A Rain of One Million Won

“I’ll do like that hyung said. I won’t get scared ahead of time — I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.”

As the live stream inched closer, Woo Cheong-hee clenched his trembling hands and spoke with a grim, self-fortifying resolve. Every time he slapped his cheeks to snap himself into focus, a sharp smack rang out.

I reached up by habit to ruffle his hair, then remembered it was already fully set and settled for a pat on the back instead. A staff member’s voice cut through the air.

“We’re heading to the booths!”

Following the production team’s lead, we started walking toward the booths prepared for the live streams. Woo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Cheong-hee stuck right to my side the whole way, whipping his head around to scan every direction — a hunting dog in human form if there ever was one.

And then we arrived in front of the booths. The setup waiting for us had a presence that made me tilt my head on pure instinct.

That’s… kind of creepy.

On one side, more than twenty booths were packed tight against each other, looking for all the world like a honeycomb — and the same formation of booths clustered on the opposite side as well. Two honeycombs, facing each other.

While we listened to the explanation that the soundproofing installed inside the outer walls would keep any audio from leaking or bleeding through, I peered into an open doorway. The interior looked a lot like a one-person PC bang station.

With less than ten minutes left until the streams began, the production team assigned us one by one into rooms that already had the equipment set up.

“Fighting, hyung!”

In the time it took to get there, Woo Cheong-hee had pulled the pins out of his hair, given himself one last once-over, and now thrust a tight fist into the air with a fighting cheer. I waved back in return and stepped into my booth.

The moment I entered the black-walled temporary booth, what met my eyes was a camera that looked expensive, plus dual monitors clearly meant for the broadcast feed. The tower looked the part, the chair they’d provided looked expensive, and the mic looked solid. Had all this gear been sponsored?

The setup was more professional than I’d expected, and I sat down in the prepared seat feeling almost like I’d become a streamer overnight.

“Five minutes until the live stream starts. Please check that you’re framed properly on the screen.”

Looking at my own face on the monitor feed, the black background made every color pop more vividly than usual. Was it the lighting? The color balance was excellent. The resolution was razor-sharp too.

Even an ordinary sky-blue T-shirt jumped out at the eye — the camera was clearly working overtime.

I stared blankly at a screen filled with my own face, then shaped a smile. A natural one, with the corners of my eyes creasing. Ever since I’d acquired a trait that boosted my acting, molding whatever expression I wanted had gotten a lot easier.

“One minute to start. Beginning the countdown.”

A guide voice came through the speaker installed in the booth, and immediately the broadcast screen began its countdown. 60, 59, 58…

Watching the numbers tick down, I skimmed the nearly empty cue sheet one more time. Three o’clock — live stream start.

What am I supposed to do?

With no instructions on what to actually do once we went live, running simulations in my head only got me so far. Introduce myself normally, and if it started to feel dull, maybe sing a song or two?

Aside from the broadcast equipment, the booth was completely empty. With no material handed to me, my imagination was coming up equally bare. I’d been worried I might have to dance, but the space looked a little too tight for that. I’d just have to sing hard, then.

I was still trailing that train of thought when the stream finally went live. And then a barrage of donation alarms so frantic it buried the greeting I’d started to say.

“Hello—”

In the endless rush of donations, I lost my words for a moment and just stared at the stream screen — and then the chat window started scrolling like mad. It was so fast that messages got swept away and vanished in a blink; even decent dynamic vision could barely catch a single character.

“Uh…”

And even while I was looking at chat, the donations kept pouring in without a pause. Every single one was exactly 1,000,000 won, as if they’d coordinated it.

“Wait, everyone, hold on. I’m truly grateful, but I don’t really know how this works. Is this okay? Why are donations even enabled? And why are you sending so much?”

One million won was not a small amount, and watching it pour out in a continuous stream was actually frightening. Dozens of donor nicknames had already scrolled past — if this kept up, tens of millions of won would have flooded in within the first minute of the stream.

Even as I tried to rein them in, the chat was thrashing like a tide possessed; I couldn’t make anything out. I narrowed my eyes and watched, and the speed slowed just a little. One of the staff monitoring us must have stepped in.

Looking closer, the chat wasn’t just Korean — the middle of the window was a mix of every script imaginable: the Latin alphabet, Chinese characters, Cyrillic, the works. Starting with 12,000 viewers had already been absurd, and in an instant that number had broken through five times that.

“Um, first of all, thank you so much for all the attention. But I’d really appreciate it if you could stop with the donations.”

I hadn’t done anything, and receiving this much already made me feel guilty.

“Shall we start with introductions? It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m Lee Han-hee.”

It was a self-introduction that only happened nearly five minutes into the stream. The greetings of welcome that came back were immediately followed by an uproar about why there was a limit when they wanted to give more.

“Oh, there’s a limit? Is that limit by any chance 1,000,000 won?”

So that was why a rain of one million won had hit the second we started. Honestly, I’d only just realized the donation system was even open. I’d assumed it would be locked, of course.

“I’m truly grateful, everyone, but please spare your wallets. I’d be happier if you used that money to buy yourselves something delicious while you watch.”

I didn’t even know how much of it would actually reach me anyway, and raking in money for no reason felt off.

Those computers and cameras aren’t cheap, either — so that’s why they prepared forty-two of them.

