Fresh Ingredients Make the Best Dishes
The welcome party stretched late into the night. Not many people showed up—mostly those with nothing better to do—but for me, even that small amount of attention was enough to drain every last bit of energy from my body. Editors are supposed to work alone. Crowds of social butterflies like this made my skin crawl.
“Jwa-ni-nan! Yeo-jwa-rya! Na-rul yo-ka-ji-nun-ma~!!!”
“Kyaaa!!”
Lee Seongbeom belted into the microphone like he was trying to devour it, while the other staff members enthusiastically shook tambourines along with him. To an outsider, it might have looked like they were just sucking up to the boss, but after talking with them for a while, I realized this was their genuine energy. They were simply having fun the way they wanted to.
I shook my tambourine listlessly, my soul already half-departed from the massive energy drain. Someone leaned in and whispered near my ear.
“Tired? Want to step outside for a bit?”
The words sounded like salvation. I nodded desperately. She took my hand and led me through the dancing crowd and out into the quiet hallway. The sudden silence felt like heaven.
“Sorry. PD-nim and the others all love to party. Must’ve been rough, huh?”
“…I can’t really say it wasn’t.”
The woman who spoke with concern was Song Jieun, the main writer who worked alongside Lee Seongbeom. I’d given vague answers to everyone else, but she apparently knew everything. It made sense—she was one of the people Lee Seongbeom relied on the most.
“PD-nim brought a kid and stayed out this late… Aren’t you sleepy? It’s already past ten.”
“A little sleepy, but… I’m fine. This party is for me, after all.”
Ever since I’d become this body, I’d tried hard to stay up later, but my old habits were deeply ingrained. By ten-thirty my eyes would always start closing. Still, I’d gotten better at forcing myself to stay awake even when drowsiness hit.
“More importantly, Writer-nim.”
“You can just call me ‘noona,’ you know.”
“Would it be okay if I did some other editing work in Uncle’s studio?”
“Other editing?”
“Not for the shows PD-nim directs. Something I want to edit personally…”
I’d originally used my editing skills as a bargaining chip to escape the orphanage, but now I wanted more. Any editor would. Anyone would. People enter a field for all sorts of reasons, but most of them start with the thought, I could do that better than them. Not everyone, of course, but it’s a common enough feeling—watching someone skilled makes the work look easy.
Some people simply study a field because they genuinely enjoy it. That was my case. I liked editing, but what really drew me in was seeing a YouTube video that had been edited from a stream I loved. Even though the original broadcast was over six hours long, the short clip captured everything perfectly—nothing but pure dopamine, impossible to look away from. That was what made me want to learn editing.
In other words, my motivation came from internet broadcasting itself.
Editing might be a technical skill, but it also contains artistry. And art shines brightest in the areas you truly love. That was why I asked Song Jieun, the person closest to Lee Seongbeom.
“Hmm…”
She looked troubled. Maybe I’d asked for too much. But after a moment, she spoke.
“PD-nim didn’t bring you here to make you edit for him, you know? I think you can just do whatever you want.”
“Huh?”
What did she mean by that?
***
“Personal editing? Go ahead. Why are you even asking for permission?”
When Song Jieun called him out, Lee Seongbeom came outside and answered with a completely indifferent expression.
“Is that really okay? I thought you brought me here to edit.”
“You’re an assistant director, kid. Assistant. When did I ever say you’d be doing this full-time? I brought you here to make YouTube videos, but that’s still a long way off. Even if you do start, you’ll have to finish your current work first. Probably take about six months.”
“Then what am I supposed to do for six months?”
“Eat, sleep, poop… Just do whatever you want. You’re all skin and bones—eat properly and put on some weight.”
At Song Jieun’s sharp glare, he quickly changed the subject.
“You seem to have good ideas. That alone should be worth a salary… well, an allowance, at least.”
“Still…”
“I brought you here for exactly that reason. I was even thinking about adopting you, but I had to find some excuse to keep you around. Unless I specifically ask for help, you can do whatever you want. If you feel like it, start your own YouTube channel. Any revenue from that channel would be yours to keep.”
“You’d really let me do that?”
“I’m telling you, it’s fine.”
It was such a favorable offer that I couldn’t help feeling suspicious, but the annoyed look on his face was clearly genuine. Song Jieun patted my shoulder and smiled.
“That’s great.”
“Thank you, Writer-nim.”
“I didn’t do anything. Oh, and here—my phone number. If PD-nim starts acting weird or shows any signs of weirdness, call me, okay?”
“I’ll remember.”
“I’m hurt, you know?”
I didn’t have a phone, but this was the first time since becoming this body that someone had given me their contact information. I carefully folded the paper and tucked it away.
*
“The kid seems mature enough to handle things on her own, but if anything comes up or she needs help, please contact me too, PD-nim. There are probably things you can’t notice because she’s a girl.”
“Yeah, got it. Thanks.”
“If you’re grateful, then finish the remaining edits instead of running away. The youngest PD is probably crying alone in the editing room right now.”
