Big Bro Irezumi Logs In
"...Huh?"
A donation message popped up on one side of the screen. Lee Jua's hand, resting on the mouse, froze solid.
Lee Jua's heart started pounding again. Why the hell is my logistics buddy Irezumi showing up out of nowhere? She'd just been spilling warehouse stories, and now the star of those tales had logged on.
...How the fuck did he even find me?
What Jua didn't know was that most of these puny viewers had flooded in from the galleries. And those newcomers were already posting back on the galleries, spreading word of Jua's stream far and wide.
Battlelands Gallery, Girl Streamers Gallery, Prism Gallery, Streamer Gallery—you name it, every major gallery related to streaming had at least a post or two about Jua's broadcast.
Irezumi had been gallery-hopping when he spotted a title mentioning Jua. The pieces clicked: the woman he'd met at the warehouse was named Lee Jua, he'd even urged her to start streaming back then. Add a man's gut instinct, and he was dead certain this Jua was that Jua. That's how he ended up tuning in.
Streaming under her real name had sparked this little mishap.
There were plenty of women who could pull off a pretty voice, but Jua's stood out. Natural, unforced, more beautiful than any other—and unforgettable once you heard it.
Plus, he'd seen her hands when he gave her those gloves. Even during warehouse shifts, his eyes kept drifting her way. The hands and wrists on her hand cam, that voice... He was damn near positive this was her.
Hearing the logistics tales sealed it, so Irezumi donated on the spot.
Jua felt her face burning. It was like getting caught cooing over a stray cat—her tough-guy pride laid bare for the world. If someone leaked her black history compilation on stream, it'd feel exactly like this.
"...Is this really Irezumi hyung? Nah, you knew my Line ID and glove brand, so yeah, it's legit. But seriously, how'd you find me?"
Her flustered question triggered another donation alert.
Irezumi donated 10,000 won.
"Ah... the galleries..."
Jua knew she'd been crucified on Battlelands Gallery over hack suspicions, but she had no clue it'd spread to the others.
This scene thrived on rumors. The first wave came from whispers, but keeping them hooked? That was all on the streamer's skill.
"What else you gonna call hyung but hyung? Anyone older than me is hyung. Past sixty, it's big hyung."
Jua furrowed her brow hard. From the chat flow, viewers were dying for an "oppa" from her lips.
But no way in hell was "oppa" slipping from the mouth of an 8-year construction vet, a total alpha dude.
No matter that her body was Jua now. Even if she squealed and punched pillows in bed sometimes, snuck peeks in the mirror whenever...
She was still just flesh housing Lee Jinsu's soul.
...Wait, but this is totally girly tho...
"Anyway... hyung's hyung. You dropped 60k, so congrats—you're officially Big Hyung."
Irezumi donated 10,000 won.
"Aigoo, Big Hyung—Sintan Hub again today? Take care... no injuries, handle that rebar safe! Safety first—love it! Love it! Love it!"
Jua tacked on urgently, like something just hit her.
"Oh, and keep my streaming secret, yeah? Calling the guy from bay 14 Anchovy? Total secret. You got it? You didn't leave already, right? You heard?"
"Donations? We'll settle up over rice next time we meet!"
Jua snapped a salute. Never served, but she'd soaked up pointers from the ajusshis at work—the ones whose only brag was Marines duty. Her form was flawless.
As Jua's salute wrapped up, Big Hyung Irezumi logged off.
His appearance was ironclad proof her logistics tales weren't bullshit.
"Alright, proof my stories ain't lies, right? Bros, this is your girl Lee Jua. I don't bullshit every time I open my mouth. 8 years manual labor? Real. TS? Real. Double shifts on gombang, all yarikiri? All real."
"Hey hey no fighting, anyway... That's it for today. Stomach's growling, hands shaking. Gotta crack a triangle kimbap or I'll die. Only had cola today."
She set down the paper cup of cola on her desk.
That hyper-focus 13-kill Battlelands god play, jawing at 41 viewers—it all crashed down as backlash. Starving to the point of dizziness.
Jua wavered for a sec but shook her head.
That'd just be dancing to viewers' tune. Ending's my call.
End whenever she damn well pleased, or she'd be closing shop forever.
Coincidentally, she'd peeked into a vertuber's stream "to study," right when they were battling chat:
"This is my stream! My creation! I end it when I want! Don't touch me!"
"Hand cam setup, hack cleared with that 13-kill chicken—innocence proven, right? Massive thanks to donor bros. Tomorrow's content? We'll figure it tomorrow."
"Alright, sweet dreams everyone. Catch you tomorrow. Streaming rocks! Rocks! Rocks!"
Click—
The green light on the streaming software winked out.
"Huuuuaaa..."
Leaning back in her chair, Jua exhaled long and hard. Tension melted away, her whole body turning to mush.
"Thought I was gonna die..."
Back as Jinsu, two gombang shifts barely fazed her—a plate of pork belly and soju bottle, good as new.
But Jua's body? Shaking a mouse and yapping for two hours drained her flat.
If she had webnovel stats, endurance and stamina must've all dumped into agility and charm.
Rubbing her stiff neck, Jua checked Prism Studio's broadcast stats.
> Peak Viewers: 44
> Total Donations: 253,000 won
"...Insane."
Even after fees, it topped her bone-grinding warehouse daily wage.
And that was...
Just two hours streaming.
This was influencer power. Streamer clout. Capitalism's sweet kiss.
"Kya..."
Jua clenched her fist tight.
Losing Johnson's Baby oil? Pocket change next to her ballooning bank balance.
"First... food."
She rose, cracked the fridge. Half a cola, two water bottles. That was it.
...Made bank today—gukbap time?
Jinsu days: rest days meant four bowls of special gukbap. Work days? Grabbed it whenever.
Skip a day, and hives felt imminent.
But as Jua? Days without gukbap already.
...Maybe low stamina's from no gukbap.
Muttering nonsense confidently, she prepped to head out.
...Shower for rice? Nah.
Maybe when she was a mega-streamer with a million viewers. For now? Whatever.
Quick brush and rinse, tracksuit set, cap on—out the door.
Heading to her old haunt, the neighborhood gukbap joint.
...Huh?
Always the cussing grandma bustling between hall and kitchen.
Through the glass: one kitchen auntie, one guy eyeing the hall.
New owners? Sign still read the same.
"...Where's Granny?"
Large rice with special gukbap pls! One order, and You rotten punk, maggot in your gut? Always hogging extra rice.—then a free pork plate with the curses.
That rough love kept her coming back daily.
But lately? Owner change? Vibe off.
Pls just keep the taste. She pushed the door open.
Pig bone broth aroma hit—thick, savory, unchanged.
Smell same, but hall-watcher? Total stranger dude.
"Welcome...?"
The aproned guy started his greet, then trailed off awkwardly.
Knees poking through gray tracksuit pants, oversized men's hoodie hanging loose. Cap barely hid a head smaller than a rice bowl, with idol-level features.
Like a trainee sneaking midnight snacks.
Except the destination? Now a Gamasot Sundae Gukbap House packed with soju-slurping ajusshis craving rice and soup.