11. The Goal
“The comment brigade—that’s the keyword.”
It had barely been an hour since we’d laid eyes on each other, but Cha Eunho, freshly crowned my third precious one and shattering records in the process, was dead serious already dead serious as he insisted we needed to deploy a comment brigade.
“I’m not sure that’s the way to go.”
Honestly, it wasn’t a pitch that exactly tantalized me.
A comment brigade? The term just had this sleazy ring to it.
As I pulled a face, my second precious one, David Kim, chimed in to back Cha’s claim.
“Hmm, noise marketing. It’s not a terrible strategy, Chairwoman. The public generally doesn’t pay much attention to anything new. The issues that snag their gaze are usually the negative ones.”
That drew an immediate counterargument.
“I oppose it, Master.”
The original precious one, Miley, shook her head with a slight grimace. Glaring at David Kim like he was something repulsive had apparently become her daily routine.
“No matter how you dress it up, it’s just smearing Master’s reputation to gain notoriety. It could come back to bite you later.”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
“That’s exactly why there’s no need. Master, you can reach the top just by walking the straight path. Don’t listen to that underhanded nonsense.”
“Well, dismissing a proven marketing technique like that feels a bit off. Wouldn’t it be better if the butler took a more progressive stance and heard out Director Cha’s opinion? Or is that request a bit too challenging for you?”
“As if. I’m just offering advice because I don’t think it’s right. Calling it underhanded like that—Mr. Kim, that’s a strange way to put it. Do you know the term ‘fifth column’? It’s a famous one.”
“Are you accusing me of being a fascist collaborator right now?”
Whoa. Fighting again. Already? Don’t they ever get tired?
How long had it been since they’d made up? And here they were, bickering like kids. My precious ones kept stirring up trouble, and it felt like this hero’s heart was exploding left and right.
Or maybe it was because I was stuck between David and Miley, who were glaring daggers at each other?
Cha, who’d been brimming with gusto moments ago, started losing his nerve, his soul visibly draining as he shrank in on himself.
…This wasn’t helping anyone.
“Alright, both of you—enough. Separate, now.”
I clapped my hands lightly to snap my precious duo out of it, then ordered them to put some distance between themselves. With a sharp finger snap, I jolted Cha back to reality.
“Director Cha.”
“Y-yes, Chairwoman.”
Cha shook off his daze.
I smiled encouragingly at him.
“If you cut straight to the chase like that, people are bound to misunderstand. Why don’t you lay it all out from the top?”
His eyes finally sharpening, Cha glanced around and wheeled over a portable whiteboard from the corner.
Screeech!
Cha wrote “Chairwoman” boldly in the center of the board, cleared his throat, and bowed his head.
“I’ll now present my vision to you, Chairwoman. It’s something I whipped up on the spot, so it might lack polish, but I’ll give it my all. I’ll follow up with a written report later.”
“Sounds good. Don’t get too tense about messing up or anything. It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”
I could always fire you, though.
Cha’s face drained to a sickly blue for a split second before flushing back to normal. His hands trembled faintly as he began scribbling on the board.
“Oh, don’t write ‘Chairwoman.’ Write ‘Seongwon.’ It’s my name. Remember that from now on, okay?”
“Yes, got it!”
“Seongwon” got tacked on next to “Chairwoman.” He could’ve just erased it, but no, my precious ones were a quirky bunch.
Cha circled “Seongwon Chairwoman” with flourish and listed steps 1, 2, and 3 below.
“First step, as I mentioned: noise marketing. Specifically, framing you as a cheater to draw the public’s eyes.”
He scrawled “Comment Brigade” in huge letters next to step 1. It felt so slimy, but fine, I’d hear him out.
“For that, we’ll use the comment brigade I mentioned. I know a few outsourcing firms. Embarrassing to admit, but it’s common in my old industry.”
“…Doesn’t that make me complicit in something shady the moment I agree?”
Cha gave an awkward chuckle at my point.
“…Everyone does this kind of issue-stirring. Haha. Just think of it as marketing expenses.”
“Hmm.”
I glanced at David, who nodded.
“That’s accurate, from what I know. This is actually on the tame side. If you heard about the scandals in finance, Chairwoman, you’d be shocked.”
Is that so? His tone and quickened pulse suggested it wasn’t just hearsay.
Hmm, David Kim. Minus ten points.
“Alright, say that’s step one. What’s next?”
