The First Disciple
…The viewers should have heard that answer. If they had, public sentiment would've shot straight through the roof, right?
Seven days had passed since my master, the genius singer-songwriter, bestowed upon this unworthy disciple a heaven-sent fortune: a secret manual of the vocal arts.
I could say with a straight face that I had done my best, in my own way, across those seven days. I pored over the manual and drilled everything my master had taught me, over and over, until it settled into my body. I kept her songs on repeat, trying to pry my ear open even a little wider. And because I was streaming and practicing at the same time, terrified I might strain my throat, I bought a mountain of teas that were supposed to be good for the voice and drank them whenever the thought crossed my mind. For the record, they were so obscenely expensive I started wondering if I was even doing this right.
Those seven days of doing my level best came to an end, and the day arrived to receive my master's teaching once again.
The first time I headed to Seoul for a lesson, expectation had filled me to the brim. Now tension outweighed expectation by a wide margin. Had those seven days meant anything? In the eyes of a genius singer-songwriter, how much had I grown since a week ago? Would I be praised, or scolded?
The tension those questions brewed was thick—thick enough that my heart was pounding far harder than usual.
Ah, and of course what I wanted was praise. Who wants to be scolded? It wasn't as if I were a masochist.
And obviously, I was not a masochist.
This part matters, so let me say it louder. The viewers can spend all day smearing me as Mäsochen, but I am not a masochist!
I was still turning that over when I reached the lesson room, and just like last time my vocal master was wearing a mask—though this one was a little more colorful. Today, too, the manager was on standby at the scene.
Was she… having a rough time of it? She barely seemed to look at her phone while the lesson was underway, so I should probably count it as suffering, right?
Anyway, the moment I sat down, my vocal master spoke.
"Open to page eighteen."
Huh?
"Um, T-Teacher?"
"What."
"Aren't you going to check whether I practiced hard? Whether I reviewed? You know, like inspecting homework…. Or feedback, or something…."
The moment I asked, Loe answered, perfectly flat.
"Once the lesson starts, I get a rough read. Don't need it. Waste of time."
…Truly a line worthy of a genius singer-songwriter.
Pay me back the spirit power I burned being nervous!!!
A genius does not know the heart of a mere mortal…!
Even as I grumbled through thoughts like that, my fingers meekly obeyed my master's command. I took out the secret manual I'd brought—no, the textbook—and had just opened it to page eighteen.
"And besides, there's no way the first disciple I picked would half-ass her practice. You didn't skip it, did you?"
"No?! I was doing my best, in my own way…."
"Then we're good."
…First disciple?
I was the first disciple?
For an otaku, the title of first disciple overflows with romance second only to last disciple—and I had just received it?!
All at once the otaku soul inside me caught fire. You hear the words sole disciple of the strongest under heaven and your heart doesn't pound? That's a disqualification from manhood before you're even an otaku!
…Of course, I had already been disqualified from manhood a long, long time ago.
Still, seeing as my heart was pounding, I figured I at least qualified for the title of honorary man. …Or not. Whatever!
Setting aside the words first disciple, though, that line my master had just dropped plucked an otaku's heartstrings pretty hard, didn't it?
…Was she an otaku? A comrade? A nakama? If so, would the two of us actually click?
Should I casually slip the question in later?
While Hari devoted herself to the lesson, deep in contemplation over whether Loe was truly an otaku, Loe taught her just as diligently—and, on the side, was thinking about something else.
And what, exactly, was the genius singer-songwriter Loe thinking?
Yeah. That line just now was definitely a good one.
To a third party with no idea where Loe stood, it was the sort of thought that would be judged extremely pointless. But to someone who understood Loe's position very well—that is, to Loe herself—the thought she was having right now was extremely important.
Loe was a fan of Märchen. A hardcore fan, the kind who had started Knight Rise because of Märchen and burned through two hundred 50,000-won bills—a cool ten million won.
And that Loe had met Märchen. Wouldn't wanting at least an autograph be a fan's most basic posture?
But she was in a situation where she absolutely could not be found out as a fan, if only so she wouldn't shatter her mystique.
Wasn't the mystique, and all the rest of it, basically irrelevant to Loe personally?
No.
Loe herself had no desire to break the mystique either. More precisely, Loe did not want to become a public figure.
For someone who had lived by running wild and free across internet communities, the yardstick applied to a public figure was a shackle that stopped the breath in her throat—far more than the mystique ever had.
Which was why, even as Märchen's most hardcore fan, she had to keep herself from openly indulging her selfish wants.
But because she was that hardcore a fan, she wanted to indulge them.
She had fallen into a dilemma.
And then Loe struck upon a staggering idea.
Couldn't she get the things she wanted not as a fan to a streamer, but as a master to a disciple?
That was how it had begun.
