Seozme's Door Lock

The personal interview schedule for the Wooga-dol first-round passers had been released.

Miho's was set for the very next day, the 18th, while Lucy and I were booked for the 19th.

One free day handed to me. How was I supposed to use it?

For starters, I decided not to raid Ssa-yo's stream today. Even bloodsucking like a mosquito needs intervals — do it too often and that image sticks, and you become unlikable.

Ha. Seriously, why was there so much to manage?

So today, for once, I decided to run a stream for the regulars. Roots matter in everything. For a streamer, those roots are the fixed fanbase.

And among them, the hardcore fans who poured the most donations into a streamer were the ones you always had to look after. Simple capitalist logic.

Say I ran a convenience store. One customer who dropped by occasionally to buy something, versus a customer who showed up every single day and spent several times the average each visit. Who would you treat better and pay more attention to?

Someone might argue that every customer is precious and should be treated equally. Unfortunately, that person knows nothing about how the world works — pure idealist.

Streamers ultimately live off the donations and ad revenue their viewers provide. Give the same service to someone who donated a thousand won and someone who donated ten thousand, and the latter will start getting resentful.

In that sense, Pangea TV was a company that knew exactly how to poke at human desire. A hardcore fan system unique to Pangea TV, something you would never find on Rabbit TV.

A tiered system based on cumulative Candy donations, where the top twenty fans got red nicknames that set them apart from the ordinary green ones. Humans are creatures who love ranking things. And when there's a public ranking permanently displayed on the channel of the streamer they love? Fans who got stimulated by that opened their wallets without restraint.

Maybe the system wasn't entirely ethical. Every so often the news would feature stories of people taking out loans to donate Candy beyond their means, causing social scandals or even committing crimes. Even so, the results were staggering — enough that articles appeared about streamers generating over 200 billion won in revenue in Q3 of 2023 alone.

In a capitalist society, money is ultimately the highest value.

There was a reason Pangea TV kept the hardcore fan system intact even when it overhauled the platform and changed its corporate name. An overwhelming revenue model that differentiated it from every competing platform. And as a Pangea TV streamer myself, I needed to use that system well.

Pushing Candy donations too hard is a problem, but you've got to take care of the captive rabbits.

In the streaming world, viewers who only watch one channel are rare. When their main streamer goes live, they of course take their seat — but outside of that, they freely roam looking for streams that match their taste. And if they're in a good mood, they might drop Candy on some other stream… and eventually pick up a hardcore fan badge there too.

Streamers joked about that kind of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thing as "foreign currency outflow," but it wasn't something you could just laugh off. Beyond the simple drop in income, frequent hardcore-fan outflow meant their hearts were drifting — and they might eventually switch their main channel entirely.

Hardcore fans need proper care. They donated that much to my stream — looking after them is only natural.

Hadn't I already lived through it before the regression? The discrimination inside the crew based on hardcore fans — especially the difference a President made. Because Blueby's stream President poured generous support into every crew content, Lucy and the other members had no choice but to walk on eggshells.

It wasn't just the streaming scene. That was how the world worked. No money, and you keep your head down and read the room.

Which was why today's content was happening.

"Seo-ha, Seo-ha! Your virtual idol Seo-a has arrived!"

Just the stream title alone was dumping dopamine — from the jump, the chat was buzzing with excitement. Hardcore fans were a sensitive issue tied directly to income. Nothing grabbed people's attention or got them more worked up than a topic involving money.

I hadn't even promoted today, figuring this was truly a stream for hardcores and regulars — but my name recognition and the title alone pulled enough aggro that the viewer count blew past a thousand in no time.

Must be the Wooga-dol audition period, huh? Definitely getting a viewer buff.

I gauged the mood for a bit, then started tossing bait for today's concept.

"Hello, everyone. Tomorrow I've got the personal interviews for the Wooga-dol first-round stage passers, so I was actually planning a quiet little chat stream today. But then I received a truly shocking tip… sob."

