Broadcast Day 2: Establishing the Rules (Part 1)
Humans are truly fascinating creatures. I was once human myself... but that's now a distant memory, faded to the point of oblivion.
As such, I found myself gazing at the rapidly scrolling comments with a sense of wonder.
"Hmm..."
Just one mask of anonymity, and humans who once trembled in fear before me now bare their emotions so freely. How could that not be intriguing?
Was I like this in my human days too?
I rummaged through those long-forgotten memories of my human life and opened my mouth.
"First... I suppose we should address this."
To run a smooth broadcast, the audio mustn't go dead air. And how well the streamer guides it matters too. Two days ago, my first broadcast left me flustered at times—theory didn't match practice perfectly, and it ended a bit messily. But I can't let today's stream fizzle out the same way.
So today, let's try that.
"This is my first time doing an internet broadcast. So let us create rules for you, my viewers, to follow."
Gazing at the comments, two emotions stood out. One was pure curiosity and thrill-seeking. The other, fear that I might snap.
Familiar yet unfamiliar, I manipulated the computer and opened the "Notepad" program.
"What of it? Making a computer might be beyond me, but using one? That's simple enough."
I responded to the nonsense while typing into Notepad. Right... Korean script like this.
"First off, though it may not feel real, there's no need to fear me so greatly."
I'm broadcasting to communicate with humans. If fear silences them, it defeats my purpose.
"During this broadcast, I am not the elder dragon Grand Ragnar—merely an ordinary streamer, Grand Ragnar."
Hmm... Communication is tricky indeed.
"Anyway, light teasing or mischievous jokes are fine. The rude things you've said so far? They don't bother me."
"Hmm... yes. Think of it this way: Ants gather before you, chattering away."
Tiny ants, far smaller than humans, babbling. Some might ignore them as annoying, others find it creepy. But most would feel wonder at what ants say.
"That's how I feel. Your rude words? To me, they're just amusing or curious."
The words seemed downcast, but through my Heaven Dragon Eye, I sensed amusement, interest, understanding. Expressing one emotion while feeling another... that's part of communication's charm.
"But do mind the line. Right now, in communicating with you, I am but the ordinary streamer Grand Ragnar."
If they insult not the streamer, but the dragon directly...
"Then I shall deem it an affront to this elder dragon's honor and punish accordingly."
Amusement, interest... They think I'm bluffing or trust the anonymity mask.
"Just in case: Don't get comfy hiding behind anonymity. My eyes pierce such veils to see the true you."
Emotions shifted slightly, but few believed yet. Time for a demonstration.
"Hm... Take 'Mimi'sFootTowel', typing right now."
Not my avatar's eyes, but my true body's—opening wide. The true Heaven Dragon Eye pierces the adamantium, bypasses the computer's anonymity, transcends space to reveal her true form.
"You're at... Cheongang PC Bang? Seated at machine number 32."
As my words ended, the man leaped from his chair, pale-faced, glancing around wildly. I added,
"Look around—you won't find me."
The moment my words broadcast, he screamed and bolted from the place.
"Hmm... Do they not charge for unpaid time?"
"Good then. I'd hate for children to sin on my account. And 'IlsanMoney'—your little sibling's about to cry beside you. All good?"
A stern warning, but the mood stayed light. Truth be told, I didn't want to scare them—I crave communication. But without preempting, things could escalate later. Swallowing their fear was worth it.
No, better than worth it. Respect stems from fear of the other and confidence in oneself. Viewers feel safe unseen, confident in distance; my draconic nature instills fear. Thus, true dialogue flows.
Indeed, internet broadcasting was the right choice.
Smiling, I set the next rule. Successful streamers manage chat quality, often with 'managers' to delete bad posts or ban offenders.
"But I need no such thing."
Question marks flooded in. Sensing their curiosity, I drafted the chat rule.
[In this broadcast, I swear not to post comments that cross lines by my judgment or societal morals. If I break this oath, I shall speak only truth for 24 hours.]
"There. All set."
The chat prompt changed for first-time posters—close it only by clicking 'Yes, I understand' below.
Confirmed applied, I nodded.
"Let me explain. Remember the humans grilling meat, playing instruments, dancing in Hongdae Street yesterday?"
"You may not know, but they didn't go there willingly."
Two days ago, I promised city officials I'd appear in true form on Hongdae Street; they'd join and perform when I did.
"They might've thought it a joke."
But they answered 'yes' to my 'Do you promise?'
Willing or not, they'd bound themselves in an Oath with a dragon.
"To make it simple for you... yes, like stamping a contract."
Thus, they had to show, bodies trembling in terror before me. And now, the same happens here.
That chat rule I typed appears before first posts; agree to close it.
"The instant you click, an Oath binds us."
Viewers panicked; even my avatar eyes saw their confusion crystal-clear.
"No worries. Follow the rule: Post only what you judge not too vile or against morals."
"Yes. For your 24 hours, only truth."
"Heh."
I smiled warmly at the flustered viewers.