Three Hundred Million in Three Hours

One thing needed saying first: no matter how successful a program became, million-won donations pouring in during a live stream were never a common sight.

Because of that, during the broadcast and long after it ended, the internet flooded with every kind of sensational headline, and boards everywhere were overrun with claims that the donations racked up in a single three-hour stream would make three hundred million look like pocket change.

And those articles were perfect for twisting already warped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hearts.

Some people simply vented their sense of deprivation, while others slipped into conspiracy theories and face-reading and left spiteful comments, and from there it escalated into people who just wanted to dig up any weakness they could sink their teeth into.

The sheer size of the number was inflammatory enough on its own, and with the articles plastered across every main page without discrimination, people's attention naturally shifted toward the replay of the "three hours, three hundred million" stream the headlines kept mentioning.

"Ah, that was fucking packed."

A golden Saturday after finals. Hajin, who had enjoyed the live stream that started at three o'clock across no fewer than five devices — phone, desktop, laptop, pad, and tablet — wore a thoroughly satisfied smile.

He had meant to close it and play games if it got boring, but by the time he came back to himself he had watched the whole thing through to the end.

"More fun than I expected."

For Hajin, who mostly lived on internet streams and had long since drifted away from TV, the idol survival show currently sweeping the country was something he had vaguely heard of, but never the kind of program he felt any urge to sit down and properly watch.

If anything, it was the kind of thing that only got more annoying as the fanatic voting fever rose and people started mass-messaging him asking to borrow his accounts.

But the news that the contestants themselves would be doing internet live streams had caught his interest, so he had lightly picked a few of the highest-viewed rooms and dropped in — and burned three hours clean through.

"Kwon Do-ha sings like a fucking god~ Lee Han-hee's voice is insane~."

He usually watched a bit of everything — game streams, chat streams, whatever — but the ones he especially loved were singing streams. That was the branch of internet broadcasting where the medium's nature shone the hardest, where you could feel a live performance at its rawest.

So he had run several at once, and whenever someone in one of the rooms looked ready to lock in and sing, he plugged in his earphones and focused on that stream alone. With five going, there was always at least one person singing, and the reliable staple was Kwon Do-ha. The guy had sung a medley for a full hour straight.

A singing stream with guaranteed quality. He had enjoyed it thoroughly for the first time in a long while. It was a completely different texture from listening to ordinary tracks. There was a particular way it hooked into the ear. In a live performance through earphones, you could hear every emotion, every breath, every tremor of the person singing — all of it, in vivid real time.

"Thanks a fucking ton for using a good mic."

Hajin hummed the songs that had stuck with him while he ordered dinner through a delivery app. Swept up in the atmosphere, he had tossed about ten thousand won in donations, so tonight's menu was a burger instead of chicken. Then he sat back down and picked a replay to watch.

I mostly watched Kwon Do-ha's stream early on, so I missed a fair bit of the front half of Lee Han-hee's…

Lee Han-hee had kept his stream going almost to the very end, so in the later hours everyone had funneled over there. As the other streams Hajin had been watching shut down one by one, he had ended up with only Lee Han-hee's left and focused hard on it — which was probably why it had lodged in his memory the deepest. Especially the song he had sung at the very end.

"Khhh…."

It was a track that made him desperately want to hit a karaoke room for the first time in ages. He would go to a coin karaoke place a little later. Tomorrow was Sunday anyway, and a college student fresh off finals had time to burn.

No rush. Taking his time finding the replay, Hajin nodded to himself. Watch Lee Han-hee's stream again over dinner, kill some time at karaoke, and at night throw on Kwon Do-ha's medley while gaming.

If he still had time tomorrow, maybe dig up the other contestants' singing clips too.

He was used to putting on internet streams while he ate, but he never expected to end up eating dinner to idol footage.

"He was that good, though…."

To Hajin, who prided himself on being a veteran stream-watcher, Lee Han-hee was good at broadcasting. For starters, he never froze up or left the audio hanging empty the way first-timers usually did. Honestly, just clearing that bar already put him in the upper tier — and on top of that, he managed traffic well.

Streams pulling tens of thousands of viewers weren't exactly common, but with that many people watching, even a seasoned corporate streamer or BJ could get dragged off the rails with one wrong step. For a complete novice to run the whole thing cleanly was enough to make your eyes pop.

"Is it just because I had zero expectations that it hits this hard?"

Looking at how the donors set the missions, the PD's original intent was obvious enough. Don't try to do anything yourself — just follow orders well.

Of course, if you only mindlessly did what you were told, there would inevitably be blank stretches where you had no idea what to do next. But this seemed like a one-off event, so the PD probably hadn't expected too much.