"The tip I received goes like this. I truly trusted and believed in my Seo-a Corps. But it turns out people with sub nicknames are hanging out in other streams with their fan nicknames, chatting hard, and dumping Candy left and right!"

"Tsk! Everybody hands off the mouse. From now on, if you move without permission, your hands are getting chopped. Got it? Verification starts now."

I steered the atmosphere with an exaggerated tone, like I was acting out a drama script. Managing fan "deviations" was an extremely delicate issue. Fans weren't a streamer's property — they had their own free will — and trying to control them forcefully would only breed resentment.

Which was why you could never go full serious. Always words with a hidden barb. Playful on the surface, but poking them right in the ribs underneath. Maintain that attitude, and fans could enjoy it as a "the streamer is obsessed with me" kind of feeling in moderation.

"You can see my channel, right? At the very least, I believe it won't be the hardcore fans. What kind of relationship do we have! Huh? Bound by sweet Candy— no, connected by warm hearts that care for each other and pure fan love!"

"I just suddenly got curious about the hardcore fans' channels today. Let's take a little look around~!"

The hardcore fan list on the left side of my channel unfurled with a flourish.

Looking at that list displayed through twentieth place, it really was a motley crew of viewers gathered together.

First, the one occupying the very top seat — the "President," Seo-a's Empty Wallet. From what I remembered, he'd been there since the debut stream. He watched diligently, barely chatted, but his donation messages had a refined feel that suggested he was a bit older. At least mid-thirties?

Sometimes in small streamer channels you'd find "grab-and-shakers" — hardcore fans who used donations as a pretext to hold the streamer hostage and throw their weight around. Thankfully, our channel's President seemed far removed from that type.

Then the "Vice-President," Seoah Not Streaming. Unlike the President, he was a hardcore fan who chatted a ton. The cheeky vibe and the way he constantly dropped trending memes when he typed suggested he was young. His pranks were bad enough that he got chat-banned now and then, but he followed the rules well and had a knack for steering the mood in a positive direction — a solid hardcore overall.

Plus, bear traps are precious. No matter how many viewers you have, a channel with almost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no chat makes it hard for a streamer to actually stream.

Communication was the most basic thing for a streamer. If the streamer was just monologuing into the void with zero reaction in chat, how exhausting would that be? In that sense, the existence of a bear trap who flooded the chat was invaluable.

Huh? What's a bear trap?

There was once a named viewer who, no matter how garbage the content, never bailed — watched to the end and kept pushing chat the whole time. That viewer's nickname had "bear trap" in it, and it became gallery slang. Just think of it as a viewer who spams chat with insane dedication.

Third and fourth are a bit murky.

Third place used to show up a lot in the early days of the stream, but had gone quiet recently. So the impression was a little fuzzy. Fourth place, Boston Seo-a, had such a unique nickname that I asked about it — and he actually lived in Boston. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sometimes, whether it was a bit or not, he'd drop long English chat messages, and for an English-illiterate like me it was just a hassle of running them through a translator. Still, the viewers loved watching me struggle and calling me a persimmon tree or whatever, so I played along.

Fifth, sixth, and seventh — you could tell just from the fact they hadn't put on fan nicknames that the internal intimacy hadn't been built yet. Fifth place, Loves Virtual, was a classic virtual-hopper who bounced around to other streamers besides me. Sixth place, Wooga-dol Seo-a Crush, was someone who'd flowed in after the audition started, so we hadn't known each other long enough.

And seventh was truly special. He barely ever came to regular streams — only showed up when I baited stock-related aggro. But every time he did, he'd casually drop a thousand Candies at a time, making my heart flutter.

Slurp! I'm definitely going to get him to show up for non-stock streams too.

And from eighth through twentieth, the hardcore fans were roughly half-and-half between those with fan nicknames and those without.

"Alright then, starting verification from twentieth place, Sell-Hungry Kid. Boom-chak-chak, boom-chak-chak!"

Leaving the chat's over-the-top reactions behind, I entered twentieth-place hardcore fan Sell-Hungry Kid's channel.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"No way — what is this!?"

A jackpot right from the start.