A Man's Got to Have Pride

The broadcast finally wrapped up at one in the morning.

After showering, collapsing into bed, and finally waking up, the clock read three ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the afternoon.

“Now I feel like a human being again.”

Staring blankly at the ceiling, an involuntary chuckle escaped my lips. Over the past two days, my emotions had been on a total rollercoaster. From the sudden, bewildered shock of getting bombarded with hate, to a brief moment of calm, to utterly breaking down in tears, and finally to that lingering afterglow of feeling genuine acknowledgment from thousands of people.

Most of all, I couldn't get the final moments of chat out of my head.

Didn't I tell you? I never run away.

The moment those words left my mouth, the chat had erupted.

A flood of single-syllable exclamations poured down the screen in rapid succession. Written by chatters with handles of every conceivable length, the cascading letters looked like an undulating wave—a tide of pure admiration washing over me.

Grinning like an idiot, I sat bolt upright.

The vods saved, right?

I booted up my computer and checked the archives across all three platforms. With the exception of one, rewatching the other two was genuinely satisfying.

“Should I watch it just one more time...?”

Feeling a twinge of embarrassment at how vain I was being, I muttered to myself. It was right around the second rewatch when my phone on the mattress buzzed.

A message written in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.

“Well, look at that.”

So she did feel guilty after all. Amused, I dialed her number.

She blurted out an apology the second she picked up, completely robbing me of the chance to complain.

“Look at this psycho preempting me so I can't even get mad.”

“Hey, I know I'm the one who caused it, okay? I'm really sorry.”

“Agh.”

When someone readily names their own fault and bows their head, there is nowhere left to aim your grievances.

“Look, that word wasn't something anyone should say in polite company in the first place. You can stop apologizing.”

A brief silence hung over the line, followed by a sudden torrent of words.

“Right?! Honestly, I never dreamed you'd actually say that live on air! Who in their right mind drops bottom-feeder underground forum slang on a public stream without blinking? My heart literally dropped into my stomach when I saw that clip! How do I even describe it? It felt like listening to a high school morning announcement delivered entirely in degenerate internet slang! You said it in such a calm, polite tone, too. Wow.”

“Enough. Stop right there, you brat.”

“Fine, fine. Anyway, have you eaten lunch yet?”

“Just woke up.”

“Perfect. I'll bring over fried chicken. Give me thirty minutes.”

When someone is trying to make amends, refusing only makes things awkward for both sides. I agreed, took a quick rinse in the shower, and slipped into a pair of shorts. I kept on my stretched-out collar T-shirt without bothering to change; we had known each other since elementary school and had seen each other in far worse shape.

While waiting for Lee Hana, I typed my streaming handle into the search bar.

It was an alias created simply by combining my family name 'Jung' with the English translation of the hanja for river, 'Ha', taken from my given name. Chronologically speaking, it was even older than my gamer handle, Seongbuk-dong Haaland.

Looking through the results, there was surprisingly little hate. Most posts were from curious onlookers asking who I was or sharing their reactions to the broadcast.

“'The surviving family of the Ash House,' my foot. Anyone who didn't cry at that scene is a literal psychopath.”

Why had I wept like that? In daily life, my emotions rarely fluctuated. Even when watching movies or reading novels, I kept a step back, maintaining a careful distance because once I became fully immersed, pulling myself back out was never easy. But on stream, with messages rolling past unceasingly, I had felt comfortable letting go. As viewers reacted in real time to my theories and expressions, their presence acted like an anchor tethering me to reality. No matter where my feelings drifted, the underlying fact that I was currently broadcasting never changed.

Ding-dong.

Just as I was sorting through my thoughts, the doorbell rang. Lee Hana walked in carrying two whole boxes of chicken—one original crispy fried, one sweet and spicy seasoned.

“You bought two whole chickens?”

“Is that the first thing you see? Not your dear friend?”

“Obviously.”

Dodging her playful kick, I walked into the kitchen. Before sitting down to eat, I took a good look at her. The last time we had crossed paths was right after my military discharge, during a drinking party with our mutual friends.

