That's What Friends Are For

The Internet Streaming Forum.

Normally, a male streamer—especially a bottom-tier micro-streamer—would never even be mentioned here. He had a mere eighty-four subscribers on Meetube, his supposed main base, thirty-four on OnAiri, and nine on Live Cast. There was far too much juicy gossip in the streaming world to waste breath discussing a one-month rookie with numbers like that. If anyone dared to bring him up, the thread was slapped down immediately.

That was about the extent of the forum's usual reaction. But what if a massive crowd had already gathered? And what if, far from a fluff piece, they were assembling specifically to throw stones? Then it was well worth checking out. That was right around when a tidal wave of fresh viewers crashed into Jung River's channel.

People were bored in the middle of the afternoon, so they showed up just to watch the spectacle. Once they started flinging stones, however, their justification felt paper-thin. Had the streamer been a mid-tier personality, the trolls might have savored the schadenfreude; watching an established creator spiral into ruin over a slip of the tongue was, after all, premier spectator entertainment. If only the guy's reactions had been funny—if he had exploded, whined defensively, or engaged in all-out shouting matches with chat. Any of that would have offered genuine amusement.

"I'll repeat this as many times as necessary: it was entirely my mistake," Jung River reiterated on stream. "I have no intention of blaming my friend. I will keep apologizing for as long as it takes."

Jung River held up remarkably well under the barrage. He suppressed his emotions, keeping his tone measured and composed. His face betrayed a lingering prickle of irritation no matter how hard he tried to keep a straight face, but he never cracked.

The mob quickly ran out of steam. Bottom-tier streamers were notorious for sudden, unpredictable pivots; the instant they figured their streaming career was dead in the water, they were the types to whip out civil defamation lawsuits. The payoff was nowhere near worth the legal hazard. Even so, stragglers kept trickling in, determined to bait a reaction.

"Let me explain ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the context once more," Jung River said tirelessly. "Yesterday, during a viewer consultation session..."

His reasoning was simple: Are new people coming in who missed the explanation? If I just keep explaining the context and saying sorry, eventually everyone will understand. Blind to the trolls' actual motivations, he fixated solely on the fact that he had misspoken. Since he had committed an error, he believed he ought to wait patiently until the audience cooled down. That was the extent of his naive calculation. Yet as the endless loop dragged on, the sheer futility of explaining began to wear him down.

"I think I've taken all the beatings I deserve for today," he finally sighed. "In any case, I sincerely apologize to everyone who loves Neo Chronicle."

The chat held its breath in anticipation. The moment a streamer rage-quit, he became prime meme material for the forums. But his next words caught them entirely off-guard.

"I'm going to play Neo Chronicle."

That took every bit of wind out of the trolls' sails. The spectators and resident stone-throwers felt utterly deflated. There was no longer any reason to linger and inflate the viewer count of an enemy channel, and concurrent viewership plummeted in an instant.

It was practically a concession of defeat from the trolls. The dopamine-seekers packed up and left, and chatter about the incident across the streaming forum died down almost instantly.

The firestorm in the largest streaming community was quietly fizzling out. But two hours after Jung Seha began his complete playthrough of the story, his name surfaced in an entirely different corner of the internet, carrying an entirely different tone.

Posts began appearing on Neo Chronicle Storage, the premier community for the game, commonly known as Necro Storage.

Word of Jung River's marathon lore stream spread through the community. Mentions transformed into free publicity, and as bored trolls filtered out, eager story enthusiasts crossed paths to take their place. Before long, Jung River was able to clear the toxicity from his chat completely.

One hour passed. Then two, five, twenty-four hours.

Word was out: here was a content creator who gave the narrative the respect it deserved. A complete newcomer, piecing together subtle crumbs that the player base had taken months to unravel. By the time he approached the climax of the Neo Chronicle saga—the ending of Chapter 8—the audience surged to staggering heights.

The post collected upvotes like wildfire, vaulting onto the forum's front page. People had witnessed raw, unfiltered grief of a caliber no acting could replicate, and reactions ranged across the spectrum. Meanwhile, on stream, Jung River spent hours unwinding with his viewers, dissecting the narrative. Those conversations didn't stay confined to the broadcast; they bled out across every gaming and lore forum on the net.

By the time the broadcast finally went dark, a name entirely unknown just days earlier was on everyone's lips.

While some dissected his appearance, others eagerly anticipated the next stream.

It was an unprecedented wave of attention for a bottom-tier male streamer. And as the chaotic dust settled into an unexpectedly sweet outcome, one person breathed an enormous sigh of relief: Jung River's real-life friend, Lee Hana. The very person who cursed Neo Chronicle as a dying trash fire every single day, yet persistently tried to drag him into it every school break.

"Thank god..."

She slumped back, letting out a heavy breath where guilt and gratitude mingled. Beneath it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all lay a faint trace of indignation. How was I supposed to know the idiot would repeat private venting word-for-word on a live broadcast? When close friends vented in private, they tossed around wild exaggerations without a second thought. Broadcast those unfiltered thoughts to the public, and almost anyone would end up in hot water.

Lee Hana scowled, but then a small smirk broke through.

"The bastard actually kept his mouth shut."

She remembered how Jung Seha had steadfastly refused to reveal her identity to the ravenous mob. If it were me, I probably would've sold him out on the spot. Pretty impressive. She was genuinely thankful. Had her identity leaked, the fallout would have been unthinkable.

Even hours after the stream went offline, forum users were still itching to drag her through the mud. If Seha had thrown her under the bus in the opening minutes, the harassment would have been relentless. Just imagining it sent a chill down her spine.

"I'll buy him a decent meal to say thanks and make sure he keeps his lips sealed..."

Chewing nervously on her thumb, Hana weighed her options and came to a firm resolution.

"And I should coach him on what to watch out for when streaming, right?"

That felt like the least she could do. While his rookie clumsiness had made her wince a few times, the broadcast itself had been undeniably entertaining. Was it just because he's my friend? No way. If it were boring, how could a thousand people stay glued to the screen?

Following that thread of thought, another crucial piece of advice popped into her head.

"Don't get too invested in Neo Chronicle... I definitely have to drill that into his thick skull."

Pouring your heart and soul into an MMORPG only ever led to burnout, buyer's remorse, and bitter regret.

"That's what friends are for," Hana declared, nodding with solemn determination. "Yeah. That's what a real friend does."