Suit Apology

At first glance, the chat seemed cleanly divided into two camps.

The first camp was made up of active Neo Chronicle players.

The second camp consisted of spectators relentlessly mocking the Neo Chronicle crowd.

For all intents and purposes, it looked like only those two factions existed. I was dead certain of it—right up until the moment something felt terribly off. The realization struck me precisely when I noticed the genuine barrage of angry insults from actual Neo Chronicle players had started to thin out.

One particular line jumped out at me. More specifically, the handle of the person sending it.

'RichBoy? Wait... what?'

An odd, prickly sensation stirred in the back of my mind. I couldn't articulate what was wrong, but something smelled distinctly counterfeit. Without hesitation, I opened the search bar in the moderation panel and filtered by his username. I needed to see this guy's full comment history.

Even two minutes ago, RichBoy had been bashing Neo Chronicle players. But when I scrolled back just one minute earlier, the tone flipped completely.

A mild wave of nausea rolled through my stomach as the log stared back at me.

'What in the world am I even looking at?'

I scrutinized the records further. He had been cursing me out relentlessly just moments earlier. And now he was casually jumping ship to play both sides? The flustered panic that had gripped me all afternoon cooled off in a matter of seconds. The angry comments condemning me, which I thought were a tidal wave of righteous gamer fury, suddenly looked very different under the light.

Out of these thousands of people, how many genuinely cared about receiving an apology from me? For a minute or two, the actual players' comments had been completely drowned out, only to resurface in sporadic trickles. Had the quiet ones suddenly found their voices? No. That wasn't it at all.

I had been watching this manic stream of text fly past for over two hours. At the start, I genuinely believed everyone was furious. But now?

'There might barely be any angry people here at all.'

I narrowed my eyes and examined the feed. Beneath the aggressive rhetoric, unmistakable undertones of playful trolling peeked through every line. Was it just my imagination? Had getting flamed for hours on end finally broken my brain? I didn't think so. Out of nearly five thousand people crammed into my room, at least a thousand—perhaps even half—had just wandered in for the spectacle. Why anyone would choose to watch a dumpster fire of a broadcast was beyond me, just as I couldn't fathom why someone would ping-pong between opposing sides in the chat.

'They just want to see how I react.'

I had spent the last two hours begging for understanding, desperate to appease their wrath. To the casual onlookers, had my frantic, stammering distress been prime entertainment all along?

I unscrewed my tumbler and gulped down cold water until it ran empty. Setting the metal cup down with a solid thud, I grabbed my webcam and firmly wedged it back onto the top of my monitor. It tilted slightly to the left, but I couldn't care less.

“Everyone,” I said, and waited.

I held my breath until the chat caught up with my voice. Counting ten seconds silently in my head, new lines began trickling into the flood of copy-pasted spam.

Those few lines were direct reactions to my spoken words. They accounted for barely ten percent of the total volume. Whether they were legitimately mad, hanging around for fun, or just dropping by to throw fuel on someone else's fire, it didn't matter. Responding meant they were willing to engage in a conversation. Even if their only motive was to see what nonsense I would babble next, it meant they were at least listening.

“I think I've taken plenty of abuse for one day,” I said evenly. “Regardless, to everyone who genuinely loves Neo Chronicle, I want to say I'm sorry once again.”

Predictably, the chat exploded with accusations: 'Run,' 'He's fleeing,' 'Ending stream already?'

Of course, I had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

“End the stream? No chance. I'm never running away.” I planted my flag firmly and pressed on. “When friction happens—whether I messed up or whatever the case is—you have to patch it up right then and there, don't you?”

A flurry of confused questions asked what I planned to do. As expected, mindless spam still dominated the screen, but my eyes stayed glued to the minority peeking between the cracks. My words were directed strictly at those engaging with me.

I had briefly wondered if I needed to convince every single person in the room, but the truth was simple: people don't even listen to their own mothers. They can't even keep the resolutions they make for themselves. Human beings simply aren't wired to reshape their behavior just because a stranger tells them to. Lord knows I was guilty of that myself. So, I would focus exclusively on the ones willing to hear me out.

