I'd Dare Call It a Miracle
Honestly, is there anyone out there who actually likes being in pain? What even is pain, when you get right down to it? It's your body sounding an alarm to your brain, screaming that something's wrong and you need to do something about it, fast. If anyone finds that pleasant, they've either been conditioned like Pavlov's dog to associate something good with what comes after the pain — or their nerves are so fried that pain registers as an entirely different sensation. That's about all there is to it, I figure. Or maybe there's a psychological angle: the kind of person who comes to enjoy pain itself because it drowns out everything else. I once read a book that argued when pain is inflicted as punishment, the sufferer feels absolved of guilt — as if the suffering itself grants them a pardon.
Anyway, I'm not that type of person. Of course I hate being in pain. That's why I looked it up. Ways to die without hurting.
Everyone knows it, honestly. Every person dies eventually. The only difference is whether you go first or later. And I was living with the full intention of dying — the deadline being whenever the money I'd saved from tutoring ran out. Naturally, it wasn't that I wanted to die, or that I wanted to hurt. But back then, I figured no place would hire a girl missing an eye and a foot. And trying to earn a degree from absolute scratch, with nothing but a few months' living expenses in my pocket? So if I was going to die anyway, I might as well find a painless way to do it. And if I could settle even a tiny scrap of a grudge in the process — well. When Mother got out of prison and came home, she could deal with my corpse however she liked. Clean it up or leave it. Her problem.
But then hope showed up.
Become a pro gamer, and you earn an income. Meaning I could support myself on my own strength. And if that was the case, there was no reason to die. The only reason I'd planned on dying was that I had no way to make a living. The moment I had money to buy a meal, I could just… keep living. I wouldn't even have to run into Mother. Before she got out, I could take whatever I'd saved, rent some tiny room, and leave.
…I'd gotten so flustered that I'd escaped into this long-winded private monologue. But simply put: I wanted to live. I had no intention of dying.
How was I supposed to explain a psychological shift like this to my viewers? If I started rambling about dying and all that, I'd just spread unnecessary gloom. I already knew I looked pitiful. People watched my stream partly because I was relatively good at League of Champions and they could learn something — but also, partly, because a scrawny girl missing an eye and a foot was a sad sight. Still, my hope was that satisfaction with my play would outweigh the pity. I wanted everyone to take only positive things from my stream. I didn't want to be remembered as a pitiful kid. The image I wanted — the ideal I held up for myself — was a warrior fighting fiercely right up to the brink of death.
…But would it be rude to hide things and lie to the people who always watched my stream so happily? While I'd been sitting in silence, the chat was already going haywire. And if I hemmed and hawed or tried to lie, I'd get caught immediately. I was terrible at lying to begin with. On top of that, there were those old posts I'd made on community boards, saying I'd die when the money ran out. All of which brought me to the conclusion that just being honest was the best option.
So I had no choice but to pry open a mouth that didn't want to open.
"Ahem. Ahem. Everyone. Um, about saying I was going to die — that was an old story. Back then, I figured nowhere would hire someone disabled like me, even for a part-time job. If you've got no way to make a living, and you're going to die anyway, isn't it better to die without the pain? You all hate being in pain too, right? Right?"
Unfortunately, it seemed people still hadn't quite grasped what I was getting at. If I'd been even a little more contrary, I might have snapped that my life was mine to do with as I pleased — but thankfully, I wasn't twisted up enough right now to say that out loud. If anything, I was grateful. They were putting this much care into their chat messages for my sake. Back in the old days, even if I'd gone looking for somewhere to post about my situation, I wouldn't have drawn any attention at all. No — I'd probably just have been mocked. Die or don't, whatever, figure it out yourself.
Plenty of miserable things had happened since I'd become a girl. But maybe it was precisely because that misfortune had come first that this stroke of luck had arrived to balance the scales.
"Right? I mean, if I'd at least been pretty, maybe there'd have been demand for me in some illegal line of work or other — but that wasn't the case either. Still, you all sent me gift cards and donations and everything, so I figured I'd at least try living for a while… and then this one hope appeared. They said if I hit Grandmaster, they'll put me on a pro team. It's all thanks to you."
To be precise, it might not have been entirely thanks to the viewers. I'd just gone underwear shopping with Gabi and the timing had happened to line up. But the truth was, every coincidence had meshed together to make that moment possible. If I hadn't gone to buy a wheelchair with Jaemin, the day I bought underwear would have been different. And then it might never have lined up with the Pop Store event schedule either. The way things had unfolded — didn't the viewers' donations hold a share of that? The ones who'd gone out of their way to set a mission for Jaemin, telling me not to feel burdened. They could have taken credit for it, and yet not a single one of them brought it up. They knew I was close with Jaemin, so whenever the two of us talked they chimed in here and there — but when it came to another streamer entirely, maybe they just didn't mention it at all.
And all of that had only been possible because I'd decided to clear up the hack accusations. If that hadn't tangled me up with Jaemin, I never would have started streaming in the first place. A handful of choices, and interactions with other people, had locked together to produce this result.
I didn't believe in fate. If I did, it would mean everything that had happened — becoming a girl, Father dying — had all been necessary steps. That was far too cruel. But the fact that I was smiling because of these people… I'd dare call it a miracle. On a planet of several billion people, we were sharing this time together. Out of countless possibilities where this moment never came to be, this one existed right now.
And so I could say it clearly. Not just to get through this moment — but sincerely.
"I don't think about dying anymore. I've got to live, right? Whatever it takes. Would someone who's about to die go get a health checkup? Hmm… I don't think I could do something like just start drinking myself to death either."
That was why it had come out in a fairly bright voice, I think. Bright enough that even I was satisfied with it.
But the viewers still sent chat messages full of worry. Depression? Well, the old me had been depressed, that much was true. But right now I was streaming just fine, having fun with all of them.
"Come on, I'm not depressed at all right now — I'm perfectly fine. My wrists? Ah, you want to check if I cut them or something? Childish. So childish. Here — not a single scar, see? Oh, this vertical scratch wasn't me — that tore when I raised my guard."
"Of course. I'm the kind of person who doesn't even smash my keyboard when I'm depressed or angry. It just hurts my hands and wrecks the keyboard."
The viewers were finally starting to settle down. One person was beating themselves up pretty hard for having touched a nerve — but if I just kept acting like it was nothing, they'd fall back into their usual playful selves on their own. Of course, if choking myself to reset my mood counted as self-harm, then sure, that was self-harm. But I didn't do that anymore, did I? So there was no need to mention it.
With the atmosphere more or less sorted out, I pulled up the website for the content the viewers had suggested earlier.
"Alright, let's do what we said we would earlier. After this, I'm going to sleep. I'm getting sleepy."
"You people insinuate things as naturally as breathing. So I just take the alcohol addiction self-diagnosis right now, yeah? I'll clear my name with this."
With this, they'd never be able to call me an alcoholic again. And once I finished that health checkup, I'd be free to drink as much as I wanted.