74. Punishing a Small-Time Streamer with Donations
74. Punishing a Small-Time Streamer with Donations
***
So I went into the stream of a streamer named Kim Hayoon and watched her broadcast.
The moment I saw it, I couldn't help but be surprised.
"This person..."
Some applicants had included photos of themselves in the editor application emails.
And since I'd gone back and checked the emails after Park Soyul and Kim Hayoon were selected as editors, I'd also confirmed that their personal information included photos.
And now, the woman on the screen.
Long, unkempt black hair, a composed face beneath it, though the fatigue was so evident she looked like she might collapse at any moment.
'Same person.'
It was undeniably identical to the photo of editor Kim Hayoon.
"She really does just look like my editor."
I muttered that, wondering if I should even be watching this stream.
It felt like I was secretly peeking at something I shouldn't.
The woman smiled softly and opened her mouth.
—Maybe it's because this is my last stream, but more people than usual are watching. I'm so happy.
The woman's voice sounded oddly familiar.
The pitch was different from the voice in the intro, but the similarity was enough to convince me.
That this was the person I'd selected as an editor.
And then.
"More viewers than usual..."
That line stuck with me for some reason.
The current viewer count was about 33, including me.
Still, compared to the streams I'd just been watching with 1 or 2 viewers, it didn't seem that low relatively speaking, but it didn't seem high either.
'How many people usually watch her?'
[Hayoon, is this really your last stream?]
[What do you mean it's suddenly your last stream?]
[Yeah. You should reconsider.]
[If you keep at it just a little longer, you'll definitely blow up. Just try a bit more.]
The chat was fascinating to watch too—messages came up one at a time with gaps between them, unlike the chats I usually saw.
On top of that, even the content of the chat was different. Each individual viewer's message felt weighty.
—Staric, Larile, Jambl, FreshSteamedRice, thank you so much for the warm messages.
The editor thanked each viewer who'd chatted, saying their nicknames one by one.
There were 33 viewers watching the stream including me, but I soon realized that aside from those four viewers, no one else was chatting.
So I naturally felt it.
"Even a single viewer is precious, huh."
I understood why the editor called out every viewer's nickname. Because there were so few people chatting in the first place. She seemed to remember every single person who chatted.
Even though I did the same kind of streaming, watching the editor's stream felt like looking at a completely different world.
—But I've thought about it a lot. There are practical difficulties, and to earn a living, I don't think I'll be able to keep streaming going forward. So rather than leave the people who've watched me with lingering regrets, I thought it'd be better to clearly tell you this is my last stream... And I also have good news to share with you all.
[It seems like you've decided after much deliberation. And since you mentioned living expenses, I can't really push you to continue.]
[Yeah. I actually really enjoyed watching your streams, Hayoon.]
[It's a shame, but... it can't be helped. It's been fun. I liked how friendly you were with us, Hayoon.]
[But what's this good news?]
The four viewers who knew this was the last stream expressed their regret but didn't try to hold her back.
No, they seemed to want to hold her back, but the overall mood was one of understanding toward what the editor said.
After all, it wasn't just anything—it was practical difficulties, needing to earn a living.
—Still, thank you all for being so kind about it. And I'll tell you the good news at the end of today's stream. It's probably something that'll surprise you all when you hear it!
Seeing the woman named Kim Hayoon speaking with a deliberately bright expression, I had a guess as to what it was.
"...How could I not watch this."
At first I'd debated whether to watch or not, but after hearing what the editor just said, I decided to simply watch the last stream.
She seemed to be planning to tell her viewers that the good news was her quitting her own stream to become my editor, and it felt strange to know that and not watch.
—Ding-ding-ding-ding!!!
『Staric donated 5,000 won!』
《Then I'll watch your last stream until the end, Hayoon》
"That startled me."
The donation alert sound was so loud I jumped without realizing it.
Not only did a congratulatory sound go off, but a grand donation background track played too.
"...?"
And then my eyes went to the donation amount rather than the alert sound.
The alert sound was that loud and flashy, but the actual donation amount was only five thousand won.
—Staric donated five thousand won! You really didn't have to donate...! Ah, thank you so much for the 5,000 won!
And with that, the editor bowed her head on screen and spoke brightly. She genuinely seemed happy.
'She can be this happy over 5,000 won...'
Then, with a small gesture, she made a heart shape with her hands—she was even doing reactions, it seemed.
"..."
Watching that, I found myself fidgeting with my own hands without realizing it.
I'd clearly turned on the stream to pass the time while eating the leftover braised short ribs, but I felt strange.
When I received donations ten times that amount, all I did was say the donor's nickname and thank them. That was it.
But my editor was bowing her head and even doing reactions over a donation of just 5,000 won.