"Honestly, even the person who planned this probably didn't think he'd pull it off at this level…."

Lee Han-hee never left a single gap like that. He reeled people in and let them out with perfect timing, and he actually communicated with the viewers. Watching it, Hajin felt something close to awe.

You see as much as you know, and with tens of thousands of viewers, communication was never easy — but the kid had real sense. There was a kind of immersion that pulled scattered, chaotic opinions into one direction. Hajin even felt a seasoned polish that made him wonder if this person was really only nineteen.

"Forget being an idol — he could live more than comfortably as an internet streamer."

That was the highest praise Hajin could give. Kwon Do-ha, whom he had watched earlier, sang so well it gave him chills, but he had never once thought the guy could make a living off internet streams.

Kwon Do-ha had revealed the potential of a singer — the stream had run almost like a one-way concert — so Hajin hadn't particularly felt he was a talent optimized for internet broadcasting.

Lee Han-hee, on the other hand, had an extraordinary sense for cutting what was too much and filling what was lacking, and you could see him holding the center of the stream himself.

He would hand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the reins over just enough for the viewers to play, then snatch them back the moment things got shaky and steer everything back onto the tracks. The craft of it was no joke. Because of that, watching never felt like a burden — there was never a "time to bail" moment. For anyone who had watched internet streams for a long time, it was an irresistible way of hosting.

For example, there were moments in the stream where he did aegyo that would normally be mortifying for a guy — but somehow it was funny? Watching it, there was none of that suffocating cringe. He did it carefully, reading the room, without holding anything back, and somehow it was actually entertaining.

"Is this just the face carrying him?"

Either way, once you started focusing, you kept watching in a daze. So not only the occasional singing missions but even the quiet stretches of chat stream pulled him into complete immersion, and before he knew it he had watched all the way to the end.

"This is peak dinner-watching material."

Three hours. The runtime was generous enough that he felt comfortably full just thinking about it.

Burger in hand, Hajin started Lee Han-hee's live replay and habitually scrolled down — then sat up straighter. The video had only been up for a few dozen minutes, and already the comments had blown past a thousand.

"What the hell?"

And as he read through them, Hajin clicked his tongue. Haters and attention-seekers, driven mad by jealousy, had already latched on. And with shields charging in, ready to crack those skulls open, the comment count kept climbing with every refresh.

A true mud pit of a fight. Hajin skimmed the comments of people battling as if they were coughing up blood.

"Hmm…."

The fans' loyalty was high. Hajin scrolled through the comments. Piecing together the bits of information that piled up as he read, he felt like he was glimpsing a whole new world.

He didn't fully understand it, but he could tell they really loved him.

He took a bite of the burger that was going cold while he read comments, and looking at the paused screen, he had to admit it was a face plenty of people would love. Handsome even on a second look.

"Lighting boost? Camera boost?"

People who did internet streams were good at using camera angles and lighting, so there was often a big gap between how they looked on screen and how they looked in person. On a sudden whim of curiosity, Hajin opened a new window and searched for stage clips shot from various angles — then nodded. He was just fucking handsome.

"Kind of envious, and also not…."

With a face that good-looking, life probably handed him plenty of opportunities — but it probably handed him just as many crises. There seemed to be as many people jealous as there were people who admired him, and as many people tearing into him as there were people who loved him.

After thinking about it briefly, Hajin shook his head.

"Yeah, no idea."

There was no point dwelling on it, so he lightly brushed the thought away. Still, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leftover impression was that living with that face for just one month might be nice. Enjoy what there was to enjoy, and if life started going sideways, pull out in time.

Living with that face forever would probably be exhausting.

Just as the sweeter the fruit, the more bugs it attracts, it was obvious even to a third party that a face that stood out that much would drag in its share of incidents and accidents. One refresh later the comments had switched to disabled, and leaving the video behind, Hajin looked around him.

In his family home, where he had come down for break, there were plenty of ordinary objects carrying the residue of daily life. Looking at the family photo and various group pictures sitting on one side of the desk, Hajin gave a short laugh and stood up abruptly.

"Just~ live as you look~."

After cleaning up the empty burger bag, Hajin hummed as he headed to the kitchen to boil some ramen. He had no idea about any of it, and he just wanted to finish the stream while eating ramen.

And that same dawn. With the original battlefield locked down, the people who had been roaming the IdolSurv boards half out of curiosity and half out of malice, leaving hate comments wherever they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went, found their eyes catching on one meticulously organized post.

It was the perfect piece of meat to sink their teeth into.