Proof

The first CK ever contested by a virtual streamer.

Before the regression, the virtuals had been dead serious about their craft. They did everything in their power to plant a virtual scene on Pangea TV and make it stick. No matter whose home channel they belonged to, the moment word got out that a virtual had applied for a major content event, they swarmed in and hammered the upvotes. They filled seats as viewers so no one would lose heart, held the line like a wall of timber, and even pooled their money for funding drives — all to plant the idea that slotting a virtual into a CK was a net win.

Thanks to that, Ori-koong, the first virtual to ever enter an MCK, picked up a whole collection of nicknames. Duck Piggy Bank. Koong-min Bank. And so on. Figurative ways of saying she was terrible at the game but brought so much funding that she was perfect to fleece in a CK. From the human streamers' point of view, it was pure sucker just walked in.

Even after that, the virtuals kept throwing their weight behind each other. Baiyo put up funding numbers no one could ignore during her own CKs, and as word of the candy power of virtual streamers like Park Na-na started to spread, the human streamers began to change their minds.

Huh? This virtual stuff actually makes money?

Maybe I should get friendly with them.

That was when it started — human streamers actively reaching into the virtual scene. The viewers were just as relentless. Sick of the same old pictures every time, they were the ones who started demanding it: if you're doing an MCK, you have to bring at least one virtual. At first there had been real resistance to virtuals, but constant exposure worked the way a fine rain soaks a coat without you noticing — and before long, everyone was used to them.

The crowning moment of that shift in perception was Rena World. On that server, human and virtual streamers mixed without distinction, tangled up together. Virtuals were no longer a fringe sideshow on the outskirts. That was the current of history itself.

In a way, I'm the one putting on the first button.

This was the first time a virtual streamer would sit across from a major-league streamer. And not just any major-league streamer — Park Bong-sik, the biggest of them all, the one they called the King. If I made a mess of this, the entire perception of virtuals would be driven into the dirt. For a while, virtuals wouldn't even be able to attempt a CK. The stakes were that high, and I was ready.

"Hold on, everyone. Stop donating!"

The virtual fans, already pouring in donations from the jump for the sake of the virtual scene's revival. But I reined them in. Viewers blinked in confusion — and at the same time, the other streamers' donation counts started climbing hard. My ranking plummeted to dead last in an instant.

That was when another streamer's voice came through Discord.

"Seo-a, I know we just met, so this is a little awkward to say, but… did your boyfriend catch you or something? Your donations are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠basically nonexistent."

A deliberate jab. A line with just the right mix of sincerity and teasing, designed to make my chat seethe. A classic CK skill: needle the room with the lowest funding and squeeze more candy out of it.

I cut Discord for a moment and locked the viewers' attention on me.

"This is my first CK, but I know how precious candy donations really are. Just taking them without doing anything would sit wrong with my conscience."

Before the regression, virtuals had carried a lot of bad baggage around CKs. Human streamers would do anything to pull funding — singing, dancing as a baseline, every kind of shameless stunt imaginable — while virtuals just sat there and mumbled please donate a little if you can. Of course not all of them were like that. Some sang. Some delivered roasting lines or aegyo scripts, or put on a full tracker and danced. But those performances had come far too late. For virtual streamers — most of them transfers from other platforms — CK culture was unfamiliar territory. And so the image of being cheap had stuck to them naturally.

Me, cheap? Not a chance.

I knew that history, so the moment MCK qualification looked possible, I had already called for help. In my dictionary there was room for generous value — never for cheap.

I made my declaration to the viewers.

"I will give everything I've got for the people who donate. I will not freeload. Watch our effort, and if you like what you see, please donate just a little."

Leaving the viewers' questions hanging, I found Lucy on Discord. She was already waiting with screen share on.

"Hello. I'm Lucy, the girl with the braided hair from the V-Live crew. I'm standing here today to cheer on our leader's first CK. My skills may be lacking, but I'll put up a song so that everyone watching can enjoy the stream."

Lucy's singing today was crystalline and even more plaintive than usual, every note designed to pull at the heart. And my hand wasn't played out yet.

"Oh?! Is it already my turn? Hi, hi! Your sexy nine-tailed fox who'll grab you by the heart — Miho. Oppas…… want to come over for ramen?"

From Lucy's song straight into Miho's parade of sexy lines and aegyo. And the moment the stimulation started to dull, I snapped the baton over to Mayo.

"You perverts. You think it's cute to do that to a high school girl? You pigs. You animals!"

Aegyo into roasting. Sweet and salty, the golden rule.

Viewers reeled at a repertoire they had never seen coming, then fell straight into it, laughing and talking over each other.

Good. It worked.

I hadn't called the crew in for nothing. Providing variety for the CK itself was one reason — but more than that, I wanted to put the crew members in front of a crowd this big. Look at this. At the start we'd been hovering around three thousand viewers; word of mouth had already pushed us past forty-eight hundred. And more than a few of the other CK members had dropped into my stream to scout. Factor in their audiences, and the V-Live crew was riding a massive promotional wave.

"No forced memes, please. I was preparing. The protagonist always shows up last, you know."

Grumbling at chat even as I finished the setup without a hitch, I fitted the head unit of the full tracker into place. First up, for the virtual fans: a performance of the virtual national ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anthem, Fan Service. It had gotten rave reviews during the immigration-screening content. Without stopping, I followed it with a Zero Two dance for the Pangea TV natives.

"Excuse me. It's V-Live. Watch your pronunciation."

I finished the Zero Two cleanly, swallowed a slightly ragged breath, and returned to the duel mission screen.

Then I turned Discord back on.

"Wow, so there's a shameless person who shows up to a 130,000-candy CK with three thousand and tries to freeload? Ha, this is a permanent MCK ban. What? No, this won't do. I'm putting this person on the blacklist right now."

The timing was exquisite. Apparently a full roasting session about me had been underway. Park Bong-sik was raising his voice, genuinely worked up — so much so that I couldn't tell if it was real or performance.

"Everyone, please. If our effort for the funding moved you at all—!"

Reaction after reaction had been stacked so tightly that viewers hadn't had a window to donate. Now was the moment to show explosive firepower.

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

"This person really needs to learn a lesson. Virtual? I'm going into the stream myself to check."

The exact instant an uncontainable Park Bong-sik dropped into my broadcast to scout—

Donation messages started climbing like mad. The big hits from the hardcore fans seized the eye, but the trickle of smaller donations from regular fans and drop-in viewers kept coming without end. Twenty seconds, maybe? The duel mission candy blasted past twenty thousand with terrifying force. Park Bong-sik, who had walked into the stream just in time to witness the whole thing, shouted in pure panic.

"W-what is this? Huh? Is there some kind of Bitcoin thing with virtuals? How is this happening. Twenty thousand in an instant…"

Another heavy donation message crashed down over Park Bong-sik's stammering head.

"Huh? Huuh? Is this a hidden camera? How is this even possible…"

The time it took me to go from last place to first: barely twenty seconds. From Park Bong-sik's perspective — with no idea of the long buildup — it must have felt like he'd become the star of his own Truman Show.

I never thought the President would drop a full ten thousand.

My heart hammered at a donation bigger than expected. But I wasn't about to waste an opening this good on mere surprise. I grabbed the mic right away.

"So, who's getting banned now? Hmm? Park Bong-sik, currently under thirty thousand?"

"Uh, that's…"

"Bong-sik, it's unnie. Let's get along from now on, okay?"

"……"

On Pangea TV's CK scene, the one who pulls the most funding is the boss.

And just like that, I had proven it.