'This is the reality of a small-time streamer.'
The thought hit me in that moment.
It was such a small amount to me, but seeing her so happy made my chest tingle for some reason.
"...Should I donate?"
The thought suddenly came to me.
Kim Hayoon—she was going to be working with me as an editor from now on.
I wanted to donate to her while she was doing her last stream.
Revealing who I was might cause problems, so I figured donating anonymously would be fine.
While I was fiddling with the settings to make a donation.
'I should have donated to Sua too.'
Come to think of it, I should have donated to Sua first.
She'd helped me a lot.
Our stream times had overlapped, and after my streams ended I was exhausted every single day, so I'd never even thought about donating to Sua.
...Still, I'd be donating anonymously anyway.
So I decided that once my suspension was lifted, I'd donate a decent amount to Sua, and for now I set the amount to donate to my editor.
—Payment completed.
Along with the message that the charge was complete, the account balance appeared.
—Donation account balance: 1,000,000 won.
Rather than donating all at once, I planned to split it up as a way of cheering her on instead of chatting.
Once I'd finished preparing to donate, I heard the woman's voice again.
—Ah, and since today's my last stream, instead of doing other content, I'm going to do a drinking stream and have more conversations with you all.
With that, she pulled out bottles of alcohol one by one.
Clink.
Clink.
She placed two bottles of soju on screen in succession.
"Just soju...?"
—So if any of you viewers happen to have alcohol at home, you could bring it out, or if you don't, you could grab a can of beer from a nearby convenience store now and enjoy the stream even more. Since I'll be doing a drinking stream from here on, I'll set the 19+ restriction in advance too.
Soon a notification appeared on screen saying the stream had been changed to 19+ settings.
—Then I'll give you viewers about 10 minutes to get ready. I'll play about 3 songs and then continue the stream. Or, since today's going to be a long stream before I wrap up, you could even order delivery food now and it wouldn't be too late.
After that, calm background music began to play, and I felt like I should prepare some alcohol too, without even realizing it.
"I should order something."
I don't usually like alcohol, but watching the editor's stream made me curious about how a drinking stream worked.
So I browsed the delivery app and ordered beer and fried shrimp as a snack.
It didn't seem bad to just observe what kind of person the editor was.
After that, the screen showed the editor continuing to talk, chatting with a few viewers.
"Right. I wonder if she's checked her email?"
I opened another window and logged into my email, and sure enough, both editors—Park Soyul and Kim Hayoon—had replied.
And quite a while ago, at that.
Of the two emails, I opened Park Soyul's first.
The contract was filled out impeccably cleanly, and she'd written "I look forward to working with you" along with a small note of thanks.
Seeing that, I thought even her reply was neat.
"...Is it because she has experience? Even her email is tidy."
Then I opened Kim Hayoon's email.
Likewise, starting with the contract file, she seemed to have filled in every detail thoroughly and sent it over.
But the countless lines of text below it made my head spin.
"Kim Hayoon, you really..."
Below the contract file was a dense wall of text that seemed like it would fill the entire screen.
I'd only sent a short congratulatory note along with the contract, but Kim Hayoon's reply was enough to fill the whole screen.
A truly lengthy thank-you letter.
As I slowly read through it, the general content came into view.
Thank you so much. I didn't expect such high praise. I'm so happy that you recognized my effort—etc., etc.
It was, in every sense, a letter of gratitude.
And below that, as if praising me, she'd written so many embarrassing things—you're so pretty, you're beautiful, your voice is so wonderful—etc., etc. Just reading it made me cringe.
'No, Kim Hayoon. You've never even seen me in person.'
The more I read, the more my hands and feet curled up, and beyond that, even my face felt hot.
If someone who didn't know the context read it, they'd think I'd saved her life or something.
I'd just selected an editor through a fair viewer vote.
On the other hand, I could feel from the email alone how happy she was to have been chosen as an editor, and that made me feel good for some reason.
The fact that someone was happy because of me.
If she'd written it out so earnestly and sent it in an email, how happy must she actually be?
—Ah, if there's anything you've been curious about regarding me, or if you'd like to talk about your daily lives, that's fine too. I'll chat about anything.
On one side of the screen, I could see Kim Hayoon talking with her viewers.
For some reason, I wanted to mess with my editor.
"What should the donation message say? Hmm... No reactions, and don't say thank you."
Once I'd decided on the message to send with the donation, I entered the amount and pressed the donate button.
—Ding-ding-ding-ding!!!!
『Anonymous donated 100,000 won!!』
《Don't react. And don't say thank you.》
—...Uh, um... Which viewer are you? Did you donate by mistake or something?
The editor spoke, startled, looking like she couldn't believe the donation itself.