The Algorithms Strike Back
I’m translating the chapter into HTML now, preserving the in-universe readouts as styled blocks and keeping the narration natural in English.CHAPTER_TITLE: Chapter 53
[Views: 4,165,957.]
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[Views: 4,172,143.]
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[Views: 4,174,699.]
No, it’s climbing by the thousands in real time...?
Every so often, though, my supervisors would call me away.
“Assistant Manager Kang. Can you bring the materials in here?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Even if I only stepped away for a moment, when I came back,
[Views: 4,188,247.]
the count had jumped by another ten thousand.
How is it exploding like this?
From a YouTuber’s perspective, strong view counts were obviously welcome.
But it was also genuinely baffling.
Why this video, of all things?
My channel had perfectly respectable videos of woodworking and leathercraft.
There was a business-class flight review, too.
And I’d even uploaded a camping video full of healing, easygoing atmosphere.
Out of all those videos, why is this destructive one...?
Even though I had tried to edit it in a way that minimized the violence, the fact remained that the main content was smashing a solid-wood dining table to pieces.
Algorithms are impossible to understand.
And it wasn’t just getting exposure. It was getting a lot of it.
Overall, the ranking was pretty high.
“If I’d known this would happen, I should at least have given it a better title...”
Even I felt embarrassed looking at it.
But maybe that was why it had hooked attention so well, because every time I refreshed, more comments kept pouring in.
There were so many comments that if I didn’t keep reading, they piled up before I knew it.
But amid all that noise, the happiest news of all was this.
[Side-Hustling Teddy Bear's Workshop]
-Subscriber count: 1,093.
“Oh...”
My subscriber count had shot up in an instant.
And with the views spiking as well, I’d even hit the monetization requirements.
So this is momentum?
People say that when the tide comes in on YouTube, you’re supposed to row while you can.
Is there another video I can upload?
***
It will be reviewed within 24 hours, and revenue will begin immediately after approval.
“Wow, who do we have here? Why, if it isn’t our thousand-subscriber YouTuber, Side-Hustling Teddy Bear?”
“...Shut up, man. I’m not a ten-million-subscriber YouTuber. ‘Thousand-subscriber YouTuber’ sounds like an insult.”
“Ahahaha- I mean that in a good way.”
Assistant Manager Park laughed as he handed me a coffee.
“Congrats, Assistant Manager Kang.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He was still the only person at the company I could really relax and talk to.
“The others at work probably don’t know, right?”
“I doubt it.”
Assistant Manager Park glanced out past the break room as he spoke.
“Back when Scholar-ticon first launched, it was a hot topic for a while, but... they probably wouldn’t know that your nickname is Side-Hustling Teddy Bear.”
“Right.”
People might know what the emoticon set was, but not who had actually made it.
That was how companies were, really.
They’d make a fuss when something became a topic, but once the attention faded, it was gone in an instant.
Besides, before Choi Kang-san and Lim Yu-jin started tagging it all over social media, I hadn’t even been using the name Side-Hustling Teddy Bear yet. It was probably already buried in everyone’s memory.
“At least nobody at the company has recognized me, so that’s a relief.”
“That’s a good thing. And your social media is completely different now anyway, right?”
“Yeah. I changed everything.”
I’d separated the Side-Hustling Teddy Bear account from Kang Seo-jun’s office-worker account.
At first I’d debated whether I should bother, because it was a pain, but I figured that if I kept blogging steadily and then added YouTube on top of it, it would eventually draw attention, so it was better to split them in advance.
“Then the only people who know Side-Hustling Teddy Bear is Kang Seo-jun are...”
“Probably just Manager Han Su-a?”
“Ah, that makes sense. She’s been watching since the blog days.”
“Exactly.”
“She’s definitely not the type to go blabbing everywhere, so it won’t spread.”
“Right. Thank goodness.”
Time would pass, and I might be found out by chance someday, but for the time being it looked like I could keep coming to work in peace.
“Still, Assistant Manager Kang. This is exactly when you should ride the wave, isn’t it?”
“You mean YouTube?”
“Yeah. Sounds like you’re worried that people paying too much attention will make you too self-conscious to upload another video.”
“...”
Honestly, that was exactly it.
I’d already uploaded every video I had finished.
If I wanted to post more, I’d have to film and edit something new, but now that attention had suddenly exploded, I felt so much pressure that I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“Should I make another table and upload that?”
“No, I think people are cheering for the destruction more than anything.”
Assistant Manager Park made a careful suggestion.
“What if you make one specifically to break? Smash it after, and I bet it’ll be popular.”
“That would be too staged.”
“So what? Nobody would know. Everyone just wants the dopamine hit from watching something get destroyed.”
“It still bothers me.”
If that ever came out, I’d probably get stamped with the label of being a fake YouTuber from the very beginning.
“You’re too honest for your own good.”
Assistant Manager Park shook his head as if he couldn’t help me.
“If you don’t have a stomach for that, do you have any videos you’ve held back?”
“What kind?”
“Something you filmed, but weren’t sure you should upload.”
“Hmm. Maybe?”
“Upload something. Anything that can catch people’s attention should be fine.”
“I’ll think about it.”
***
The next day.
It had only been one more day, and yet...
[Views: 5,013,662]
“Five million, seriously...”
The number had risen by an insane amount.
Still, the rate of increase had slowed a lot.
Until yesterday, every refresh had added another thousand or two, but now...
It’s only going up by about three to four hundred?
Probably the people who were interested had already watched it, and the algorithm was starting to push it down.
