There, I’ll Be Happy
Thanks to the lady, getting home was quick.
The hospital bill—consultation plus a day's admission—came out to around thirty thousand won, which left a bitter taste. Well, I'd wring ten times, a hundred times that out of the bastard who'd hit me later. Truth was, the lady had insisted on covering it herself, and I'd flat-out refused. Gifts I could accept, but money changing hands still made me uncomfortable. So I'd paid under the flimsy excuse that I needed the receipt to bill him later. Whether that was true or not, the lady just went along with it.
The moment I finally made it home, the tension drained out of me all at once and I collapsed flat on the floor. Aside from my own room, every corner of this house was painted over with memories of getting beaten—but maybe it was because Celesty had given the place a thorough cleaning. Lying here like this, it actually felt more comfortable than being outside.
It hadn't felt this way last time. Why did home feel so easy now? Maybe because a lot of good things had happened lately. I'd met Celesty and Kanchona, who treated me well—whether out of pity or because our interests lined up. And I'd found viewers who genuinely enjoyed watching me play.
Yeah. That had to be it.
Before I started streaming, I'd just been waiting around to die, grinding games. That brief catharsis of outplaying someone, of winning a fight—the second the match ended, it left nothing but a crushing emptiness. So I'd queue up the next game to erase it, over and over. Even then, nothing stuck. Just watching a number tick up and down, thinking, Well, at least my LP's higher than yesterday. As if climbing ranked would ever put food on the table.
But now? There were people who lit up watching me play. Viewers who, even during downtime, handed me conversations that left pure, simple joy behind. I didn't have the guts to end my own life, and I'd sworn I'd die once the money ran out—but these people seemed like they could give me something called happiness, at least until that day came. Maybe that was why my heart had gone a little soft, why lying here in the living room didn't feel bad at all.
No—I was just lying here comfortably because this was home.
But I stopped lying there. Usually you say you "stop" something you were already doing; calling it "stopping" when I'd just started moving felt a little ironic, but anyway. The reason I headed for my room wasn't because I hated the living room the way I used to.
I wanted to stream.
Because there were people inside the monitor.
"…Do I sound like a computer addict?"
Even I thought the motivation was weird, so I muttered it under my breath, a little sheepish. But so what if it was weird? I lived alone. Nobody cared how I spent my days. And doing something fun—even if it meant nothing—beat drowning in emptiness and self-destructive impulses any day.
Since I'd started streaming, I hadn't once choked myself in a fit of rage. Not even when games went sideways and teammates started pointing fingers. The chat would just turn the whole mess into something funny. If you asked whether any of that joy actually left something behind… well. Dig too deep and you'd end up asking whether life itself means anything when everyone dies eventually. I didn't want to go that far.
So I sat down at the computer and gave the keyboard and mouse a light touch. Normally the machine would power itself off after sitting idle long enough—but the League of Champions client was still running. The monitor lit up out of sleep mode, and the stream that was still broadcasting filled the screen. Along with the chat window, where viewers were still typing away now and then.
Had they just stayed and kept talking among themselves this whole time? Well, not everyone was only watching the stream. Some people multitasked; others probably left and came back, saw I was still live, and dropped in again.
That thought lasted about two seconds—then I saw what was actually in the chat and nearly jumped out of my skin.
Message after message kept rolling in, the kind of guestbook entries you only write for the dead. Was this a joke, or did they actually think I was gone? Curiosity got the better of me, so I scrolled all the way up—and it got even more ridiculous. People had even left condolence money through donations.
"What—I'm not dead! What is this supposed to be…!"
I almost never talked to myself out loud. Sure, streaming had made me slip a few times without realizing it, but those were just things I'd meant to type and said by accident. And yet here I was, so floored I was groaning out loud.
They were holding a cyber funeral? For me? Why?
I'd asked Celesty to clean this up earlier—had that not worked…?
Only after scrolling even further did the full picture come into focus. Celesty had clearly told the viewers I was fine. She'd even posted CocoaTalk screenshots of our conversation to the community, so anyone who needed to know already knew. And that was exactly where the memorial parade had started.
Before Celesty's explanation, the chat had just been full of people asking if I was okay.
Please be safe.
You're not badly hurt, right?
Please just say you went to sleep. See you tomorrow…
Messages like that. People worrying about me, sending warm little encouragements. A few had started raging about whoever had hurt me, but others shut that down fast—my condition mattered more; go curse the guy somewhere else—and kept the mood from turning ugly.
Then the second Celesty said I was perfectly fine, these little gremlins had decided I was dead and started holding a full memorial service.
"What is thiiiis!"
I was so speechless I yelled and hammered the keyboard. It was so absurd I almost laughed out loud. But I wasn't upset. It was painfully obvious they were teasing me out of affection.
The viewers still hanging around—or whoever had wandered in by chance—immediately started making a huge theatrical fuss the second I typed. Right. They were only teasing me like this because I was alive. If I'd actually died, they wouldn't be doing any of this. Celesty must have left them alone on purpose so they could have their fun. Once you understood it was all affection, it didn't feel bad at all. So I decided to play along.
"Oh, for real."
Of course the people watching a gaming stream would make all their jokes about the game. It was so ridiculous I couldn't help laughing. Only after we'd gone back and forth like that for a while did people finally start asking how I actually was. For all the light teasing, they'd been worried after all. Hearing it from Celesty and hearing it from me were two different things.
So I just told them what had happened at the hospital, more or less.
No need to mention that I'd closed my eyes and simply fallen asleep. If I'd blacked out because of the person who hit me, the punishment would be heavier. If I said I'd just dozed off instead of fainting, I'd look ridiculous—and more importantly, his sentence would get lighter. I was no Jesus, offering up the other cheek. I was a Top-sin-byeong-ja through and through: hit me once, and I hit back twice before I can rest.
Of course, for someone who'd already taken two hits, I was willing to show a little mercy.
I should go watch.