Keep Living Like That, or Go Out Blazing

The stream didn't end until well into the early morning.

"Everyone sleep well, and good luck at work~"

"...Then die."

I fought an end-of-stream UFC with the chat, then hit the end button.

The character still glowing on the monitor went limp, like a shell with the soul scooped out.

"Hoo..."

I threw myself straight onto the soft mattress.

"Heh heh..."

Seven hundred concurrent viewers.

My month had not been wasted.

I hadn't spent the whole month preparing anything in particular — but refusing to quit was my victory all the same.

I'd heard that if you could just hold four digits, sponsors would start coming in and you could actually make a living.

A stable life was finally right in front of me.

No matter how hard I tried to stay calm, my heart kept pounding and a laugh kept slipping out.

Dad, Mom. I bought a car.

Oh my, a Grandeur! You made it, huh?

Ahhh...

Even a taste of success like this wasn't so bad!

I pulled out my phone and checked the stream stats.

"Hieeeek... the follower count is still climbing!"

Five hundred in a single day.

Followers were harder to gain than concurrent viewers, and yet...

Video platforms already had several highlight clips of me uploaded.

Those titles were a little off, weren't they?

When did I ever say it like that!

I'd been trying to save them, if anything. If the people involved saw it and felt bad, that was one thing — but those were all pure speculation.

"..."

But as I watched the edited highlight clips, a thought suddenly hit me.

"They might actually be pissed, though?"

Anxiety crashed over me all at once.

Suppose people from Eternal Fox saw these videos.

If they claimed they felt insulted, could that count as defamation?

It wasn't pure abuse, though, was it?

Eternal Fox was a new team, but they were backed by a major corporation with serious money. In terms of capital, they weren't lacking for anything — and if they sicced their legal team on someone like me, they could grind me into dust.

Even with my past life's connections, a fight at that level would have been touch-and-go. As I was now, with nothing to my name, I couldn't handle it.

Of course, I hadn't exactly refused to play along with the chat's roasting for fun... but to this degree?

It's fine. South Korea is a country that protects freedom of expression!

"A-all right... time to check the business mail."

For a small-time streamer, sponsorships were as vital as oxygen.

You had to leave at least one channel open that said, My eyes and ears are open!

Any other contact requests, of course, got a hard refusal — identity leaks were a real risk.

I wanted to live a long life.

I opened the mail client and checked the inbox.

...I still had a long way to go.

Sure enough — today had just been a sudden flood of viewers. The stream itself was still not well known.

No sponsorship offers. Just fan mail of encouragement.

Fuck. What the hell is this guy. I tried not to swear and failed completely.

I moved to hit spam report... then just dumped it in the trash.

Still — there hadn't even been this much before.

Looking back, it'd all be memories, right?

Just when I thought I'd checked everything, a newly arrived mail at the very top caught my eye.

The address was... eternalfox.com...?

The short, brutal subject line made my breath catch.

"..."

No way.

The hand gripping the mouse started to shake.

Was it that? It had to be that, right? For real?

What I'd been dreading had arrived.

"Wait, is he actually suing me?"

Hold on — unless I filed a separate request to view the original, I wouldn't receive a copy of a complaint myself.

Sometimes the assigned investigator would call to notify you that a suit had been filed... but Crasher the pro player was not an investigator.

A settlement request?

Even then, would a player personally reach out like this?

Ha. What is this. This is terrifying!!

There are people who trash-talked him way worse than I did, so why am I the only one getting this treatment!!

...I couldn't just not open it.

I couldn't keep running forever either.

It could be something surprisingly good, right?

And if not — well, that would just be a shame.

I steeled myself and opened the mail.

"Huh?"

The tone wasn't bad so far?

When the word uncomfortable showed up, I'd already pictured myself dying — and my hands and feet started shaking all over again.

...Next!

...Is this real?

"Whoa."

In my entire life as a lawyer, I'd never once spoken with a pro gamer.

And it really was Crasher — and he had watched my stream.

A star player from a pro league with millions of eyes on it.

Someone like that had reached out to me personally.

