First Broadcast (3)
The broadcast went far more smoothly than I’d expected.
Once I’d casually spun out the story of my first day on the front lines, the viewers seemed pleased, and the number of new people joining in kept climbing at a noticeable rate.
Watching the chat scroll by, I took a sip of water from the plastic bottle in my hand.
I’d been talking nonstop for an hour, and my throat was bone-dry.
It struck me all over again just how hard professional streamers must work, and I cleared my voice.
"Aah— aeh-ioh-oo—"
After a few warm-up sounds, I could feel my voice loosening again.
Yeah. Being a broadcaster really wasn’t something just anyone could do.
If this was what happened when you abused your throat day after day...
"I killed so many people... I’m not even sure where to start."
At the viewer’s question, I answered calmly.
"If you hesitate on the battlefield, you die. Once you’re faced with someone holding a gun, you have to pull the trigger immediately. If your reaction is even a split second slower than the other person’s, either you or your comrades are dead."
On the battlefield, a moment—one moment, one decision—determines life and death.
In war, the only things you can trust are the comrades guarding your back and the rifle in your arms.
On a battlefield where civilians and enemies can’t be told apart, we trusted our instincts and our senses.
And sometimes that trust betrayed us.
There were times when we shot someone we believed to be an enemy, only to find out afterward that they were an ally—or a civilian.
It was, in every respect, a horrifying experience.
"If it hits the torso, they just drop like someone switched them off. If it hits the head, they go down spraying the contents everywhere. It depends on the round, of course, but usually if a rifle round takes someone in the head, it just blows them open. With pistol rounds, the face gets smashed so badly you can’t even recognize the impact site anymore?"
At the question from the chat, I answered with a smile.
"Sure, some of them collapse neatly and convulse. Sometimes they piss or shit themselves too. Movies exaggerate that stuff for visual effect."
That wasn’t something I’d made up.
I’d seen a comrade I was fighting beside take a bullet to the chest; he just slumped down and soaked his pants.
I’m not entirely sure why it happens, but I suspect it’s what happens when all the muscles in the body go slack the instant a bullet hits.
For the record, that comrade died.
A 7.62mm round tore through his left breast and kept going, shredding his lung on the way in.
In the end, he died in my arms before the allied helicopter could arrive.
"Haah..."
Somehow that bad memory had surfaced, and my mood sank before I realized it.
He’d been a friend who always cracked funny jokes.
I let myself drift in the past for a moment, and then another message on the chat drew my eye.
"If it’s a normal sniper rifle, you get a massive hole punched through your torso or your head disappears. If it’s an anti-materiel rifle, your body gets literally torn apart."
"It’s never been forbidden. They have such excellent penetration and stability that they’re also used to take out targets who are a pain to deal with, like snipers hiding behind cover at long range. The performance is definitely there."
"You’re better off not knowing. It isn’t a pretty sight."
I spoke briefly into the mic, then took another drink from the water bottle.
The anti-materiel rifle wasn’t something only we used.
The Gibro army had a considerable number of them too, and they made lavish use of them throughout the war.
Of course, that meant my comrades and I had been hit by anti-materiel rifles as well.
While we were moving in an infantry fighting vehicle, the wheel got blown apart, so we had to dismount—and the next thing we knew, a 20mm round came screaming in.
Strictly speaking, a 20mm round feels more like it should be called a shell, but since it was fired from an anti-materiel rifle, we all called it a bullet anyway.
Anyone who has seen the thick front armor of an infantry fighting vehicle get hideously caved in right before their eyes learns the same lesson.
If that thing hits you square, you’re really, truly done for.
Well, we could at least say it was fortunate that none of the comrades actually took a direct hit from one.
"...?"
While I was wetting my throat and adjusting the camera, another comment popped up.
"Ah."
Solomon’s combat rations.
You can just think of them as U.S. MREs.
Since the soldiers in the International Legion had come from all sorts of countries, the Solomon government distributed combat rations in an MRE-style format as a way of taking care of them.
It was meant to accommodate soldiers whose palates didn’t suit Middle Eastern food.
As for the rations we were issued...
"They were complete trash. Seriously, they tasted like they’d been made from food waste."