I figured it would probably stop somewhere around six million views.
When I asked YouTube experts, most of them said I had to upload another video today if I wanted to keep the momentum going.
But unfortunately, I didn’t have anything ready.
If it had been the weekend, maybe. But it was a weekday, and I was at the office, which meant there was nowhere near enough time to film and edit a video.
The only footage I have left is...
There was one video I’d received from Choi Kang-san a few days ago.
When I asked him to film the table, he’d even put his own face in it and left a three-minute review.
I did get his permission, though...
But it felt a little tacky, like a home shopping show.
Still, no matter how much I searched through my laptop and cloud storage, I couldn’t find anything better.
When the tide comes in, you’ve got to row.
Just to be safe, I sent Choi Kang-san a text to confirm one more time.
-Kang Seo-jun: Kang-san, can I upload the video you sent me last time to YouTube?
-Choi Kang-san: Didn’t I already say OK back then?
-Kang Seo-jun: Yeah, you did. I just wanted to ask once more, just in case.
-Choi Kang-san: Of course you can, Hyung-nim!
-Choi Kang-san: Want me to promote it on social media too?
-Kang Seo-jun: No, that would be too much pressure. Anyway, thanks for the video.
-Choi Kang-san: If you need more footage, just say the word!
“At this point, I’ve got permission...”
After thinking it over for a long time right up to the end, I finally...
[Upload complete.]
I uploaded Choi Kang-san’s video.
[A review of a dining table completed by smashing nine solid-wood boards to pieces]
“...I’m not going to get flak for riding on celebrity buzz, right?”
I was still nervous and anxious about it, of course.
But I was going to do whatever I could.
Bzzzz—!
My phone vibrated hard enough to startle me.
“Gah, jeez...”
When I checked the caller, it was someone I hadn’t expected.
“...Why is she calling me?”
After hesitating, I answered.
“Yes, this is Kang Seo-jun.”
“Yes. I’ve saved your number this time. Go ahead.”
That was welcome news if I’d ever heard it.
These days, I was in exactly the kind of season where I needed to fatten up my bank account in preparation for moving.
“Until when do you need it?”
“That gives me plenty of time. I can do it.”
“Then let’s set a date and meet at the workshop.”
“Understood.”
For the time being, I’d gotten more work.
I can probably make the clothes after work on weekdays.
Bzzzz—!
Another call came in.
This one was from an unsaved number.
Thinking it might be a client from my main job, I cleared my throat and answered.
“This is Kang Seo-jun from HR Vision.”
Hello, Seo-jun. This is Shin Seung-won. Is now a good time to talk?
Shin Seung-won...?
The name didn’t ring a bell.
I quickly searched my memory.
Shin Seung-won, Shin Seung-won...
It was hazy.
But just as it was getting frustratingly vague and I still couldn’t place him, he introduced himself first.
-I’m the film director you met at the campsite last time.
“Ah, Director...”
No wonder the name hadn’t sounded familiar.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to save your number.”
-Not at all. Thinking about it, I was the only one who got your number one-sidedly.
“Oh, was that it?”
I remembered now.
He’d asked for my number because he said it fit the Japanese restaurant concept he was imagining for his work.
-The thing is, as I mentioned at the campsite, the Japanese restaurant concept is really important in this piece.
“Ah, yes. I remember.”
-So, I was wondering if you might come to the set and cook something for us?
“...Cook in person?”
-Yes. I want to film the cooking scene as an insert shot. Your face doesn’t need to appear. I’d like to go over the detailed conditions in person. For reference, we’ll pay you and handle the filming terms as we would a professional chef, so you don’t need to worry about that.
“Hmm...”
-You wouldn’t be appearing as an actor. We’re genuinely bringing you in as a chef. Please don’t feel pressured.
“All right. It’d probably be better to meet and talk in person.”
-Yes. I’ll send over the basic terms by text. Take a look and let me know in advance if there’s anything you want adjusted.
“Sure. I’ll contact you.”
After I hung up and looked at the calendar, my schedule for this month was looking pretty packed.
Just a few days ago, I’d had all the free time in the world and had been doing nothing but relaxing.
Then once work started arriving, it came flooding in all at once.
The freelance ghost story where one day off turns into three days’ worth of work was starting to feel very real.
Still, I should buckle down and get through it.
Tax season in May was creeping closer, and the pressure of moving was building with it, so it would be better to rake in as much as I could while the opportunities were here.
Bzzzz—!
Not long after, a text came in from Director Shin Seung-won.
The terms don’t look bad.
Minimum six hours of filming, up to ten hours in a single day.
The pay was set at 2 million won, treated the same as a professional chef’s movie appearance fee.
If filming ran longer than ten hours, I’d be paid an additional 200,000 won per hour.
There aren’t even any lines.
I’d just be quietly playing the role of a Japanese restaurant owner deep-frying things.
My face didn’t have to appear, but they did want the frying scene and my hands on camera.
Maybe all that would show was the back of me in a chef’s coat.
More than anything, I like that my face won’t be shown.
How many people would recognize my hands?
Especially in a movie?
There was a very good chance even my own parents would miss it.
From my perspective, this is an amazing offer!
The daily rate was a massive 2 million won.
And unlike the drama I’d done before,
this time it’s a movie.
The environment would be different, and I could already look forward to seeing myself on the big screen.
They’re even paying the fee generously.
There was no reason to refuse.
No, honestly, I was looking forward to it.
This is going to be pretty fun.
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