The feeling was strange. Frightening, even.

And yet... somewhere deep in my chest, a sharp little thrill was sparking.

So this was an influencer's life?

First, I confirmed it was a polite consultation request with no malice in it.

A voice call over MyCode... exchanging contact outside of email still made me uneasy...

But my voice had already been public from the moment I started streaming, and if I made a throwaway account for the ID, there wasn't much to worry about.

And if you thought about it, this proposal carried more risk for Crasher himself.

He was catching heat, sure — but by weight class, he was still a genuine star.

And that star was offering a no-name VTuber his personal contact?

If I'd been some kind of weirdo, it could have tangled up his whole career.

"I should answer him properly, then."

I started typing out a reply.

Ding.

"...He sent it faster than I expected."

At this hour of the morning, and still that quick — like he'd been waiting for it? The man really did live hard.

Crasher got up, checked the paths his teammates took around the dorm, then shut the door to his private room.

Then he clicked the mail Cha Jinyoung had sent.

"Is this the same person as on stream?"

It was only text, but he could almost see someone bowing their head with careful politeness.

Even as he'd sent the first mail, he'd wondered if he was being reckless — but the person on the other end didn't seem like a weirdo after all.

The room was soundproofed, so he didn't have to worry about anything leaking out.

And his teammates... hadn't been coming by his room much lately anyway.

Given the hour, it should be fine.

He sent the reply without hesitation.

"Now?"

It was past three in the morning.

Didn't pro gamers have to manage their condition too?

Well — if Crasher was fine with it, then so was I.

One last check of the surroundings before the call.

Stream off. Real-name disclosure locked down.

Sign-up under the streamer account.

That should be enough.

The moment I sent the reply, a chat-room invite link arrived from a user who looked like Crasher.

Click.

A short connection tone rang out, then a notification that the voice chat had connected successfully.

"..."

"..."

Suffocating silence...!

How was I supposed to set the mood here!!

Wasn't the person who reached out first supposed to lead?

I was confident enough at talking, but the fact that he was a superstar made me weirdly tense all over again.

Should I start with an apology?

While I was still hesitating, the other side spoke first.

"Hello."

Oh?

His voice was lower and calmer than I'd expected.

It felt different again from the post-match interview clips I'd heard.

"Ah — yes. Hello. This is Cha Jinyoung."

"This is Crasher."

"Wow... it's an honor."

"..."

"..."

Ha. I'm going to lose my mind.

How was stringing even one more sentence together this hard.

"I-I don't mean that in a weird way — hearing your voice in person, it really is great."

"Ah, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yeah. I thought it was interesting too — your real voice is different from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the interviews."

"Haha. I hear that a lot."

Crasher gave a small laugh.

Fortunately, the awkwardness was crumbling little by little.

"I watched the stream."

"Thank— wait, is 'thank you' even the right response here?"

"It's fine. Like I wrote in the mail, I didn't contact you because I was angry about the video."

"I was so scared I thought I was getting sued..."

"Sued?"

"...Just in case."

"Mm. First of all — most of what you said, Cha Jinyoung, is correct."

Most?

"It's true that I stopped trusting my own judgment. After I tanked one match hard, aggressive choices got difficult."

Mm. That much I already knew.

"But the reason I changed my playstyle isn't only that."

"What other reason is there?"

"To survive."

A short answer.

"A lot of people call me a genius, but I'm not one. More than raw personal talent, I got good evaluations for analyzing opponents and reading timing."

"You did."

"Lately, even that judgment has been getting slower."

Crasher went on.

"Before, the options would just appear the moment I looked at the screen. Now I have to think for a long time. In a real match, that gap is a serious risk for the team."

"So instead of an aggressive style where recovering from mistakes is hard, I switched to a utility style."

"To last longer."

"Right."

"And the reason you'd go that far?"

"I need to stay active as a pro, even a little longer."

"Is it money?"

A brief silence.

My habit of not being able to sit with curiosity had put the words out ahead of me.

I flinched, but Crasher didn't deny it.

"I have to repay my family."