Loe's buildup…!!!
It did feel as if an awful lot of gears were turning.
The woman herself, however, praised it as a stroke of genius.
Anyway. That was that.
The lesson, five hours long, finally came to an end.
And the moment it did, Loe at last began her evaluation of my seven days of effort.
"You've definitely improved."
"Ah, really?"
"Yeah. You did exactly as much as I expected."
…As expected.
I'd figured it would be hard to earn a verdict of better than expected. Why? Because Loe was a genius singer-songwriter! The odds of a genius having low standards were infinitely small. So by an ordinary person's measure, that evaluation stood a very good chance of being the highest praise.
…Of course, that was pure headcanon, so it might not be true.
Still, thank goodness either way. Exactly as much as I expected still meant there was some real achievement in it. Process mattered, but results mattered more. No matter how hard I tried, if the results didn't show, it was all for nothing.
"Done. You can go. Keep practicing hard."
"Understood!!"
I answered, and left the lesson room.
"Do you have a moment?"
Kim Mina, my master's manager—who hadn't spoken a single word in the lesson room today—addressed me.
"…Yes?"
What? Why was she calling me all of a sudden? Had some problem come up? Was she about to tell me to hand the secret manual back later, to protect the mystique? Now that I thought about it, the contract had included something about keeping Loe's personal information confidential. Did this fall under that too? Should I secretly make a copy? If I got caught, wouldn't that be a disaster? Should I commit to the mindset that if you don't get caught, it isn't a crime? No—where did they get off giving something and then taking it back! Once you give it, that's the end!
"By any chance… would you have no interest in being a celebrity?"
……Oh!
Roughly summarized, what Kim Mina said was this.
She had met me several times, watched the lessons, and kept up with my recent streams until she was certain. I definitely had the makings of an all-round entertainer. I was a talent who would soar if someone gave me wings, and AY Entertainment could be those wings. It was a gift far too precious to spend on internet broadcasts alone.
"Of course, this isn't empty talk with nothing solid behind it. If you'll look here——"
"…I-I'm sorry, but!"
I had to cut her off here.
"I have no intention of jumping into the entertainment industry. No matter how good the terms are."
I wasn't even thinking about becoming an all-round entertainer or anything of the sort, so there was no need to waste each other's time.
At that firm declaration, Kim Mina let out a soft, full sigh. Strangely, though, the feeling inside it didn't seem all that heavy.
"…May I ask why?"
"Because I have no intention of giving up my work as an internet streamer."
"You can stream all you want while being a celebrity. You know more and more celebrities are trying YouTube and personal livestreams these days, don't you?"
I did.
"I just wouldn't be able to do it the way I do now."
"…If it isn't rude of me, could I ask why you're so attached to internet broadcasting?"
Why, huh.
Because I was a true-blue otaku? Because I wanted to be a partner streamer for Raider? Because I wanted to become a streamer my father couldn't bear to leave unacknowledged?
All of it was sincere. None of it was the right sincerity to offer as an answer in this moment.
So I put the question to myself.
Even though there were countless things this body of mine could achieve, why was I staying shut inside the frame of internet broadcasting?
The instant I asked, an answer leapt out without ever passing through my brain.
Yeah.
That was it.
I had walked the streamer's path to save my favorite game. After that I kept walking it because I wanted to be a Raider partner streamer, because I wanted to become a streamer my father couldn't bear to leave unacknowledged.
But if those goals disappeared, would I quit?
No. I'd probably keep going.
I couldn't imagine a Lee Hari who no longer streamed.
Which was why I could say it without hesitation, sincerity in every word, a faint smile on my face.
…The viewers should have heard that answer. If they had, public sentiment would've shot straight through the roof, right?
Hearing it, Kim Mina let out a long, deflating sigh. Then she dragged both hands down her face.
"…So that's why you were so sure of yourself."
"Uh, um…. I'm sorry?"
I had no idea what she meant, but I apologized in a rush. Seeing that, Mina hurriedly straightened up and spoke in a courteous tone.
"Not at all. We at AY Entertainment respect your wishes, Hari. If that's how you feel, I won't bring this up again."
Thank goodness. She didn't seem offended. We were going to be seeing each other's faces for a while yet, and if things turned awkward it would be uncomfortable for both of——
Wait.
This subject?
That was the word choice of someone who had another subject already prepared.
"Actually, I brought one more proposal. Something I prepared in case you turned down the first…. It seems the streamer Märchen doesn't belong to any MCN yet?"
Wait.
I genuinely had not seen this coming.
"Then how would AY Entertainment suit you?"
The moment I heard that, I remembered the first time I had ever received an MCN offer.
Back then I had told Eunha that the second you eagerly snapped one up, you'd get kidnapped in the early-admissions round and might miss an even better offer.
…No, why was that actually real?