You Came at the Right Time, I Have Good Performance (1)

What exactly is a company colleague to me? It’s like a ghost from some urban legend that only exists in the digital records. In reality, I belonged to the operations team and even sat right next to the operations team leader, yet at the same time I was half-isolated from the team’s actual work. A bizarre system had been established where the CEO gave me direct orders and received my reports directly. It made sense—there was no one better suited than me for handling sudden incidents like a private investigator, and routing those tasks through another layer would only slow down the response. In a streaming scene where trouble could pop up at any moment, even the CEO had no choice.

That’s why I had never once imagined what it would be like to actually work alongside someone. Watching VTuber streams simultaneously? During big collab streams, it was normal to have at least five windows open, sometimes up to ten at once. After all, not every stream could be highlight-worthy all the time. So I’d simply mute everything except the main one and switch focus as needed. In the beginning, having to write a report on industry trends at the end of every broadcast was a bit of a hassle, but once I learned to summarize only the data the CEO and planning team actually wanted, I got used to it quickly.

It hurt my heart that I had to watch company VTubers instead of the ones I actually enjoyed, but even that problem resolved itself cleanly after two months. The carefully selected stars the CEO had chosen kept dazzling me with their individual charms as they passed by. As someone who always claimed that “falling in love with a VTuber is like getting hit by a truck,” I had no way to avoid it. Outside of their streams they were still a bunch of weirdos who made constant mistakes and caused problems whenever they got bored, but the moment they started broadcasting, they became stars worthy of worship. They were shining children following in the footsteps of my oshi, Momo.

Anyway, taking everything into account, my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠current job satisfaction was at an all-time high. I had never felt like there was too much work, nor had I worried that it would pile up endlessly in the future. I mean, they were paying me just to watch, analyze, summarize, and report on VTubers I liked. What was there to dislike? Sure, I also handled a mountain of miscellaneous tasks—managing broadcast equipment, responding to issues during streams, overseeing chat and donation rules across all channels as the general manager, and relaying instructions to the other managers—but those were all things I had willingly taken on.

Even with my limited perspective, it was clear that talented people who had graduated from good universities and accumulated solid experience were better off planning profitable collabs and events or running operations without any holes, rather than wasting time on these smaller tasks. The more those people put their heads together and agonized over ideas, the better the content and events became, which in turn directly impacted Parallel’s healthy financial state.

In any case, aside from the chaotic period right after the company launched when responsibilities were still being sorted out, I had always worked alone. ‘A junior, huh…’ Honestly, rather than feeling moved, I was mostly worried. Having spent so long working solo, I suspected we’d end up in a “every man for himself” situation rather than a harmonious “let’s do this together” one.

The part where I filled the report for the CEO with my own tasks? It wasn’t because I expected to become some kind senior who would patiently teach a new hire everything one by one. It was basically me saying, “Just bring in someone who works like me.” If it really wasn’t feasible, the hidden meaning was that they didn’t have to hire anyone at all.

But the CEO’s determination to hire someone new was rock-solid. In that case, the only thing to do was go along with it. If I had to pick the three most important qualities, they would be these:

1. Someone who genuinely loves the members and watches all their streams.

2. Someone skilled at multitasking.

3. Someone good with machines and has excellent memory.

Numbers one and two were for stream monitoring and report writing. If I ever had to step away, it would help if they could at least jot down rough notes in my place. Number three was similar—if I went to support a particular member’s stream and an equipment issue popped up somewhere else, they could respond immediately.

…Honestly, I wanted to keep writing a fourth, fifth, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and sixth point because there were so many more, but I decided to stop there. I deliberately left out things like personality or diligence. Those were the absolute basics the CEO already considered when hiring people anyway.

After sending the document via email, I checked the clock. It was already 2 p.m.—time to head to the office.

“Time really flies.”

I slipped the fully charged tablet into my oversized work bag. Normally I avoided carrying it because it made my shoulder ache, but for the past few days I had a reason to bring it everywhere. Watching someone else’s stream—even someone who wasn’t a VTuber—on the company computer felt a bit awkward.

This was probably the first time in my life I’d ever paid attention to a male streamer’s cam stream, let alone a live one. But the enemy I would have to face from now on was MoovGun, a former pro. I couldn’t afford to take him lightly if I wanted to land a solid hit. Know yourself, know your enemy, and you shall win a hundred battles without loss. He apparently opened his streams to viewers during the early morning hours, so after work I’d have to try sniping him at least once. Playing together might reveal weaknesses that didn’t show up on stream.