Cha eyed me cautiously before venturing, “Just something I need to know—do you have any game preferences? Or ones you dislike…?”
“No strong preferences, really.”
David flinched at my words for some reason. What was that about?
“That’s a relief. If there were games you loved or hated, it could complicate things.”
Cha sighed in relief.
I shrugged.
“Truth is, I haven’t played enough games to know what I like or hate. I must have tastes, sure, but…”
Cha’s expression turned subtly odd.
“Hmm. I see…”
Don’t look disappointed already.
I grinned.
“But if I need to, I’ll learn. Aiming to be the top broadcaster? That’s just par for the course.”
“Haha, no need to go that far. Tastes should be respected. It won’t matter much anyway—it’s a minor detail. As long as we hook the public’s interest, it’s a win…”
Cha shrugged with an awkward smile.
A attitude that brushed off small discrepancies as irrelevant. He figured the details weren’t make-or-break.
That gave me a faint sense of disconnect.
Cha kept explaining after that—how to deploy the brigade, pick games that’d grab massive attention, blah blah blah.
But honestly, it wasn’t sticking.
I couldn’t help it.
His attitude, his tone, his whole spiel.
It all felt just a bit… off-target.
And then.
“In the end, with these three steps, you should climb to mid-tier streamer status, Chairwoman. That’s a solid success, I’d say.”
Cha’s presentation wrapped up.
He beamed, smug as if he’d done his duty.
Like that was enough.
And that.
Grated on me.
“Hey.”
“Yes, Chair—gasp!”
Cha sucked in a sharp breath.
He’d sensed my aura shift completely.
I leaned in slowly, fixing him with a steady gaze.
Me—the one who’d danced on the edge of death tens of thousands of times in that other world, soaked to the bone in blood and gore. When I turned my killing intent on him, Cha’s legs buckled, and he staggered.
He stared bewildered at his own knees, then lifted his head, terror dawning on his face.
“I’m reiterating this because it seems you brushed it off as hyperbole. I thought maybe not, but from what you just said, it looks like you’re misunderstanding something.”
“Y-yes!”
“Listen well. I’m not just dabbling in streaming for kicks. This isn’t a game. Do I look like I’m splurging on a hobby, hiring people and tossing around billions for fun?”
Cha’s face went ghost-white.
“N-no, absolutely not! I never thought—”
“One more time: my goal is to stand at the pinnacle of internet broadcasting. Not to make a quick buck or play around as a pastime.”
Cha swallowed dryly, the sound booming like thunder in the conference room.
“Th-then…”
“Look around this office—you can tell I have money. Way more than you can imagine. Overwhelmingly more. And I’m the type who’d burn every last won for my goal.”
If money was the point, I’d have lounged on my 27 trillion won till I died. That’s enough to blow forever.
But no—I’d flip the bird at that life.
I’d been thrilled with the 27 trillion because it rewarded my sacrifice.
The amount itself? Worthless. Hell, a few gold bars from the Lord God would’ve gotten a shrug and some curses.
Live off his charity?
That’s still chained to that goddamn world.
“What I mean is.”
I’d proven it myself.
“I’m going to become the world’s number one internet broadcaster.”
Dragged kicking and screaming to that nightmare hellhole, toyed with by the Lord God, battered by the world.
“This is my goal, and I’ll charge toward it, heart pounding till it bursts, from here on out.”
I’d risen on my own two feet and carved through it all.
“I chose you as the navigator for this grand voyage. Hell, you’re already aboard.”
Someone like me doesn’t fizzle out pathetically.
“So if you’re just gonna spout that soft, half-baked crap, get off my ship right now. I don’t need that kind of crew—I need someone who’ll go the distance with me.”
My sharp rebuke hit home; Cha crumpled to his knees, then flat on the floor, vowing tearful loyalty as he repented his folly—wait, why’s he foaming at the mouth?
“H-hey, he’s passed out! Call 911! 911, quick!”
“What kind of nonsense is that? It’s 119 in Korea.”
“This isn’t the time for jokes!”
Thanks to David swiftly calling an ambulance on his smartphone, Director Cha Eunho was safely carted off to the ER.
I scratched the back of my head, watching the ambulance pull away.
“…And he just keeled over.”
I’d only turned up the pressure a notch, figuring his earlier fire meant he could take it. Guess he was frailer than he let on.
Oops. Sorry about that.