"Things weren't good when I was young. Even so, when I said I wanted to become a pro gamer, my parents didn't stop me."

"They bought me a top-of-the-line computer when money was already tight."

Crasher let out a low breath.

"My younger sibling is still in school. And... my mother's health has been getting worse."

"..."

"My family says it's enough. That I've done enough, so I should stop suffering. But I don't see it that way."

His voice started to shake.

"Without my family, I never would have made it this far. And a short stretch of earnings like this isn't enough to pay them back. I need to keep playing, even a little longer."

"I think I understand."

"...I needed a reason to stay on the team."

His value as an aggressive player was gone — but if he took a support role for his teammates, he was less likely to draw attention as the problem. The re-contract terms wouldn't be great, but it would help with an extension. That was the survival method he had chosen.

"Do you think playing like this will actually let you last longer as a pro?"

"..."

"Sooner or later a youth player will take your spot, right?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"They already subbed someone in for you once and you got a full taste of how bitter that is. I figured that was the only plan the org had."

"Yes. That's right."

"Then you're already heading toward the end."

"..."

It might be cruel to him — but there was no need to soften it.

He hadn't contacted me just to collect cheap comfort either.

A life lived for someone else.

I knew that well myself.

To him, family must really mean everything.

But only at the very end had I realized it.

I had been living like someone reading a script someone else wrote.

"Crasher."

"Yes."

"Live a little more selfishly."

"Excuse me...?"

"Saying you have to hold on longer for your family — it sounds good. It looks responsible, too."

I paused to take a sip of water.

"But right now, it doesn't look like you're enduring for your family. It looks like you're using your family as an excuse to run away."

He didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠answer.

"You're scared of failing, so you make the safe choice and call it family, don't you."

"..."

"Is that really the Crasher your family wants to see?"

"Doing nothing all match, then hanging your head and eating abuse when it's over."

He was still silent.

"If it were me, I'd hate it."

"If I were your family, I'd rather see the Crasher of your prime one more time than stretch a contract by a few months."

"But..."

"Of course, if you fail, it's over. Spectacularly."

"..."

"But you're already ending now, aren't you."

Die slowly — or go out clean and die swinging.

Either way, the ending was the same.

A pro player could never stay active forever.

Skill always fell off eventually.

No matter how hard you thrashed, the moment you had to leave would come.

"Sooner or later, this career is something you have to leave behind."

"You have nothing to lose."

"Nothing to lose, huh..."

"Yes."

"I've got a lot to lose..."

"Mm... that might have been a careless thing to say about your family. I got carried away."

"But the options really are simple."

I pulled the mic closer.

Crasher let out a dry laugh.

"You're blunt."

"I never did learn how to say things prettily."

"If I retire, are you going to sponsor me or something?"

"...I'm sorry, but right now I'm busy just keeping myself alive. If anything, I'd need you to help me."

He laughed again.

"Ah — and don't get the wrong idea. Playing aggressive doesn't mean mindlessly diving in to die."

"Then what...?"

"You've got four other pros, don't you. Use them."

"Judging by you alone, all five of you might still be wrong. But at least it's better than the farce of everyone picking different answers and dying separately."

Crasher said nothing for a long time.

"Cha Jinyoung."

"Yes."

"Are you going to watch the next match?"

"If I don't after all this, I really feel like I'd get sued."

"And you meant it about casting it?"

"Of course."

"Don't regret it."

"...Why would you suddenly say something that scary?"

"You told me to go in."

There was a smile in his voice.

"I was always a player who stayed at the front."

After that we exchanged goodbyes, and the call ended.

Even after I hit the end button, I stared at the black screen for a long time.

"It'll be... fine, right?"

He wouldn't actually just mindlessly charge in, would he?

He was a pro. I believed he'd understood the distinction well enough.

The day of Eternal Fox's eighth match of the season.

The fans watching the game — and the casters calling it — fell into a full panic.

"Crasheeeeer!! Once again he locks in Shadow Assassin — what a radical pick!!"

"I'm screaming so hard my throat hurts!!"

He had become a completely different player.