But this was probably all sponsored too. The M-company logo stamped large on the tower hanging at the end of the camera arm looked distinctly smug. With this many people watching, the advertising had done its job.

Apparently my flustered reaction to the flood of donations showed, because kind explanations started appearing in chat. They’d figured out I had no idea what was going on.

“Ah, the donation money goes to charity? Then…”

Was that okay, then? The thought crossed my mind for a second — but even so, tens of millions of won in a single minute was still too much.

“Then could you slow down just a little… It’s way too fast right now. The nicknames are all gone before I can even read them.”

From a minimum of one thousand won up to a maximum of one million. Even now, the donations were pouring without end. The staff adjusting the system had muted the audio after failing to lower the volume of the constant donation chimes, but they still flashed and flared beside the chat window, asserting their presence.

No matter how much I asked them to slow down, they kept clamoring that they had to take first place with donations. Something about first-place pride. Competitive spirit had kicked in all on its own.

“Oh, hang on a second. I think a mission just came in.”

And at last, a mission arrived. On the mission window that popped up on screen was a nickname that had been burned into my eyes from the very first glance.

K-heart?

“Is this what you mean?”

I made a show of fishing something out of my pocket, then formed a tiny heart with my fingers. The chat window dissolved into a sea of tears. Messages piled up calling it cute and adorable — you could see them cooing over me to spare me the embarrassment of having done it for no reason.

I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, and the next mission that popped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up was from another nickname I’d already seen.

“Are the people who donated the ones sending these missions directly?”

So the first person had burned a million won on nothing but a K-heart? Their sense of money was terrifying. Belatedly, I started making hearts of every shape I could think of. Following instructions from chat, I even pressed a half-heart against my cheek.

“Please give me a moment for the mission. They say they’re looking for the song’s instrumental track.”

Fortunately, the requested ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠song was one I knew. I’d sung it a few times while busking. Was that why they’d requested it? When a chat said they were ready, I nodded right away, and the accompaniment began to play. Anticipating something like this, I’d warmed up my throat before we started.

Still, this is a million-won mission in name if nothing else. They should get at least a little of their money’s worth.

A set limit, first-come-first-served, competition heating the atmosphere to a boil. And the charity angle was a good cause on top of it — people were throwing money around a little too freely right now.

I was getting swept up along with them, but I needed to keep my head. Vowing to make even a little of the money count, I carefully set the first note on top of the accompaniment.

A slightly slow tempo. The requested song was a historical-drama-style ballad. It carried a plaintive mood, then stretched into soaring high notes at the highlight — its greatest strength. In a way it was similar to Drizzle, but a little more powerful on this side.

Tone of voice mattered, but this was a song where technique stood out a little more. Still, having sung it so many times, bringing the atmosphere of the piece to life came naturally.

As I sang, I must have gotten absorbed, because more power went into the high notes than ever before. I hoped it hadn’t been too loud. I cracked my eyes open and checked the chat.

Judging by the reactions, it hadn’t gone badly.

“It’s a song I personally like — thank you for requesting it.”

I felt a little shy. And a little wondrous, too, at how the responses came back in real time.

There was the occasional hate comment scattered here and there, but the overwhelming firepower of the chat swept them away in an instant.

And so, while I did my absolute best to complete the million-won missions — ASMR, acting cute, making a deadly expression, showing my forearms, resting for five minutes, and every other odd request imaginable — a slightly problematic mission arrived.

They wanted to see my abs — and there was a problem. If I lifted my shirt to show them, the wounds would be on full display.

“Hmm. What do I do about this.”

I was filling the empty audio alone, so the words kept coming, but my head was a tangle. How was I supposed to get through this.

“Would this work? Can you see them like this?”

After a brief moment of thought, I stood up from the chair so the camera could catch me clearly, found my angle, and pulled the loose T-shirt tight toward the back. On the outgoing feed, the contours of muscle showed faintly through the stretched fabric.

“I’ve lost a bit of weight lately, so the muscle went with it. They’re usually a little more defined…”

I muttered as if I were a little disappointed, and smiled. It might not have been a full million-won performance, but I hoped they’d accept this. With missions already telling me to rest, there was no need to flash my injuries and make people worry for nothing.

Once I’d smoothly handled even that awkward mission, I grew a little more comfortable with the live stream, and in the end I was able to finish the broadcast without any major problems.

When the end came, it turned into another sea of tears, but there was nothing I could do. We’d already run far past the scheduled time.

“Your reactions were so good that I missed a lot of chats. Next time I’ll try to catch more of them. Have something delicious for dinner tonight, and have a wonderful day.”

Promising a someday-next-time, I ended the stream and found it was already six. I’d done a three-hour live stream.

Originally I’d expected something like first-come-first-served for about ten people, roughly ten missions or so — but the slots had filled so fast, and so many of the missions were simple, that I’d kept adding one more for the people who looked disappointed, and it had stretched on without end.

I wonder if the others finished okay.

The drain on my energy had been worse than I’d thought. Dragging a body that had been wrung dry, I stepped outside.

“Now I just need to eat dinner and wash up…”

Ticking off the evening schedule in my head, I made my way toward the cafeteria at a slightly slow pace. It was the kind of peaceful thought you could only have when you didn’t yet know what stories were circulating online after all the live streams had ended — or what kind of bomb that was about to set off.