Are You Losing?
The streaming scene is a wild jungle.
You never know what might explode from one day to the next. A corporate-backed streamer can collapse overnight from a single scandal or accident, while a nobody with barely ten viewers can snatch one lucky break and rocket into mid-tier status.
Lately, two things have been setting that jungle on fire: the virtual idol audition hosted by Ssa-yo, and Rena Universe.
Their impact on Pangea TV was nothing short of terrifying. Word was that the audition’s detailed notice would drop on the sixth, and the jockeying for position had already turned vicious. Everyone still remembered the virtual idol boom that had exploded on Rabbit TV, and the hope that maybe—just maybe—they could ride the same wave was swelling fast.
Virtual streamers were transferring over in droves on the strength of that rumor alone. Not exactly good news for me. It meant more potential rivals flooding in. The only silver lining was that a trickle of Rabbit TV viewers who actually liked virtual content were starting to migrate as well. Those people might end up in my chat someday.
I’d only heard the stories before. Seeing it live is something else entirely.
Rena Universe’s momentum was terrifying. Back when Lucy transferred to Pangea TV, the whole thing had been a deflated balloon—one scandal after another had left it barely breathing. But catching it at the dawn of the virtual boom? It was Lü Bu incarnate.
I knew that nickname. She’d failed to crack the million-Candy club, but in a little over two weeks she’d still hauled in 800,000 Candies and become the first real Virtual Emperor candidate. Then the controversies hit, her mental health tanked, and she vanished for a long stretch. She eventually came back, but by then the moment had passed and she never quite recovered her old fire. The short-term impact, though—Pan-beo-gal’s old-timers still stroked themselves raw reminiscing about it. Living through that era via regression left a strange taste in my mouth.
Was I about to become one of those old-timers myself?
Come to think of it, Pan-beo-gal should be forming any day now.
A dozen thoughts flickered through my head. Would Ju-ttak still exist? And if he really did possess godlike power, should I demand he put everything back the way it was?
No. Absolutely not. I’m going to change every last thing.
The future where my favorite quit streaming. The future where I sat there powerless and did nothing. I never wanted to taste that despair again.
Right. So I have to do better. Better enough to erase that entire future.
I would give every single broadcast everything I had. I was going to rewrite history all over again.
October 3rd, National Foundation Day, was a public holiday. Of course, streamers don’t get those. So I’d streamed hard the day before too.
What’s my point? That a girl who works her ass off even on a holiday deserves a reward. And the reward I was waiting for was deliciously sweet.
The hour of the heroes who hold Pangea TV in the palm of their hand.
Bring forth the Candies and the recommendations!
The stream kicked off at 8:30 a.m. I’d posted the notice the night before, so even though it was a sudden morning broadcast, nobody was confused. Viewers drawn in by the title bait started filtering in.
Early mornings are usually dead air. That let the randoms pile in, and for the first time in a while the viewer count cracked four thousand. The waiting screen flipped, and right in front of everyone’s eyes appeared the program linked to my stock account.
Pangea TV −705,000 won
Cash · 234 shares (−4.7%)
An account that proved the losses in black and white. Paired with that cocky title, it was more than enough to invite mockery.
Nobody realizes this is the setup.
I was deliberately making myself look like an easy mark. Today’s outfit was the office-lady look I’d already debuted once, plus a pair of glasses for that intellectual touch. Even adding one little prop costs money—and my account was already on the floor. So today I had to make something big happen.
“Everyone, Seo-ha, Seo-ha! It’s a morning that makes a hero’s heart race. I’m already in a great mood just thinking about the massive profits we’re about to rake in. Just checking—you all bought Pangea TV stock, right? What? Not even a single share? Hmm, people like that are a little… unwelcome on my stream.”
“Excuse me? Pangea TV is a trash stock? You people really don’t know a thing about the market. I’m genuinely hurt.”
I needled them as hard as I could, raking every last nerve. At first they answered with jokes, but one by one real heat started showing in the chat. I casually floated the offer.
“Then how about a match with me? Whether my account turns green today or not. If I lose, I’ll do all those bang-sels and reverse-fan pics you keep begging for. But if you lose, each of you donates a hundred Candies… sound fair?”
A hundred Candies was only ten thousand won—not a painful amount. I’d deliberately set it low so nobody could cry foul later. Bang-sels and reverse-fan content, on the other hand, were classic female-streamer culture; landing one of those usually cost around a thousand Candies. On pure terms the deal looked like free money for them—especially when the condition was turning a −4.7% account green. That would take nearly a six-percent jump in a single day. Over ninety percent of the chat was dead certain a six-percent rally simply wasn’t happening.
“Anyone who wants in, drop five Candies with a voice message so I know. I’ll write the nicknames down.”
The applications just kept coming. Over a hundred core Seo-a fans were a given, and even the randoms who’d wandered in for the title bait happily jumped into a high-odds bet. Roughly twenty minutes later I checked the notepad. Three hundred seventy-eight names.
“Three hundred seventy-eight confirmed. I assume nobody’s going to chicken out and ghost without donating if they lose, right? Anyone who does gets an autopsy after stream and a permanent blacklist.”
“Nope. Sorry, but I’m the heavy favorite here~”
The staring contest only intensified. Then nine o’clock sharp arrived and the market opened.
This was not the usual limp Pangea TV. From the first second it was spitting out monstrous volume, locked in a brutal tug-of-war around the +3% line. While the chat started to sweat, I spoke with deliberate smugness.
“Tsk tsk. You foolish ones. You still don’t understand. Think back to what happened on September 30th.”
The murmuring chat quickly remembered Rabbit TV’s 720p disaster.
I decided to hand the still-lost fools the answer myself. A calendar appeared in the lower-right corner of the screen. I tapped the dates one by one with a finger.
“The first was Saturday. The second was Sunday. The third is National Foundation Day—market closed. Which means today, the fourth, is the first trading day since the 720p incident. Okay?”
While the chat dissolved into chaos, the stock rocketed through 5%, 6%, 7% in the blink of an eye. Then it settled into another ferocious tug-of-war in that range. Before long my account had flipped green. I pointed at the numbers like I was underlining them and delivered the line in pure theatrical tone.
The chat erupted in a storm of reactions. Viewers who’d already given up started dropping their hundred-Candy donations. Those donations kept rolling in all the way until 3:30—until the market closed.
Pangea TV finished the day at +10.69%.
My glorious victory.