Barrier Broadcast Accident
A barrier broadcast accident refers to an unexpected mishap during a stream that disrupts the broadcast. Things like accidentally clicking an ad and pulling up a porn site, or clumsily hitting the end stream button without warning. Twitch had its share of these mishaps too, but what just happened was on a whole different level.
It started when NoName suddenly yelled and shoved Yoon Seul out of the room. Viewers figured she was just pulling another prank and thought nothing of it—until she wrapped her body in aura. Emitting aura isn't easy; plenty of people go their whole lives without ever knowing their own aura color.
Then light burst from the music box, filling the screen, followed by a deafening explosion that slammed into viewers' eardrums. The camera on the desk must've gotten caught in it too—the feed crackled and shook. Soon, black smoke blackened the view, and the connection cut out.
Broadcast has ended.
The blast was way past max volume, and NoName's desperate scream made it clear—no one could deny this was real.
The chat exploded into mass panic. Even Twitch Korea admins jumped in, reporting it to the police and forcibly clearing out the remaining viewers to calm things down. But it was too late; people had lost it. Kicking everyone out just made it worse. The 30,000 global viewers scattered.
Koreans alone—20,000 strong—rushed to communities and other live streams with the unbelievable news.
"NoName got bombed? Report it quick... wait, bomb terror? What the hell?"
"Real situation? Hold up."
Han Yong-cheol paused his game, face grim, and tried calling NoName.
Before the ring even finished, he checked the communities and sensed the situation spiraling.
As Han Yong-cheol reached for his phone to call the police, portal site homepages flooded with articles.
Terror had hit home, and with national disasters fresh in mind, even small incidents sparked alarm. Gangnam Police Station got flooded with reports. Cops confirmed SWAT deployment and warned about opening anonymous packages.
Soon, fire trucks and emergency vehicles stormed through Parthenon Apartment's main gate. Some residents in slippers and pajamas had already evacuated, huddled together. Black smoke poured from the 40th floor of Building 102—near the top. No light leaked out, suggesting no fire spread. But it was still daytime; no room for complacency.
Twelve SWAT officers in black gear arrived. Half rushed the 1st-floor entrance; the other half roped from the roof, scaling the outer wall to the smoke source. Magic bomb confirmed—prep for secondary/tertiary chain blasts essential.
"Enter on three. Three, two, one!"
Briefing done en route. To rescue ASAP, SWAT wrapped in 1-million-kE barriers breached the room.
No flames, but endless black smoke? Simple: incomplete fire-affinity magic spell. Mana condensed in the transmutation circle reverts to stable state.
"Cut the mana first!"
Officers slapped pro devices on walls, dropping ambient mana density, bracing for mana wind backlash. No catalyst? Smoke density thinned.
Cries from the living room—female sobs, signs of life. Radio from stair team: living room survivor rescued safely.
"T-Team leader, look over there!"
"Huh?"
The tactical leader—unflappable even if a ghost shoved a knife to his throat—dropped his radio in shock. An impossible sight unfolded before him.
"A barrier?"
Four transmutation circles spun mid-air in a tetrahedral formation. Inside: shattered remnants of the bomb-trigger circle, floating.
Then—
Crash!
A core embedded in a shard popped free with runes. 'It's gonna blow!' SWAT maxed aura barriers instinctively. Light flared briefly; mana wind hit the tetrahedron, fizzling out. Another circle activated. Purified mana coalesced centrally into a black orb. Mass-gravved, it rolled floorward. Like a smoke grenade, black haze billowed out—the source of the external smoke.
"Could you toss that out the window?"
"...!"
Smoke cleared; a girl silhouette emerged behind the barrier circles. Arms trembling, she clutched her makeshift transmutation wand tight.
The magic hadn't failed randomly. Someone had hijacked the self-destructing circle into incomplete cast mode, barely sustaining it.
Tactical leader radioed the arriving magic disposal team: "Disposal! Get in here and collect those circles!"
Door burst; bulky helmeted figures waddled in. Pro wands stabbed both sides of the barrier; bomb shards dimmed, vanished.
Face smeared black, the soot-covered girl finally collapsed to her knees in relief.
"You okay? No injuries? Hang tight—we'll get you to the hospital soon."
"Yes..."
Leader handed her to another SWAT, directing the scene. Magic terrorists? Kill-on-sight authorized. Find perp priority one.
"Cores?"
"All recovered."
"To forensics, then Mana Corp for magic use logs. Alert detectives for warrants once ID'd."
"Roger."
Magic logs need warrants like searches—but terrorism skips red tape. Walpurgis law change. If perp still in Korea, nabbed in 12 hours max.
Cleaned mana-tainted site, eyed scorched wallpaper. Leader sighed. Bomb terror in Korea? No casualties, cores secured—but unease lingered.
"Homeowner?"
"Woman from the living room."
"Lives alone with the kid?"
"Nah, solo."
"Then the kid?"
"NoName?"
"NoName?"
"Yeah, NoNaMe... lives right below, was streaming together."
Leader recalled the girl already elevatored down in arms. He yanked off goggles, rubbed eyes raw.
NoNaMe? The genius kid streamer blowing up lately? Walpurgis survivor too, ironically.
"How'd she do that?"
"Pardon?"
"Y'know, the spinning thing."
"No idea? Didn't you set it up, boss?"
"Ugh..."
Circle exploded—but barrier absorbed mana wind, condensed to particles. 15-year vet: never seen. Plus, four circles simultaneous? He frowned.
Hyper-focused on crisis, missed the key bit. Asked again: "Response time?"
"7 minutes 47 seconds post-report."
"7, 8... 9 minutes. Yeah, 9."
At least 9. That kid held a min-10m kill-radius blast for 9 minutes?
Eyes closed, pondered. No easy answer. Shook head, exited.
"End times."
Impossible shit happening too often lately.
I rode the ambulance to the hospital with Yoon Seul, all buddy-buddy. Just before departure, I eavesdropped from afar as late-arriving Professor Cheon raged at SWAT to drag the perp to him pronto. They promised today; he demanded 4 hours. Took detectives 2 to cuff him at home.
Police revealed: chem major college kid used acetone/hydrogen peroxide spells learned in school for TATP explosive. Ignition circle etched in music box—my gear turn triggered all.
Follow-up: NoName and Yoon Seul no life threats.
News looped the same.
I killed the TV, groaned low. Doesn't add up.
Acetone/peroxide? Easy to get—or magic-make. But magic traces everything. Perp knew; why risk certain arrest to ensure kill?
Key: ignition circle in music box. Others dismantled easy with dispel. 'Ignition' usually 2nd Circle—but twisted to hyper-complex 4th Circle, two dimensions beefed. Like anticipating my dispel.
If I'd known upfront, maybe. But split-second? No time for 6th Circle counter-ritual. Only option: lithography transmutation from old lessons to sustain shattered circle.
Gradual micro-blasts weakened it; incomplete combustion mana condensed to smoke, vented bit by bit. Tough, but doable. Mana depletion would've hit first, but Korean cops faster. Lucky no unique magic needed.
Grabbed phone for worried contacts—remembered first blast trashed it. Better than bedridden boredom; flicked TV back.
Just hitting grudge check. Perp: Twitch viewer, frequented streamer galleries/hate sites, posted smears on me. Privacy? Nah, terrorist gets doxxed.
Banned from other streams for trash-talk. Pathetic grudge for this? World full of psychos. Back then, such scum got heads cracked by street thugs before news hit.
Mind changed. Hope his head stays intact till I see him myself.