The Apology Broadcast
There's nothing pleasant about suddenly being suspected and attacked by strangers.
If you actually enjoyed that, you'd have to be a hardcore masochist.
But they say every crisis is an opportunity.
If this controversy hadn't blown up, I never would've pulled in this many viewers.
So.
Apology Broadcast Regarding the Alt Account Controversy
Let's pour some oil on this burning house.
The thumbnail was a black background with white text in an old-fashioned font that read: I have something to say.
I set the chat to follow-only mode for three days.
Close Up was a platform that had only opened yesterday. Unless you were an admin with special privileges, you couldn't type in chat at all.
With the viewers effectively gagged, the numbers climbed smoothly.
One thousand in thirty minutes.
Well, I guess.
Since I'm such a tiny hako nobody, it wasn't like those huge celebrity scandals where the chat explodes with thousands of people at once.
Still, it was fine.
Better than yesterday's seven hundred, right?
I turned off follow-only mode.
I put up a green chroma key on screen.
It's basically the national rule in internet broadcasting.
When you're apologizing, 1. stand in front of a green chroma key and 2. wear a suit.
I pulled up the virtual avatar of dog Haru that had been on for the entire broadcast yesterday.
"The incident began yesterday. It was June 1st, 2026, during the I Am Hero broadcast of streamer Kim Haru."
"The stream title at the time was 'First Time Playing Amh, Actual Middle School Girl Newbie, Will Turn On Cam If We Hit 500 Viewers.'"
"As the broadcast continued, various internet forums began boiling over with accusations. They claimed there was no way this was a first-time performance, that it had to be an alt account, that I was clumsily pretending to be a newbie."
"I'm sorry for being so good at the game that I caused all of you to have these misunderstandings and false accusations!"
I bowed deeply in apology.
The dog Haru avatar bowed its head too.
Since the suit was just drawn over it in Paint, it didn't move properly. The result was this bizarre scene where its neck looked broken.
"Alright, today's content is this: Is Kim Haru really a gaming genius? Let's thoroughly investigate the alt account controversy."
I permanently banned the overly heated, overly immersed viewers and pulled out the prepared content.
Of course.
Proving I don't have a main account—an alibi for its nonexistence—was impossible.
Even if I contacted the game company and got an official reply saying there was only one account under my name,
they'd just say I made it under someone else's name, used a proxy player, or shared the account.
This kind of invincible logic can't be refuted.
Proving I didn't have a main account was impossible.
However.
"We can at least test whether I really have talent for games or not."
Just like running a benchmark on a computer.
Just like converting a machine's performance into a numerical score.
There are websites that can convert human performance into scores too.
There are even sites that show you where you rank statistically among all humans.
"Everyone's done this before, right? Let's start with a reaction time test."
If I fiddled with weird settings for too long, it would only raise more suspicion.
I opened a reaction time test without touching any settings.
A simple test where the screen changes from red to green and you just click the mouse.
[118 ms]
[Click to continue]
[125 ms]
[Click to continue]
[97 ms]
[Click to continue]
[106 ms]
[Click to continue]
[114 ms]
[Average of 5 attempts: 112ms]
[Top 0%]
Ah.
I realized it one beat too late.
Come to think of it, I didn't turn on the handcam.
"Should we go keyboard shopping together when the stream ends today?"
Promising them a future activity, I turned on the handcam this time and ran the test again.
Once again I recorded an average around 116ms and perfectly completed the reaction time test.
"The thing I got suspected for the most was that my aim was too clean, right? We can just do an aim trainer, correct?"
The aim trainer was a minigame and training tool that measured how good a user's mouse tracking and flicking skills were.
Hundreds of random targets would appear on screen and you had to aim and click to destroy them.
If you failed to destroy one you'd take damage, and after three failures the run would end.
In front of the buzzing chat, I picked up the mouse.
"Here I go."
The first thirty seconds were ridiculously easy.
Around this point I started to really feel it—that I was good at games, that my raw human stats were just high.
I cleared the so-called first wall in the 50-second range without much trouble.
Passing one minute and shooting down targets that were getting faster and faster wasn't difficult either.
I felt like a gunslinger from the Wild West as I moved the mouse faster and faster.
After passing two minutes the mood in chat had completely flipped to acceptance. That's when I suddenly realized something.
I'm reading the chat while doing the aim trainer?
Is this even a normal human body?
After three minutes the required click speed skyrocketed.
Even I couldn't look at the chat anymore.
Four minutes. I fell into a trance.
It felt like there was nothing in the world except the targets and me.
Then at five minutes, my physical issue finally surfaced.
My eyes, brain, and hands—none of them lacked performance.
But my durability was the problem. Because I'd moved my hands too aggressively, the inside of my joints were throbbing.
"Ouch... My hand hurts..."
A glass cannon.
Yeah. This body's performance is incredible,
but it looks like it only lacks in one area: durability.
"Ugh."