A Certain Video

One video. Its beginning had been modest, but its ending was glorious enough to draw every curse of disbelief imaginable.

Viewer numbers that had started at one million concurrent viewers climbed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to an absurd twenty million by the time of the finals.

It was a figure where it would be no exaggeration to say that every intelligent race in the entire Wyrod Dimension had taken an interest.

"Third Elder! The ads! What about the ad deals!"

"Every contract signed right before the finals closed at two hundred thousand gold coins a pop!"

"Now, hold on. So if we total that up..."

"It breaks one million gold coins! One million gold!"

"W-wahahahaha! We're rich! We're rich now! This is insane! Elsie! Did you hear that!"

And all that near-madness of passion came back to us as devastating sums of cold, hard cash.

The elders of the Black Magic Tower and the Tower Master himself threw dignity to the wind and went bouncing around the halls like children.

The five developers of the Blizzard Guild were no better — commentating one moment, tearing their clothes loose and howling the next.

If anything, the whole run of this event had been a festival for everyone — blazing hot and absolutely magnificent.

It's done.

Now everyone in the Wyrod Dimension knew the name Soul Net.

Everyone knew War Era 2, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everywhere people were talking about Soul Net's games and Soul World.

There had been plenty of razor-edge moments and precarious scrapes along the way, but in the end, we had made it here.

And yet I was still not satisfied.

Just like with communities.

The internet isn't an ecosystem where one man can play both drum and janggu all by himself.

I am only the administrator.

The true content was never me.

It is something the masses create.

"And now, we will proceed with the presentation of the trophy and prize money to our champion, Player Cargam!"

And I had resolved to make my declaration to all of the Wyrod Dimension from the very center of the hottest, most brightly burning stage in existence — the one every eye was fixed upon.

Splendid illusion magic crackled and bloomed across the air.

Cargam, with his long graceful ears, was already choking up.

Of course he was.

"Event" or not, this had never been a mere game to the elves of Puaroda.

It had been a virtual war that dredged up the memories of the Tooth War — a matter of honor and pride, fought for all to see.

Some might scoff — it's only a game, what honor, what pride? But judging by Earth's own history, where people had been killed over soccer, I knew for certain that this victory would work as a cathartic release not just for Cargam, but for every elf alive.

"A game shines all the brighter thanks to its great players! Once again, my deepest respects to our champion, Player Cargam!"

I handed Cargam the golden trophy and the prize.

Well. He was of a long-lived race, so money was hardly his concern — but this was no mere purse.

I turned and presented Cargam to the crowd for all the world to see.

Peak viewership had been slowly falling since the finals, but before a live broadcast still watched by more than ten million people, and an ocean of spectators packed into the arena, Cargam stepped forward with a trembling voice.

"Now then — a word from our champion, please!"

At my words, Cargam wiped away his tears and let out a soft chuckle.

The comment section had descended into utter chaos, and Cargam — quite literally under the gaze of an entire dimension — delivered his remarks.

"It is merely entertainment. I believe entertainment should remain entertainment. However! That is not to say that today's victory was without meaning. It was a stage upon which the Guardians of the Tree could display the depth of our strategic judgment and knowledge. I consider it a place where we proved, before all the world, just how strong we are!"

With that, Cargam seized the trophy in one hand and thrust it high into the air.

"This is a victory blessed by the Mother Tree herself! I return all glory to Her Majesty the Queen and to the Mother Tree! Guardians of the Tree — may you endure forever!"

Thunderous applause erupted like a rolling storm.

I stood at his side, wearing a contented smile.

It's done.

I had no idea how the Kingdom of Puaroda would react, but I figured that one line had just injected a lethal dose of a dopamine-and-elf-pride cocktail straight into the national bloodstream.

Reactions like "Our whole race is dying, delete the game! Sadge!" would never appear again.

Player Cargam.

Prettier than sin.

"And also. I wish to offer my gratitude to the Black Magic Tower for preparing this stage, to the leader of the human empire of Valrod, and above all to the one and only genius who, with brilliance never before seen nor ever to be seen again, developed magic that brought joy to an entire dimension — Lord Elsie Bwenner."