“Looks like farming game gold is still treating you well, huh?”

Her hand froze midway to lifting a fried drumstick. She took a bite, chewing as she shot back, “How do you even remember that?”

“You bragged about running a business inside the game. It sounded wild, so it stuck with me.”

Her cheeks puffed out as she chewed. Living at home and eating well had clearly done its work; this was probably her all-time peak weight.

“Keep your rude thoughts to yourself, you jerk. ...I'll let it slide this once since I owe you.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Anyway, look at you picking up streamer lingo after just one broadcast.”

“Everyone in chat kept yelling about ssal-meok every time an item dropped. Hard not to pick it up.”

“Those degenerates went and ruined a certified natural monument.”

“A natural monument?”

“Do you know how rare it is to find someone your age who isn't completely brain-rotted by internet forum slang?”

After chattering away for a while, she paused to ask, “By the way, why did you even start streaming in the first place?”

“Because studying alone was impossible. I couldn't focus.”

“When I heard it was a study stream, I had a hunch. So it really was that.”

We had known each other too long. Even with a vague explanation, she immediately grasped my underlying motive—that I needed people watching over my shoulder to force myself to sit still.

We tore through the chicken while trading stories.

“You actually bought coffee for the trolls?! They're just going to snatch the coffee giftcon and bounce! What a waste!”

From my reasons for launching the stream to the wild events of yesterday, the conversation flowed naturally.

“Certified psychopath, I swear. Watching your stream, you looked barely fazed, and it turns out you actually weren't. You really have zero empathy for real people, don't you?”

“Hey, I was flustered too, alright?”

“Even with a horde of people cussing you out, you just stared blankly at the chat window. A normal person like me would've cut the stream and run away ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crying on the spot! You're honestly built different.”

Maybe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she had a point. I had been bewildered by the sheer absurdity of the situation, but emotionally, it hadn't wounded me.

“Either way, deciding to clear the Neo Chronicle main story right then and there was a stroke of genius. Seriously, out of all the choices you made yesterday, that was by far the best.”

“Really? I just got annoyed when someone asked why I was trash-talking a game I hadn't even played, so I figured I might as well try it.”

“Regardless of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your reasoning, it was brilliant from both an entertainment and a PR perspective. In almost any other gaming stream, slogging through the story from level one is treated like a punishment game.”

“...I thought people were proud of its lore. Guess not.”

“That's beside the point! Who wants to sit through a story they already know by heart?”

I nodded, ready to let the topic drop, when she suddenly gasped loudly.

“Wait! Why on earth didn't you have donations turned on?! Do you have any idea how many people were desperate to throw money at your face just to get their insults read out loud?! Ugh, it hurts my soul just thinking about all that lost cash!”

“I was planning to register my bank account once I built up a steady viewership.”

“You should've set it up from day one! Argh, thanks to you, everyone else is cashing in on your hype!”

I shouldn't have asked how other people were making money off me. The moment the question slipped past my lips, she unleashed a tidal wave of unsolicited coaching like she had been holding it in for years.

“Do you know how effortless it is to rip clips? Clips of your stream are circulating all over the place! Right now, you're basically paying other content creators' rent this week!”

“And another thing! Stop acting like such a total internet outsider! If a cute girl does that, it comes across as endearing; if a massive guy with a buzz cut does it, you just look like an alien!”

“Viewers lie as easily as they breathe! You can't take everything they say at face value! You're way too gullible!”

“No, that doesn't mean you should ignore them completely! Haven't you ever heard of reading the room?!”

“You need to know the slang to react properly? Studying community culture beforehand is literally a streamer's job!”

“Why are you expecting a free pass?! That does it. Once we finish this chicken, you're getting a crash course.”

After enduring an ear-splitting lecture that felt like it would never end, I finally managed to interject. “You've never even streamed before. How do you know all this?”

“...Because whenever business is slow, I spend all day watching live streams. Why, got a problem with that?”

“Just asking. Anyway, if you're willing to teach me, I'm grateful.”

I thought that would be the end of it, assuming my ears would finally get some rest. I was dead wrong.