“Kneeling apology? Yeah, we're skipping that. Stop making absurd demands. It's true I spoke carelessly without knowing anything, but this doesn't warrant that kind of drama.”

Recalling the single criticism that had stubbornly stuck in my craw all day, I continued.

“Out of all the complaints from Neo Chronicle players, the one I saw the most was: 'Have you even played it?' That's what you kept saying, right?”

I minimized my broadcasting software, opened a browser window, and typed Neo Chronicle into the search engine.

“I'll play it myself. I'll play it firsthand and evaluate it again from scratch.”

The moment the official homepage loaded, a massive promotional banner took over the screen.

A female avatar rendered in distinctly dated graphics waved enthusiastically from the screen, dressed in next to nothing.

“Well, she's pretty. Where do I download this?”

Glancing back at the chat window, I nodded inwardly. The spam had noticeably subsided, leaving genuine responses far easier to read.

“Click 'Game Start', you say? Wait, I need an account first... Right. Let's make an account.”

As I navigated to the sign-up page, I glanced back at the streaming dashboard.

Six hundred people had vanished in that brief span. Come to think of it, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠count had vaulted from the low thousands to over four thousand in the blink of an eye earlier, right around the time the chat split into two warring factions. Just how many of them were actual Neo Chronicle players? There was no way to tell. Even if they had badges next to their names, parsing through that chaos would have been impossible.

Suddenly, bizarre messages cut across the remaining spam.

I had been casually typing in my personal details for registration. First was the mobile phone verification, and next was my home address...

“Ah.”

I had come within a hair's breadth of broadcasting my full home address to thousands of people. Thank goodness I checked the chat right before hitting enter.

I answered the messages drifting through the slowing feed.

“All I ever did before was turn the stream on, so I didn't know. How do I hide this? Oh, right.”

I expanded the webcam window until it filled the entire broadcast display. That ought to keep things private. With the registration finished, I initiated the download.

“The download takes... about thirty minutes. Man, why is this file size so massive?”

Roughly five minutes had passed since I announced I would play the game.

A thousand viewers had cleared out in mere minutes. It seemed they were the type who checked out the second a fire showed signs of dying down.

“Alright, let's talk. How do you want me to play Neo Chronicle? Tell me what makes this game fun for you guys so I can experience it properly.”

Amidst the swirling sea of suggestions, those three stood out clearly.

“Noted and logged. I'll do my best to test out all three.”

They resented me for shooting my mouth off without ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trying it, right? Fine. I would do every single thing they asked for. But there was one errand to take care of first.

In the military, where I had been discharged just two months ago, everyone spoke in rigid formal honorifics. To an outsider, it looked like an absurd, suffocating way to talk, but within those fences, it was the unquestioned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠norm. Every school, every classroom, and every tiny clique developed its own unspoken culture. Naturally, internet streaming had its own customs as well.

Even if an outsider found those rituals bizarre or wondered why anyone would bother, to the people steeped in internet culture, they were non-negotiable fundamentals.

“While it downloads, I'll go grab that suit people kept bringing up earlier, along with that green... whatever screen. Well, I don't own that kind of gear, so I'll just hunt down my suit. I heard a Suit Apology is the gold standard when apologizing on stream.”

I would do what had to be done. Once that was settled, I could dive into the game.

“……”

I stood before the camera lens.

Dressed in a crisp black business suit, I positioned myself against the plain white wall of my room.

'…Do I really have to do this?'

I had always heard internet streaming was a bastion of lawless freedom, a place where people tossed profanity around like candy and traded insults far nastier than any friend group would dare, all under the guise of humor. So why on earth was I standing here doing this again?

It wasn't as if I had used slurs or derogatory labels like last time. I had consciously softened every syllable that left my mouth. I hadn't even used casual gamer slang like calling people pests.

My mind went completely blank. Was it because I failed to grasp the situation? Perhaps. I felt as though I was being swept away by a current I couldn't steer. But more than anything, I just couldn't understand it.

Why was I, once again...

Standing here in a formal suit?

I had bowed and delivered an apology barely twenty-four hours ago—and here I was, doing it all over again.