“I’ll buy you a drink later. Anyway, take care of the kids and get home safe.”
“Yes. Drive carefully too, PD-nim.”
Song Jieun watched the car until it disappeared down the road. Since Lee Seongbeom had driven and there was a child present, the dinner had been alcohol-free—an event that would have shocked anyone who knew how much he loved drinking.
I should have a little drink when I get back.
With that thought, she glanced at the passenger seat. The girl had fallen fast asleep, wrapped in the security blanket she’d brought from the orphanage, breathing softly. She must have been exhausted from the long party. She’d even been stumbling around at the karaoke place afterward, so she’d held out pretty well.
Lee Seongbeom drove more gently than usual so the girl could sleep comfortably. As he drove, his impressions of her replayed in his mind.
She really gives off the feeling that she’s trying to prove something.
It was the same sensation he’d felt ever since first seeing her video and visiting the orphanage. Not the proud boasting of a child, but something more desperate… as if she had no other path to take. But that couldn’t be right. She was only thirteen. Still, it seemed like there was something she desperately wanted.
For now, Lee Seongbeom decided to think of it that way.
It’d be nice if she could tell me someday.
He had even considered adopting her. He might not be able to be her father, but maybe he could at least become someone she could open up to.
Would be nice to drink together someday and complain about the director.
It was still a distant future, but the thought brought a smile to his face. In that future, it felt natural that they would be working together.
***
Now that I had permission, I was going to start personal editing today. And with this ridiculously powerful computer and a paid professional editing program, no less! My heart wouldn’t stop racing.
“What kind of content are you thinking of making?”
Lee Seongbeom had pulled up a chair beside me and was watching with his chin resting on his hand. The moment I said I was starting my own YouTube channel, he’d appointed himself my supervisor.
“Where are you getting your source material? You don’t seem like the type to film your own videos. So, game recordings or compilations?”
“Those are fun too, but they’re not really my thing. If I had to say, it’s closer to game footage.”
“Huh? You played games at the orphanage?”
“Where would we get a computer at the orphanage?”
I moved the mouse and keyboard to pull up a certain YouTube channel. The banner was filled with anime-style characters, and the text was in Japanese.
“Can you read the channel name?”
“It’s Japanese. I can read hiragana, though… Ki-ri… nu… ki?”
“You’re pretty good with kanji.”
“Are you calling me old?”
“Yes.”
“You little brat.”
A thick finger flicked my forehead. Last time he’d thrown a pillow when I complained it hurt, so this time he’d settled for just a finger. Maybe he was surprisingly considerate?
“It’s read as kirinuki in Japanese. Literally means ‘cutting out.’”
“Ah, so all the videos are short because they’re clipping specific parts?”
“Exactly. But if that was all, there wouldn’t be any difference from regular YouTubers. Kirinuki is a bit different.”
Seeing his confused expression, I continued.
“The person who owns the original video isn’t the channel owner.”
“Huh? So the channel owner didn’t film it? They’re just taking other people’s stuff? Is that allowed?”
“Of course, with permission. And if the original creator allows it, you can even monetize the videos.”
“Then do you split the revenue with the original owner?”
“Sometimes. Other times, people don’t take a cut because they see it as free promotion.”
This concept would later become established with the rise of Virtual YouTubers—VTubers for short—but right now, it wasn’t a well-known practice even in the YouTube industry. Since VTuber streams were similar in nature to female cam streamers, their main income came from live donations rather than YouTube revenue. That was why many VTubers who didn’t upload edited videos themselves allowed monetization of kirinuki clips, since the exposure helped promote their streams. After all, if it made money, the editors would work even harder.
“I thought I’d studied internet broadcasting pretty well, but I’ve never heard of this…”
“It’s not common in Korea. I’m planning to try it out.”
“How’s that different from just becoming a streamer’s editor?”
“The biggest advantage is that since I’m uploading to my own channel, I get to keep all the revenue. And in my case, since I can’t actually sign a contract, this way is better.”
After all, no one would hire an elementary school student as an editor. I could hide my identity when applying, but I didn’t want to take the risk of eventually being found out.
“So first, I need to find streamers who only do live broadcasts and are willing to allow monetization of clips.”
“Right.”
“Do you already have someone in mind?”
“I’ll have to start looking now.”
“I see. Good luck.”
Having satisfied his curiosity, Lee Seongbeom stood up with a relieved expression. He kindly brought me an energy drink and a chocolate bar before heading out. Had he just been curious about what I was doing?
Soon after, loud snoring echoed from outside the door.
Should I report this to Song Jieun as suspicious behavior?
I hesitated for a moment, then shook my head and opened the live streaming platform. Countless live channels filled the screen. I dragged my mouse, searching for fresh ingredients.
“Now then, who’s going to taste good~?”
The fresher the ingredients, the more delicious the dish. “The smaller the channel, the better.”
After all, there was also the joy of watching the original channel grow because of the videos I uploaded.
Gulp.
This was going to be delicious.