“No, no, no! When you do a study stream, only turn on Meetube! OnAiri and Live Cast viewers are there exclusively to watch you play Neo Chronicle! Why are you broadcasting your study sessions on those platforms?!”

“Doesn't broadcasting earn money regardless of what I'm doing?”

“If people tune in expecting gaming content and you tell them you're studying and to come back later, they're not going to bother coming back next time!”

The moment I shared my streaming plans, another round of scolding began.

“You need to realize what a massive opportunity you're sitting on. If you offered this kind of viral traction to any bottom-tier streamer for ten million won, they would scream 'Sold!', shove the cash into your hands, and beg you to hand it over! Wake up already!”

I understood her point. But my eardrums were on the verge of rupturing.

“If you treat this casually and slack off, yesterday's whole incident will just evaporate into nothing. At first, people only gathered because of rage-bait, and your chat was filled with toxic trolls. But by the end, they stayed because of you. Are you really going to throw all of that away? Seriously?”

They say bitter medicine is good for the body, but this was practically an auditory assault. After polishing off every last scrap of chicken, I sat through an intensive private tutoring session. I learned the origins of various internet memes, which terms were taboo, and why certain phrases were strictly forbidden. It was an education in the truest sense of the word; had I tried to prepare on my own, I would have had no clue, reduced to blindly searching unfamiliar terms while hopping between channels.

Only after Lee Hana finally packed up and left did silence return to my apartment.

The next day.

Following her advice, I started the broadcast exclusively on Meetube. Starting today, I had to get back to my books. The certification exam I had registered for was less than a week away.

Yet as I stared at the textbook, focus eluded me.

When the room was crowded, the sensation of being watched had forced me into productivity, even against my will.

It's not that I'm desperate to play video games... but my hands are itching.

The sensation of having dozens, hundreds of people hanging on my every word—it had been intoxicating. Throwing out a plausible theory earned their awe. Saying something utterly nonsensical filled the screen with question marks. Making an offhand, cheeky remark triggered a symphony of colorful banter. It was infinitely more thrilling than clearing a match in any multiplayer game.

If I actually have a shot at doing this properly, shouldn't I take it?

I wrote the word 'Streaming' on my notepad and mindlessly traced circles around it over and over. When I started, my goal had been modest: stream my study sessions and maybe earn some pocket money. But events had spiraled far beyond that initial plan at breakneck speed.

Hana's voice echoed in my head.

—You need to realize what a massive opportunity you're sitting on.

And then, words my father had once told me resurfaced from memory.

—Unfortunately, son, you didn't inherit the brains for academics. But I make you study anyway so you don't turn into a fool who can't seize an opportunity when it knocks.

Sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth, I tried to force my eyes back onto the text, but then my timer went off.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The break alarm. Tossing my mechanical pencil onto the desk, I let out a long sigh. In hindsight, bringing up my father's advice felt less like genuine reflection and more like an excuse—an excuse to close the books.

“Ugh, this is driving me crazy.”

Ruffling my hair, I looked over at the monitor. Right on cue, two messages popped up in the chat window.

This wasn't the first time someone had asked. The exact same answer was pinned just above the chatbox, yet they asked anyway. It felt surreal—as though the world around me had shifted overnight while I had simply stood in place.

Just a few months ago, I was an ordinary soldier patrolling the border. A month ago, I was whining at a friend who had to work a part-time job the next day, begging him to play one more round of games with me. And now, strangers on the internet were eagerly waiting for me to do something for them.

“This channel is originally a study stream,” I addressed the microphone. “When I boot up Neo Chronicle for Part Two later, I'll turn on the broadcasts on the other platforms as well.”

A reply popped up almost instantly.

I chuckled dryly under my breath.

Yeah, tell me about it. My concentration is completely shot today.

Even so, a man has his pride. If I gave my word, I had to keep it. The plan was set: give both studying and streaming my full effort until exam day arrived.

As I steeled my resolve, another message flashed on the screen.

“Drop by around seven.”

Swallowing a self-deprecating laugh, I shook my head. The smooth, practiced tone of my own response felt both foreign and oddly familiar.