If You Don't Love Me, It Doesn't Make Sense
There are people who live lives that ordinary folks can't even imagine. If it isn't because they love me, none of it makes sense. Kang Ichae was one of those people. She had been born into the LK Group—one of Korea's three biggest conglomerates—as a fourth-generation chaebol on the collateral side of the family.
The pocket money she received for New Year's had rocketed into space as stocks, turning her into a multi-billionaire before she even left her teens. Being from the collateral branch meant she sat slightly outside the main inheritance race. So the rich college student chose to mark time by starting a business.
In her sophomore year she founded an MCN and began collecting famous streamers. The bait was simple: settlement rates that made other MCNs look like a joke, zero forced content participation, and total freedom guaranteed. Thanks to that, Black Hole Media ended up packed with mega-streamers who pulled in over ten thousand average viewers.
People called it the ultimate honey pot—the biggest, sweetest one that only skimmed the richest honey. Yet it was a god-given business sense no latecomer could copy. Would streamers willingly let you stick a straw into their money line for free? Every piece had been perfectly orchestrated. Bleeding more money in competition would never turn a profit. That was why no one could poach her artists. It was a flawless fortress.
The most perfect company, built by recruiting the most perfect talent at the most perfect moment with the most perfect terms. That was Black Hole Media. They didn't even accept nobodies. If you wanted in now, you had to be a thoroughly vetted artist.
"She's seriously adorable."
Cute girls, however, were the exception. Kang Ichae was obsessed with anything cute, and cute girls ranked highest on her list. Cute characters came second, followed by cute dolls. Maybe her own height of 175 centimeters made the obsession even stronger.
When Kang Ichae shot up from her seat and walked straight toward her, Kim Haru actually felt a wave of pressure. The height difference between them was a full thirty-five centimeters—enough that even if you balanced a thirty-centimeter ruler on Haru's head, there would still be room to spare.
"Deputy Yoon was confident for a reason. Nice to meet you. I'm Kang Ichae, CEO of Black Hole Media. Want a hug to celebrate?"
She had already spread her arms before finishing the question and pulled Haru into an embrace before the sentence even ended. Caught off guard, Haru was startled by the unexpected weight of the body pressing down on top of her head. Was she part Westerner? Everything about Kang Ichae was long and oversized.
"I hope this turns into a wonderful connection."
After the greeting, the restaurant's full-course service began. Haru found the flavors strangely unfamiliar. She also figured conversation would be impossible. The woman across from her was a fourth-generation chaebol and owner of a company with thousands of billions in revenue, living a life in her twenties that Haru had never even dreamed of. What common ground could they possibly have?
That's what she had thought—until—
"Bomb robot, activating!"
Surprisingly, there was one topic that bridged their worlds. Games.
Kang Ichae might have been a chaebol CEO from another dimension, but her deep interest in internet broadcasting was exactly why she had founded her company in the first place. A ten-year veteran top-tier streamer who began with card games and settled into variety gaming. A giant in the streaming world with over fifteen thousand average viewers and two million YouTube subscribers.
Once the conversation turned to bomb robots, the words started flowing. It was an incredibly bizarre sight.
Three women in their twenties. One tall and stunning enough to pass for a Western model, dripping in luxury brands. One in a plain business suit. And one tiny girl with a childlike face. The three of them were happily chatting about an ultra-male-oriented streamer whose audience was ninety-eight percent men...
Was a scene like this even allowed?
The setting itself was off. In this world there are places that exist purely to be expensive. Food ten times pricier even if it isn't ten times more delicious. Buildings ten times more costly even if they aren't ten times more comfortable. Ultra-luxury goods that toss cost-performance out the window just so their owners can feel superior for consuming what others cannot.
The most expensive restaurant in Seoul, the kind that doesn't even open reservations to regular people. Haru shoveled ingredients with bizarre aromas and textures into her mouth without understanding what they were supposed to taste like, all while the conversation revolved around internet streaming. The whole thing was surreal. If someone filmed it, the footage would probably become a horror story on its own.
After that bizarre meal and conversation, Haru was handed the contract. The terms were so shocking she was genuinely stunned.
"If you give this much away, what's left for the company?"
"You'll be left, Haru."
It was a personalized, special contract for Kim Haru that went one step beyond even Black Hole Media's already industry-best treatment. The reason for such outrageous terms was simple.
She's cute.