There I was, still basking in my contented little smile, when —

Out of nowhere, entirely unscripted, Player Cargam walked straight up to me, took my hand, and raised it high into the air.

In an instant, the attention of the live broadcast and every spectator in the venue converged on me alone.

Uh oh.

Why is this happening to me.

"Long live Elsie Bwenner!"

"May the creator of Soul Net live forever!"

The venue roared itself hoarse.

The comment section's feverish delirium rolled on and on.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Hermaphrodite?

Futanari?

Where the hell were these bastards churning out yet another unhinged meme from?

I wanted to sit down and write a rebuttal post right then and there, but this was decidedly not the moment.

Slowly, I stepped forward into the storm of applause.

It felt like I was stealing Cargam's spotlight, sure, but still.

The man himself had called me out on stage, so it should be fine.

"Soul Net belongs to all of you! It is no longer simply a community! No longer just games! Those of you who would build businesses on Soul Net! Those of you carrying bold ideas of your own! All of you, come find us at the Black Magic Tower! I am merely an administrator! You create it! You enjoy it! That — is Soul Net!"

And with that, I delivered the most perfectly timed advertisement at the most perfectly timed moment.

Recruiting internet operators.

Until now, everything had run under my hand, under the Black Magic Tower's command.

But from this moment on, that would no longer be the case.

People brimming with all manner of ideas and imagination would found their own internet ventures and run them, and the ecosystem would grow vaster and more diverse with every passing day.

This was not the end.

Rather, it was merely the dawn of Soul Net's golden age.

That much I believed, without a shred of doubt.

"You won't be hearing any more of that 'delete the game' nonsense. Her Majesty the Queen has personally guaranteed it. So rest easy."

"In exchange, we want matches held far more often. Every last dwarf beneath the mountains is waiting for them!"

"Squeeek! We want a Black Magic Tower raised in Korwell territory. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to trudge all the way to human lands just to buy Mana Fruit?"

"Could you perhaps establish a Black Magic Tower branch in our Rondaim Kingdom as well? We will cover the construction costs ourselves."

"Cover the costs? Ha! Puaroda will fund the branch's construction entirely from our own coffers. Soul Net will only flourish from here on. We Guardians of the Tree have wealth to spare — unlike a certain someone who spends his days chipping rocks out of the dirt."

All of this in the wake of Cargam's absurd reverse-sweep championship event.

The Tower Master and I had accepted a joint invitation from Rondaim, Korwell, and Puaroda, and now we sat together once more in the imperial palace of the Valrod Empire — the great neutral ground.

And what the three nations wanted amounted to a single thing.

More of War Era 2.

In other words: they wanted esports.

And they weren't content to stop at merely selling War Era 2, either.

"Then let us amend the terms. Rondaim will fund the construction of the Black Magic Tower branch free of charge as well. We'll throw in magnificent statuary and interior craftsmanship besides. Unlike those long-eared fops fiddling with their leaves, we actually possess a sense of aesthetics."

"Puaroda's finest artisans shall build it! Unlike the bearded ones who do nothing but dig, we will demonstrate that the aesthetic sensibility of the Guardians of the Tree is a far loftier thing indeed!"

"Squeeek! Anywhere within Korwell's borders will serve. By the Great Warchief's own decree, we shall proclaim it neutral ground where no soul may raise a blade. And naturally — construction costs and labor will be borne in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠full by us orcs. Er... do not expect much in the way of aesthetics. We can provide monster hides, if that helps."

Competition bred competition, and in the end, the founding of Black Magic Tower branches in Rondaim, Puaroda, and Korwell was settled.

But that was all secondary.

The real prize was tilling the soil of esports properly.

All those countless trial-and-errors the man once called the father of Korean esports had been forced to endure.

The thankless struggles. The contemptuous stares. The dismissive sneers of people who thought games were beneath them.

The mountains of structural problems and the bloated, mismanaged operations — at least on my watch, none of it would be repeated.

