Summoned to Headquarters
Domhwangcha! An email from the Lord of the Warrior operators just landed in my inbox.
Honestly, I thought the email was a warning or some kind of ban notice. And why wouldn't I? I'd spent the last few days blatantly griefing with my stream on. Doing it right in front of everyone's eyes brought this inexplicable sense of liberation and intense pleasure. Still, part of me worried I'd get suspended. But luckily, it wasn't that.
On the contrary, the content was incredibly positive. It was about settling partner streamer support funds. The last email said the budget was still being adjusted, so I didn't expect it to be finalized this quickly.
Just reading it drips with goodwill—you can tell us top streamers, including me, met their expectations. Of course I'm thrilled the support fund budget is set. Donations were nice, but this is what I'd been really looking forward to.
I peeked at other top streamers' donations, and the amounts were on another level—one more zero, at least. I got hit with the red pill hard. Who in their right mind would drop big money on a mannerless troll like me?
The support funds being approved is great, but the problem? I have to go there in person. For the past six months, I've barely left the house—holed up playing games day and night. No exaggeration. Convenience store runs were twice a month at most.
So yeah, this situation feels... no, extremely uncomfortable. Holy crap, looked up the HQ location—it's in Gangnam. Why make a busy person trek out there? Just decide it among yourselves.
W-well, calling myself busy when all I do is game at home is pretty delusional, I guess... Anyway.
I'm not that greedy. Just enough to live without a part-time job—around 1.5 million won a month would satisfy me plenty. But the email says I have to show up in person for proper budget negotiations. Like it or not, if I don't wanna work a job, I gotta go.
Sigh. What can you do? This'll be my historic first trip to Seoul since the body change.
……
……
……
As you might expect, I've never bought women's clothes with my own money. Why would I buy clothes when I never go out? Ah, correction. I have bought women's clothing once—underwear. Yeah. Bras were non-negotiable; I couldn't stand it without one.
These massive fat sacks made my shoulders ache, and they jiggled every which way, so uncomfortable. The reviews? No need to say it—total satisfaction. First time wearing one felt pervy and mortifying, but I got used to it.
Buying bras took tons of trial and error, though. No clue on my size, so I guessed G-cup. Total miss. Upped a size—still no. Upped again... how many times did I reorder? ...Dunno, forgot.
Anyway, all I own is bras. I'm not some exposure fetish perv who'd go to Gangnam in just a bra. What choice did I have? Grabbed a random white tee strewn around the house and threw it on.
The moment I stepped outside, my goal was clear: get there fast, get back faster. Wandering with these two huge lumps makes everyone stare—or at least that's the delusion.
Even so, no taxi for me. Armed with beggar-level frugality, taxis are an unimaginable luxury—like for chaebol heirs. Why pay 10-20x for a 1,000-won bus ride? Embarrassing or not, subway it is.
But once out and on the subway, I realized how boneheadedly stupid that was. Every single person seemed to stare right through me. I was losing my mind. Victim complex? Just imagining it? Self-consolation didn't help; I wasn't convinced.
Because the guy right in front of me? He was straight-up ogling.
As I endured this agony, he finally stood up. Finally getting off. G-good, hurry up, dude.
...But why's he coming this way? No, stop. Don't come closer!
"I-I watch your streams."
Eeeeeek!
* * *
Han Junhee, a college engineering student, is your average early-20s guy. Nothing edgy about him. Not heartthrob handsome, not ugly—just pleasantly likeable. Decent grades, knows how to drink socially, good relationships, no enemies. The epitome of a early-20s undergrad.
Like most peers, he digs internet culture. Yeah, he's a Rogal—a Lord of the Warrior gallery regular.
If you pick the hottest ongoing thread in the gallery lately, it's hands-down the 'Seola Gender Debate.' Is it a he or she? Hottie or bro? Char maker hack, or real body and face? Nothing's confirmed, so the bait keeps rolling.
Spying on Rogal new posts from the subway is his daily routine. Truth be told, he's one of the few believers that 'Seola's a girl.'
Today, he dropped a shitpost titled 'Definitive Proof Seola's a Babe.fact.' No actual proof—just a ripped bust-morphing GIF with 'How can this be a dude when it's this stacked?'
Snickering at his phone, someone sat across from him cautiously. In that instant, he couldn't trust his eyes.
Unforgettable pink two-tone hair. Curves that dipped and swelled outrageously. That inexplicably smug face.
'Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit...!'
...It's Seola.
First thought: cosplay? But no, rationally—definitely not. Who cosplays Seola on the subway? And the face matched the one he knew perfectly.
See? Not a dude, no char maker hack. Vindication for his blind faith: 'Seola's a girl!'
Once convinced, he couldn't stop sneaking glances.
'Damn, that body.'
Every subway jolt made her jiggle wildly—pure madness. The tight white tee made it worse. Any guy with normal hormones couldn't look away.
Destination long passed. Might as well shoot his shot and say hi. Ask for a photo? Too rude. Handshake? That's skinship—more intimate than a pic.
Nah, 'I watch your streams' feels right. Fans say that to streamers they bump into—totally polite. At least he thought so.
Gathering courage, he stood slowly—not too aggressive—and approached.
"I-I watch your streams."
Stuttered from nerves, but decent save. What'll she say? If her stream persona's real, maybe she'll cuss him out. He secretly hoped for that.
"..."
No reply. Didn't hear? Oh, earphones. He said it clear and steady this time.
"I watch your streams!"
"...Eh."
"...?"
"M-me? M-me...?"
What? This wasn't the reaction he expected. Doubt crept in—is this really Seola?—but he doubled down confidently.
"Yes, Seola, right? Big fan. I watch your streams."
"S-sorry!"
Her inexplicable apology hit just as the doors opened. And with them—poof, she was gone.
She got off. Got off.
Hmm.
'What the actual fuck.'
Han Junhee, 22. Hands down the most confused moment of his life.