If I Slack Off, Coffee's on Me

It was a message posted on OnAiri, one of the country's two major live-streaming platforms.

I needed to say something, but all that escaped my throat was a deflated sigh.

"Ha."

Blinking blankly at the screen, I quietly shut down the game.

"Well, break's over. Guess I should get back to studying."

Muttering under my breath, I stole a glance at the chat window.

Only then did I remember what I had set as my stream title.

Ah.

I briefly contemplated pretending I hadn't seen it, but finally opened my mouth.

"...Just pick a franchise that has a branch near you."

A promise written in a title was still a promise. A man had to keep his word.

"I'll open an open-chat room..."

With a bitter taste in my mouth, I sent over a mobile gift coupon. An iced Americano, of course.

"Yep. Thanks."

After that brief exchange, I bent my head back over my notes. He wouldn't just grab a free coffee and bounce, right? I wondered, my thoughts already straying. If my mind was wandering like this, could I really call it studying? Who cared? I had finally landed my very first regular viewer!

While my attention drifted, my phone alarm buzzed, signaling that my forty-minute study session was officially over. Had they dropped another message in chat? My eyes immediately darted toward the window.

Nothing new. And the viewer count was right back where it started.

"Ah, damn it..."

Anonymity was a frightening thing. Someone could snatch a free cup of coffee and vanish into the ether, leaving you with zero clues about who they even were.

Five days dragged on like that. Did I lack the basic human capacity to learn? No! There was no way. All the way through high school, I had consistently ranked near the top of my class.

Then why have I already sent out three coupons?

Three whole cups of coffee. I had turned on the stream to make a little cash while studying, yet my balance sheet was deep in the red. Even if every single one had been a bare-bones Americano, it was impossible not to feel robbed.

If handing out all those coffees had at least netted me some actual viewers, that would have been fine. Even one or two regulars would have felt like an accomplishment. But the counter remained stubbornly frozen.

They had simply gulped down their free drinks and bolted.

Was the entire premise of bribing viewers with money doomed from the start?

How did other people build an audience? Curious, I browsed through a few other study streams, focusing on the channels pulling in large crowds. I took a close look at their thumbnails: a white man and woman, an Asian man and woman, and a Black woman. Each of those five channels had hundreds of viewers tuned in.

"...Because they're good-looking?"

Polished, attractive people sat in front of their webcams, neatly dressed. I looked down at my own outfit: a stretched-out white undershirt and baggy soccer shorts.

Then again, my camera doesn't even show my face. Does what I wear even matter?

There was no way to know for sure. Still, surely sprucing myself up was better than doing nothing, wasn't it?

"Not that I'm desperate to inflate my viewer count or anything... Right, it's just that sitting here by myself makes me want to boot up games all the time. Yeah, that's all it is."

Dressing properly would impose some much-needed discipline. It definitely wasn't out of wounded pride. Absolutely not.

With my rationalization firmly in place, I dragged every single piece of clothing out of my closet—around a dozen tops and five pairs of pants. I tried them on one by one, snapped photos of each combination, and fired them off to my older sister.

Sure enough, my phone rang seconds later.

"Pick some outfits for me. Just put together, like, three decent combinations."

"...Are you going on a date or something?"

"Nothing like that. Just pick something that makes me look presentable."

"Hmm. Really?"

"Stop grilling me like a neighborhood auntie."

"Look at this little punk asking for a favor with an attitude like that."

"Thanks, Noona!!"

I hung up before she could lay into me and searched online for a few affordable button-down shirts, placing an order right away. A simple pair of slacks paired with a clean shirt was the definition of neat. Standing up, I inspected my reflection in the mirror. Aside from looking a bit worn down after two years in the military, I wasn't half bad.

"Seriously, that battalion commander..."

My hair, buzzed down to the scalp ten days before discharge just because the division commander was visiting, was still an eyesore. Having grown out into an awkward, bristly fuzz, it looked stiff and unnatural. Well, nothing could be done about that now; there was no point dwelling on what I couldn't fix overnight.

I walked over to my desk. An L-shaped bookshelf framed the surface from top to side. Reaching for the webcam that had previously pointed at the back of my head, I repositioned it at the corner of the desk, angling the lens so it captured my seated posture along with my face. Just setting the camera there exerted a strange pressure, even though I wasn't currently streaming. Glancing at the preview on my broadcast software, I saw myself frozen in an awkward posture.

"Guess this might actually work."

Showing my face felt a bit uncomfortable, but I brushed the hesitation aside. What was there to be squeamish about? It wasn't like a stadium full of people was watching. A quick trip to the convenience store exposed me to more people than my stream had seen all month. I locked the camera angle in place and tidied up the desk.

I hadn't expected things to change overnight. A whole month of staring at a flat zero ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had beaten down any wild optimism. Yet the very next day, the adjustment yielded results.

When I glanced over during my scheduled break, an actual, legitimate question was waiting for me. Up until now, every message I had received had been utterly transactional:

People who cared about nothing except mooching free refreshments. After enduring endless demands like that, seeing a normal question felt surreal.

"Ahem."

My heart fluttering slightly, I cleared my throat.

"I'm studying for the TOEIC."

I waited for a reaction, but the chat stayed silent. Had they not heard me because they were studying too? With that thought, I typed into the box myself.