"We will establish a regular league. One league per race. A Human League. A Puaroda League. A Rondaim League. And a Korwell League. Then, once a year, we gather the top four teams from each league and hold a grand final to crown the strongest in the Wyrod Dimension — just as we did in this event."

At my words, the dwarf, the elf, and the orc all laughed at once.

Every face at the table wore an expression that said, this is going to be so much fun.

"Excellent! Let's have it, then!"

"There must be no political harassment of opposing players, and no artificial meddling from outside."

"You needn't worry yourselves on that count."

Elf, dwarf, and orc looked at one another and smiled.

"Anyone foolish enough to try such a thing will find it a political incident within the hour."

He had a point.

On this front, at least, no supervision was required.

With three nations watching each other that jealously, fairness practically guaranteed itself.

"Additionally, the basic treatment and public perception of players and league teams must be improved. The notion that they're mere slackers frittering away at games while somehow getting paid has to go. I ask that you treat players as practitioners of a proper profession."

"That, too, you needn't worry about. Given the reverence Cargam commands in Puaroda these days, I doubt a single soul would dare mock him as 'just an entertainer.'"

Player Cargam.

That devastatingly beautiful elf.

Thanks to that one man, esports was getting its start with its very first button fastened flawlessly.

From there, the discussion of the War Era 2 league carried on and on — long, exhaustive negotiations with the nonhuman delegations of Rondaim, Puaroda, and Korwell.

Races that had once approached games with more contempt than anyone, only to be captured by their fun and transformed into their most passionate patrons.

Truly, these were happy moments.

"As for the league itself — once our tower branches are complete, we will dispatch personnel to each region and begin building the framework in earnest."

"Yes! No need to rush! We're happy to take our time, so long as we get to watch the games in a proper setting!"

"Squeeek! This time, victory shall be ours!"

"Next tournament, the dwarves will take the crown!"

The delegations vanished through their teleportation magic circles, each wearing a contented smile.

After the marathon negotiation, the Tower Master and I dragged our exhausted bodies to a café near the imperial palace, ordered a cup of tea apiece, drained them, and allowed ourselves a short respite.

"We've come a long way from the days when all you could download was text and images — to novels. To Soul World. And now, games. Hahahaha! Did you ever imagine it would grow this large, Elsie?"

"I didn't. But we mustn't be satisfied here."

"That saying of yours. Grow complacent, and you're culled. As it happens, that's precisely what I came to ask about. Thanks to that speech of yours, the community's reaction right now is anything but ordinary."

"The galleries are on fire, aren't they?"

"They are."

The public call for Soul Net operators.

Hearing that announcement, anyone with a scrap of an idea was surely hurling themselves headlong into entrepreneurship at this very moment.

Soul Net made money.

Soul Net thrived.

Now that we had proven both beyond any shadow of doubt, it was only natural — perfectly natural — that the world's attention would pour in.

"What every last gallery user wants to know is this, Elsie. After the triumph of Soul World and the games — what comes next?"

"Well. Isn't the direction fairly obvious by now?"

"Video, you mean?"

"Video. The next jackpot business — the one that produces another historic success story — will come out of that."

"Thought as much? Haha! I can't wait to see what ideas come knocking on Soul Net's door."

Personal livestreaming.

The birth of the profession of the internet broadcaster.

And the birth of a livelihood built on nothing but uploading videos.

Those two things were all but inevitable now.

And here lay the beautiful part:

I no longer had to sweat over every detail, building each business from the ground up with my own two hands.

Just as the game industry itself had been resurrected by the record-shattering success of Doom's Hell Slayer and War Era 2 —

Soul Net's content, too, was entering an age where the users themselves, and not I, would forge it from their own ideas.

"Before long. And that success will flow straight back to us. Because we will hold our position as the administrators of the ecosystem. So let's wait, calm and patient."

I said so, and drained the last of my tea.

Then the Tower Master and I returned to the tower.

Watching countless business proposals and ideas begin to sprout, I wrestled down my anticipation and excitement, patient — waiting, and waiting again.

Waiting for the next jackpot content to be born.