"French, yeah. I’ve never eaten them myself, but at the very least they’d be better than the rations we had... Ours were the kind of food you only eat because you’re starving..."
Ah, right—suddenly painful memories.
The package clearly said chicken curry, but when you opened it, what came out was a yellow liquid with the visual texture of diarrhea...
It tasted, quite literally, like eating bargain-bin retort food that had been left to rot for three years.
When you ate it with vegetable crackers, the crackers at least neutralized some of that uniquely vile smell, making it barely tolerable.
What was shocking was that the chicken curry was actually one of the better-tasting items on the ration menu.
I don’t even want to describe how the others tasted.
"Ugh, fuck... just thinking about it makes my stomach turn..."
"Korean combat rations?"
At the viewer’s tempting suggestion, the queasiness in my stomach vanished in an instant.
Actually, I had done my military service before ending up in this world, so I knew exactly what Korean military rations tasted like.
But would the rations here taste the same as in my original world?
Honestly, I was curious.
In the end, I decided to praise the viewer who’d offered such a good idea.
"That’s a great idea. Thank you, VEX!"
When I smiled brightly at the camera, the chat exploded.
"?"
This was my first time doing internet broadcast culture, so reactions like that from the viewers were a little bewildering.
Still, the atmosphere didn’t seem bad, so I figured it was fine to leave them to it.
I glanced away from the monitor for a moment and looked at the clock.
It was almost two already.
After talking my head off without realizing how much time had passed, I’d nearly missed lunch.
My throat was starting to hurt, too, and if I spilled everything in just one day, I’d be short on content.
So I decided to wrap it up here for today.
"All right, that’s it for today’s broadcast. I’ll save the other stories for next time. I’ll be going live again at this time tomorrow, so come by if you can."
I gave my closing remarks naturally and started preparing to end the stream.
The chat was a bit rowdy, but I couldn’t not end the broadcast.
My lunch was important.
Besides, I’d only started the stream as a trial run, so I wanted to finish it quickly.
I could see people being disappointed, but what could I do?
I had my own schedule.
"Then I’ll see you all tomorrow!"
> The broadcast has ended.
"Huaaah..."
The instant I confirmed the camera had turned off, all the strength drained from my body and I slumped over in the chair.
From this point on, I and this chair were one and the same.
Streaming was unimaginably exhausting.
You had to keep talking constantly so the audio never went dead, all while watching the chat’s reactions.
It was only my first broadcast, and I was already this drained.
Could I really become a proper streamer?
Grrr-
"..."
I had no clear vision for my future as a streamer, but my honest stomach was making one thing known: it was hungry.
I’d have to go to the convenience store and buy a cup ramen or something.
At the very least, it would taste better than Solomon’s special combat rations.
.
.
.
.
"Uuuh..."
Lee Ji-yul, who had gotten off work in the early dawn and returned to the convenience store again in the afternoon, dragged her tired body toward the counter.
There were still no customers in sight, so she sat down for a moment and started looking over her phone.
"Hehe."
A tired smile formed on Lee Ji-yul’s face as she checked the contacts in her phone.
The white-haired man who had introduced himself as Chris.
Last night, she had succeeded in getting his phone number.
They hadn’t even properly met and talked yet, but inside Ji-yul’s head, the happy circuit was already running at full speed.
"Welcome...?"
Her voice trembled at the end as she reflexively answered the chime announcing a customer’s arrival.
Standing before her was a stunningly beautiful white-haired woman, leaning slightly to one side.
She looked like the man who had stolen her heart last night, but something about her had an exotic air that left Ji-yul flustered.
The woman, dressed in desert-camouflage combat fatigues, had eyes as black as ink.
Ji-yul felt herself being drawn into those fathomless eyes before she even realized it.
Tick...
Tick...
Only after the steady ticking of the watch on her wrist brought her senses back did Ji-yul carefully ask the female customer, "Um, ma’am? Is there something you’re looking for?"
"...Noodles."
"Pardon?"
At the woman’s quiet murmur, Ji-yul waited with a tense expression for her answer.
"I need... insanely spicy ramen."
"...?"