Kang Ichae loved cute things.
Floor noise is terrifying enough to drive people to murder. That's why a proper soundproof booth is essential if you want to stream seriously.
Is it really okay for things to turn out like this?
Soundproof booths cost millions of won. My plan had been to stream as carefully as possible until the settlement money started coming in. But everything that happened after I signed with Black Hole Media was genuinely shocking.
"Oh my god. You call this a place where people live? Isn't this a warehouse?"
Black Hole Media owned several properties. One of them happened to be a house with a soundproof booth already installed. They offered to rent the currently vacant unit to me. Everything was moving so fast it made my head spin, but it was true that my current place had a lot of problems.
Like I mentioned before, my rent is only 150,000 won. And it's in Seoul. People with a vague idea of how the world works would think: Wow, how tiny must that room be! People who actually understand the world would think: Even goshiwons cost over 200,000 won these days—how on earth did you find a room for 150,000?
The answer was the women's welfare system. Thanks to the housing support program for single women, I was living in a place that at least resembled an actual home.
Yoon Juhee hadn't only introduced me to CEO Kang Ichae—she had also clearly explained my situation. As a result, it was arranged that I would live in one of the company's properties.
All I owned was my computer and the clothes Deputy Yoon had bought me. Everything else was either attached to the old house or not worth the effort of moving. So as soon as the offer came up, we decided to move today.
CEO Kang Ichae tagged along, saying she wanted to watch. The moment she saw the place I used to live, she jumped back in surprise and wore the exact expression of someone who had been dropped into another world.
This is a house? Not a warehouse? My dressing room is more than twice this size. (She never actually said that. It's just my imagination.)
"Haru, you're twenty-three, right? How do you only have this much luggage?"
"I was living a minimalist lifestyle."
Minimalism (forced). At least it made moving this easy. Good is good.
"I'll take even better care of you!"
CEO Kang Ichae hugged me with a strangely pitying look on her face. But honestly, I didn't think it was possible to take care of me more than that contract already did. Any more and the company would stop being a company and turn into a charity.
The CEO might be a weird eccentric, but she seemed to have picked an excellent company. Industry-best treatment. There was no way any contract could be better than this. And they were even providing a house with a built-in soundproof booth? The company welfare was top-tier.
"Just pay 200,000 won a month for rent. You can manage that, right?"
"Excuse me?"
After hauling my stuff over and looking around the new place, hearing that line suddenly made me extremely flustered.
Isn't this over forty pyeong?
Five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a living room, and a fully equipped kitchen. One room had the soundproof booth installed, and all the furniture was already there. Refrigerator, kimchi fridge, air conditioner, washer, dryer, dishwasher—everything you could want. Just the electricity bill alone would probably run 200,000 won.
The 200,000 won rent was purely nominal. An accounting gesture so they could say it wasn't completely free? I didn't know how the company operated, but a house like this would normally require a huge deposit and at least two million won a month in rent, plus separate maintenance fees. Lumping it all into 200,000 won rent... I couldn't even begin to guess how badly they wanted to treat me well.
"Deputy Yoon, you're not selling me off to some crime scene, right? Like I have to entertain suspicious old men every night?"
"Have you lost your mind? What exactly are you imagining?"
News. Social affairs section?
"Then living in a place like this for only 200,000 won a month doesn't make any sense."
This was completely different from Peace Games depositing a salary into my account. As long as the contract didn't end, every month I lived here I would be gaining two to three million won in pure benefit.
"I told you I'd get you the best contract possible."
"This isn't the best—it's a scam."
"CEO Kang Ichae is a famous collector of beautiful girls."
Hearing the term "beautiful girl" come out of a real person's mouth was slightly alarming.
"Some people have even received sports cars as gifts, so don't feel too burdened."
What kind of sponsorship is this?
It was genuinely fortunate that CEO Kang Ichae was a woman. If she had been a man, the rumors would have been endless.
"It's between the company president and her artist. I just need to work hard and repay the favor."
The settlement ratio gave me goosebumps, but it was true that the more I earned, the more the company earned too. Just as Deputy Yoon said, the only way forward was to stream well and pay them back.
"I have an evening schedule, so I'll head out now. Do you like the new place?"
"I'll pledge my lifelong loyalty to the president! Loyalty!"
I gave the president a crisp salute as she left the accommodation.
Loyalty, loyalty! Loy-loyalty!