* * *

MoovGun’s streams usually started around 6 p.m. on weekdays. He typically did a dinner mukbang and casual chat, then cleaned up and jumped straight into the main game. If I had to name his greatest strength as a former pro, it was obviously his skill. But what really drew gasps from people was his trademark “Magnet Aim”—the way he would snap onto targets right before firing looked exactly like something being pulled by a powerful magnet, which was how he earned the nickname.

On top of that, whenever he picked up a sniper rifle he destroyed people at both close and long range, so he was also famous for ruining games by shutting down enemies who tried to flank him. In Battle Colosseum, shields prevented true one-taps, but once you climbed above Diamond tier, it was normal to spray an entire magazine and drop people. Snipers usually suffered heavy DPS loss and were supposed to die if flanked, but MoovGun was the one who shattered that common sense.

Of course, if he had only been good with snipers, he probably wouldn’t have become a streamer after retiring from the pro scene.

His sniper play was simply the most outstanding, which was why he played as a sniper in the pro league. But MoovGun was good with any single-shot firearm. Pistols, shotguns, sniper rifles. He was even deadly with the hunting bow that dropped from supply boxes. The reason he had shown interest in Pandemic Village was precisely because of this love for single-shot weapons.

Pandemic Village had deliberately sluggish mouse response to create realistic tension, yet the employee had powered through that discomfort, performed a short aim check, and immediately entered the boss fight. He achieved a perfect headshot record on every bullet against the final boss before making a cool exit. Plenty of people could pull that off against an AI boss with somewhat standardized patterns. But at least for the former pro MoovGun, watching that clip had made his heart burn for the first time in a while.

That was why he had stubbornly stuck to pistols for three days straight—he simply couldn’t suppress the desire. Any man who played shooting games had probably dreamed at least once of possessing a hitman who lost his pet dog and filming a headshot mad movie, right?

Yet even after three days of shooting pistols… nothing. He had blatantly fixated on headshots and raised his headshot rate all the way to 50 percent—which was an insane number considering the pro scene average hovered around 25 percent—but somehow it still felt lacking. Of course, landing 50 percent heads in a flashy hero shooter was already completely crazy, but… something still felt missing. The greed that whispered maybe, just maybe, if he poured in more time he could achieve 100 percent headshots in a single match refused to disappear.

Throughout his pro career he had always chosen shots that led to victory rather than perfect shots. But now he was just one streamer. No one would criticize him for throwing efficiency out the window and obsessing over such an insane goal.

‘…I should call it here for today.’

But after focusing so hard, it was already 4 a.m. Time for the stream to end.

“It’s already this late. As we wrap up for today, I’ll play two casual games with random squads.”

“Whoa, thank you for the 100,000 won. I’ll try to win within these two games.”

And so came today’s final match. MoovGun queued up while wondering what kind of teammates he would get. The left slot in the random squad filled first, then the right slot popped in with a ping. It was Crazy Shot. Wasn’t this the exact person who had recently become the center of controversy by running around with Crazy Shot and two double barrels?

Both the viewers and MoovGun instinctively checked the nickname right away.

[3p : MoovGunIsAFamousMomoAnti]

“…?”

The name was oddly subtle for a signal flare user. It felt closer to a malicious viewer who hated the friendly relationship between MoovGun and Momo. Wondering if they would respond to voice chat, MoovGun opened his mic first.

“Hello. Do you happen to watch streams?”

After a moment, the other person spoke.

[You came at the right time. Game with me. Pleasant anticipation. Gratitude.]

Not only was it shocking that a TTS voice came out, but the speech pattern was even more bizarre. It felt like a foreign viewer who had succeeded in joining the stream after running their words through a poorly performing translator.

“Can you understand what I’m saying? You understand my talk?”

[Yes. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠am expert. Korean listening performance good.]

MoovGun figured that as long as he could understand the words, it was fine. Since it wasn’t a ranked game, they could just enjoy themselves. But the moment the viewer he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thought was a comedian started throwing down a challenge, the story changed.

[Want bet. You and me. I victory. You shout. MoovGun is overhyped. I defeat. I reveal. Real voice.]

The viewers didn’t quite catch the meaning, but MoovGun had encountered similar foreign viewers a few times before.

“Alright. I accept. What kind of bet should we do?”

The TTS foreigner soon replied.

[Kills. Large number.]

It was a rare YouTube moment. How often did a guest appear who could make the viewers laugh from the very first second? Besides, in a casual game, there was no way MoovGun—who often went on rampages—would lose in kill count. It was more than enough entertainment to close out the broadcast. No matter who the viewer was, once a bet had begun, there was no holding back.

Grabbing his sniper rifle and the pistol he had been using all day, MoovGun spoke.

“Sounds good. Let’s go right away.”