safe zone. Even the last-ditch cloud of lethal poison fog got rolled through with invincibility frames.
A final scream, and the boss’s health bar slammed into the floor.
“So easy!”
“That’s the natural result, of course.”
The endless flood of praise made the corners of her mouth twitch. Being petted and praised never got old—it was always fresh and sweet! With sugar this thick, she half-wondered if it would rot not just her teeth but her brain too.
“Gonna go grab some water.”
Hidden boss down, so it was break time. Nonstop talking while she ran had left her throat dry and scratchy.
After one last skim of the chat, she stepped out into the living room and filled her tumbler to the brim. A long, deep gulp left her mouth feeling clean and refreshed.
Mm! The flow’s good.
Riding the buzz from her debut stream, she’d built a solid core of regulars. Today’s broadcast had already cleared a thousand viewers right from the start.
And the room vibe’s great too.
Usually, once a room got crowded, there were always people who loved throwing unsolicited advice and spoilers around—but in front of her, everyone stayed quiet. She played so well there wasn’t even anything left to coach. If anything, people watched with the secret hope that she’d mess up just once.
“I’m baaack!”
Throat soothed, tumbler topped off, she padded back to her seat, slipped on her earphones, and scooted right up to the mic.
Just as she was about to pick the banter back up, she noticed the chat had all tilted in one direction.
Parakshil?
It rang a faint bell, but she couldn’t quite place what it was.
“What’s Parakshil?”
The second the question left her mouth, the chat exploded into question marks.
She skimmed the chat at high speed and pieced the outline together. So it was a platform-hosted speedrun tournament?
How had she not known a goldmine like this even existed until now?
“Why are you only telling me this now?!”
She shouted in pure indignation.
If the streamer missed the chat, they should’ve said it with a donation!
…Saying that out loud would make her sound like a money-obsessed freak, so she swallowed it. Leaving the snickering chat behind, she hurriedly opened a browser window.
Parakshil…
The moment she typed the word into the search bar, the official notice popped up front and center.
A large-scale platform tournament with major streamers participating: Pajijik Arcade. The event was a speedrun competition on a new action game releasing on a set date—whoever cleared a designated section the fastest would win.
“Ahh…”
Titles she’d casually scrolled past yesterday while skimming the buzzer-beater gallery flashed through her mind. Posts about some tiny VTuber debating whether to join Parakshil, whether the lineup was good or bad. Back then she’d assumed it was just a small friendly league some streamers were running among themselves…
So Pajijik was the one hosting it.
For a variety game streamer aiming to lock in a “gaming genius” image, there was no better stage. And best of all—it wasn’t a team event! No forced chemistry, no fake ha-ha-ho-ho laughing for the camera. Just prove your mechanical skill and that was it. The perfect format for someone who shone on her own without leaning on anyone else.
Yes! This tournament existed for Yoo Serin!
And the game itself is perfect for me too, isn’t it?
On top of that, it looked like the platform had taken advertising money—the title was a new release from a domestic studio. Every game she’d played so far had been out for ages, so the chat always threw around “she played it beforehand!” or “she watched the guide videos!” This was the golden chance to turn all the floating viewers pulled in by the noise marketing into true fans. Nothing beat proving yourself where every eye and ear on the platform was already locked in.
“I have to do it! Absolutely!”
She shoved her face right up to the monitor and yelled. Only a complete idiot would skip this.
The paused Blood Burn didn’t even register in her eyes anymore. Who cared about smashing those monsters right now? Missing this honey pot would be the kind of regret that haunted her forever.
“But how do I apply for this?”
“Y-you already applied?!”
“Yes!”
At her junior’s answer, Kim Jiyeon from the Pajijik Partnership Department sank back into her chair.
“Ugh… if you were going to do it, you should’ve done it sooner.”
Lately one particular problem had been eating at her. The rising star streamer “Yoo Serin” had shown zero interest in Parakshil.
This tournament was an ultra-premium project: domestic mega-studio Naxon had handed the platform-level advertising package. Naturally Pajijik had a duty to pull every possible viewership number. They desperately needed the big-agency streamers to show up.
And then this meteor of a prospect had appeared—Yoo Serin. The growth curve after her re-debut with a brand-new avatar was something you could put up against Xiang Yu’s legendary strength. A voice that fit her adorable avatar like a glove, game skill that could slap most former pro gamers, and chat sense to match. However she’d engineered the viral wave, the floating viewers had flocked to her the moment she appeared like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“…Did you work it?”
Jiyeon shot a suspicious glance over the partition at her junior.
“Yes. Flooded the Parakshil chat with dummy accounts.”
“Good work.”
From day one of her debut, Yoo Serin had clearly aimed at variety game streaming. Anyone would have expected her to jump at a tournament like this the second it was announced. Yet somehow she’d never even glanced at Parakshil—acting as if the thing simply didn’t exist in the world. Jiyeon had been seriously debating whether to reach out personally and ask about her interest… and then the news had come that the application had just been submitted moments ago.
“So, does that mean we’ve pretty much got everyone now?”
“Except for the ones with schedule conflicts, pretty much all the big-agency people.”
Only then did Jiyeon fully relax and click her mouse. A live broadcast filled her work monitor.
The cute avatar asked, controller still in hand. A few hours ago when Jiyeon had last checked, she’d clearly still been circling the early sections of Blood Burn. Now she was already on the road to the last boss?
“Is that… actual skill?”
Her junior had sidled up while she watched and asked the question. Of course he would. This was a streamer with every quality needed to grow into a major agency talent. Nothing hit a platform harder than watching a golden goose vanish in controversy.
“We can only hope so.”
The answer came out more bitter than the wish. Jiyeon watched Yoo Serin continuously swing her weapon, carving through monsters without pause.
Just like the junior’s doubt, she didn’t believe it was pure skill either. Finishing a game most people poured dozens of hours into on a first clear in one sitting was beyond common sense. Whether she’d memorized every guide, used some illegal program, or simply made a brand-new Steam account—there had to be something.
Slurp—
Jiyeon took a sip of her cold coffee. Whatever it was, please just don’t get caught. At least let it stay quiet until Parakshil was over. From a position of not knowing the truth, that was all she could hope for.