The Face Is the Issue

I fired up the game client and the streaming software ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and waited for viewers to arrive.

Maybe it was the hour, but they piled in at a speed that made my morning streams look glacial by comparison. Or maybe it was because of the drinks I'd shared with Jaemin earlier. You could call that a kind of collab, after all. Jaemin had been streaming far longer than I had, so of course he had more viewers — and people who'd never heard of me would have learned my name through him. That was probably why they were dropping by now. Celesty wasn't even on my in-game friends list, so with Jaemin's stream already over, curiosity alone must have brought them here.

Familiar nicknames and unfamiliar ones filled the chat, all of them welcoming me back. The tone, though, was anything but light. Sure, there were laughing and crying emotes, but every message underneath was worry. Before anything else, I owed them a check-in.

"Um, hello everyone. I ended up starting a bit late today. I had a few drinks and passed out for a while."

The meaning of hello. Maybe they meant the old etymology — that you were at peace, in no danger of losing your life. It felt like a lot of fuss over a few drinks, but then again, viewers who had never seen my face might worry that much. Not my features, exactly — my complexion. Should I stream in a mask and sunglasses? My eyes already looked unsettling, so maybe sunglasses alone would do. But then no one would be able to read my color at all. The eyes were the best place to check that in the first place. Put sunglasses on and you might as well not show the camera.

I turned it over for a moment and landed, again, on the same conclusion: better not to show the camera at all. Viewers came for my games. Putting my face in front of them would only backfire.

"I really was fine. While my friend was clutching their head over the hangover, I didn't feel bad at all. Well — my throat was a little dry, that was it. Some ramen broth and water fixed me right up."

I kept it calm and honest. If I only said I was fine, they'd call me a liar, so I mixed in a little of what hadn't been perfect.

"Hm? I don't think we drank that much. Jaemin got home just fine, didn't he? And my friend… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠well. Their tolerance is tiny to begin with, so they probably just got drunk fast."

Maybe my bar for "drunk" was set too high. Feeling warm and floaty, wanting to lie down, getting dizzy — maybe that already counted. I'd always thought you weren't drunk until the film cut out.

Either way, the viewers clearly knew more about drinking than I did. Best to take their word for it where I could. Whether I drank or not was still my call — but the reference points, those they had right.

With the small talk warming the room, I queued into ranked and kept the conversation going. What had tasted best? The orange mix was too sour for me. Grape juice hit that sweet-tart balance just right. The strawberry had an organic sticker on it and tasted like faintly flavored water. The apple wine, I thought, would be even better warmed a little. Little things like that.

Somewhere in the middle of it, a topic I'd completely forgotten floated up in chat.

"Ah, right. So — applying at a bare 400 LP felt like it wouldn't look very good. I figured I'd climb as high as I could first and then apply. But once I started playing, the LP just kept going up. So I'm going to keep running until I hit a wall."

Truthfully, once I hit a comfortable range I had planned to contact that coach. Scheduling took time; reaching out early would be better for both of us. But once I actually played, I could feel it — I could climb higher. The monsters at the top still made my breath catch, but there was no reason I couldn't play like that myself. What was left was to hunt them down and become a higher predator still. Prove it, aim higher, and if I got there — I wouldn't be the one going to interviews. Teams would be the ones sending love calls my way. Options. So I was letting myself get a little greedy. The coach had never given me a hard deadline, after all. Of course they'd want a new member in and practicing within a week or two. Fine. I'd push my LP as high as I could inside that window.

Saying any of that out loud in front of viewers, though, might have been a little rude to the coach. So I quietly watched chat talk among themselves — the hard parts of being a pro, the proud and joyful ones, the glory, the honor, the infamy. With this many people, light and shadow got lit up at the same time, and it was oddly entertaining. Information drifted in without me even having to search, and a lot of it was useful.

Then, while I was browsing the chat, a viewer dropped something that made me think about the camera all over again.

They weren't wrong. As a pro you'd play under the eyes of crowds and cameras. You couldn't exactly walk into that and ask them to hide your face. Sunglasses and a mask weren't options either. Getting used to the gaze now might genuinely be better.

Until now I'd avoided the camera out of fear — that people would find my eyes unpleasant, that they'd dislike me for it. Lately, though, I'd started thinking that if someone was going to leave over that, it was better to let them go. Jaemin and Gabi had never once brought up my eyes or my face. I kept repeating it to myself: viewers came for my games, not my face. And if someone left because of my face, then our connection had only ever been meant to go that far.

"Hmm. You all make fair points, though. But I should at least keep the minimum of manners, so let me go wash my face first."

I steeled myself and stood up from my chair. Chat erupted behind me, but I left it there. A splash of cold water on my face would at least clear my head enough to tell whether this was the right call.

And once I was properly awake, the logic settled. Anyone who would leave over my face would leave on their own the moment I stepped onto a pro stage anyway. Turning the camera on now was the right move.

I came back to my seat — and the match queue had been cancelled.

"Ah. It cancelled because I didn't accept the match… So that's another ten minutes of queue."