My yellow text appeared on screen, and my eyes naturally wandered toward the viewer count.

I had only dared to hope for one. Yet four whole people were in the room! A cheer threatened to burst from my chest, but I forced it down. Four viewers? I had reached that milestone once before; it was merely matching my previous all-time peak. To hide the involuntary twitch of my grinning lips, I abruptly stood up, pretending I needed to fetch some water.

Once my break concluded, I fought to maintain my composure. Past experience had taught me that trying too hard the moment a few people dropped by only scared them away. I wrestled with terrible grammar rules and crammed even more dreadful vocabulary ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lists into my brain for hours. By the time my study day drew to a close, my viewer count had shattered its previous record.

More than three times as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠many. A surge exceeding three hundred percent? You couldn't call it anything less than an explosive rally.

"Whew. That's all for today," I announced, beginning to pack up my study materials.

As I stacked my scrap paper and tucked my pens away, my mind raced. So showing my face really does make that much of a difference compared to just showing my back? I have no idea what my face looks like when I'm locked in, though... Well, either way, looks like I'm locked into studying without any excuses starting tomorrow.

While those thoughts bounced around my head, a new message rolled in.

"Thank you. Were you studying too, Unbal?"

No immediate reply came back. Domestic platforms usually felt snappy, but maybe Meetube had a bit of stream delay? By the time I slotted my textbooks back onto the shelf, the next response finally appeared.

"Ah, I see. I need to get that certification at some point too."

While I answered, another message popped up.

"Ye-yes. I'm Korean."

Was this the joy of audience interaction? For a second, I felt like a genuine content creator. The conversation flowed for a few more minutes until dinner rolled around, prompting me to wrap up the broadcast.

"Feels like I'm actually getting somewhere," I chuckled, rubbing my short, bristly hair.

Just showing my face had triggered such a massive shift. Feeling thoroughly accomplished, I picked out tomorrow's outfit. If turning the camera around was all it took to produce results like this, I wanted to keep the momentum going.

One day bled into the next, and another week flew past in a blur. By the third week of August, my post-study desk-clearing routine had become the cue for chat to come alive.

Replying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to each comment one by one, I checked the streaming software.

In just one week, the viewership had nearly tripled again. Steady progress in my books every day, steady growth in my audience every day, and the deep satisfaction of productive days stacking up. In high spirits, I smiled and kept the conversation going.

"I'm planning to do something with my hair once it grows out a little more. Isn't it still way too short right now?"

Even with nearly forty people in the room, only five or six actively chatted. I had already memorized the handles of the ones who showed up regularly. Just as I was about to call it a night, a question popped up on screen.

She addressed me by my channel handle, Jung River.

"What kind of problem is it? Is it really okay to talk about that here?"

Before worrying about whether I had any credentials to offer life advice, my first thought was whether an open broadcast was an appropriate venue. With study time over and idle chatter underway, the viewer count had quietly climbed to fifty. In school terms, that was like gathering my entire homeroom alongside the class next door to air out personal grievances.

"Fair point. What's on your mind?"

"I play games, yeah... but why bring up games all of a sudden?"

The viewer named Doa went quiet for a moment. I spent the next few minutes fielding questions from other people until a chunky paragraph finally appeared in chat.

Several more lines followed in rapid succession. She explained that she was only trying to stop him out of genuine concern, but he treated her worry like nagging control, which left her feeling hurt and resentful—a loooong grievances list detailing their friction.

"First of all... what game is it?"

How could I offer any advice about a game without knowing what game it was? Did she think all video games were identical?

One title immediately sprang to mind: Neo Chronicle. One of my close friends played it religiously. Before I could catch myself, the phrase tumbled out of my mouth.

"Ah~ Teulgeo Revenge?"

It was a term that friend practically lived by. When I first heard it, I hadn't understood what it meant and had to ask. It was a nasty portmanteau: 'Teul-ttak' for old geezers, 'Geo-ji' for paupers, and 'Revenge.' Even I knew what Revenge was—a massive open-world siege game requiring astronomical amounts of real-money spending to stay relevant.

'Why the hell did I ever start playing this damn game meant for broke old farts acting like big shots?!'

My memory supplied even more of his furious tirades.

'Fucking piece of shit dead game! It has zero originality, just a copy-paste ripoff, what kind of "development philosophy" does it even have?! Seriously makes me sick!'

He used to jump up and down in absolute fury right in front of me, even though I knew nothing about the game. Yet the moment summer or winter break rolled around, he would inevitably try to drag me in, hyping up some 'unprecedented anniversary event.' Begging someone to join a game you spent all day cursing made zero sense.

Regardless, the priority right now was this girl's dilemma.

"If it's that game, it sounds pretty serious."

"A friend of mine knows that game inside out, and I've literally never heard a single good thing about it."

I gave her the most sincere, thoughtful advice I could muster, suggesting healthier alternatives, games with low financial barriers, and single-match session games that didn't demand an endless grind.

However, there was one crucial detail I had overlooked.

Gather any five people together, and at least one of them is bound to be a complete idiot. In any group the size of a standard classroom, you are guaranteed to find someone who lives for spreading gossip and someone who runs to tattle to the teacher over the most trivial nonsense.

My stream had quietly gathered enough people to pack two entire classrooms.

And in modern society, secrets simply do not exist.