Live On

A personal shopper. Supposedly, it was a profession dedicated to curating a client's entire wardrobe after taking into account an endless array of personal factors. So Rihwa had never even dreamed such an occupation existed in this world.

"I've prepared a selection tailored specifically to Client So Rihwa's complexion and body frame," the shopper began warmly. "Since you possess such a petite, lovely aura, I focused on cropped tops paired with high-waisted bottoms to optimize your proportions. Not that your proportions need much help, of course—your face is already so remarkably small."

"Do you have anything with a slightly more understated, modest silhouette?" Dang Riah chimed in, leaning forward. "The skirt looks a bit short to me as well. I think a midi length would work much better."

"A midi skirt would certainly cultivate an elegant aura," the personal shopper agreed smoothly. "In that case, pairing the bottoms with a chic tone rather than something overtly sweet would be ideal. This is a black midi skirt from our 25 S/S collection; the silky fabric gives it an exceptionally refined drape."

"Could we see that alongside some high-waisted trousers, then?"

"Certainly, ma'am. If this is the direction you'd like to pursue, we could elevate the look further with basic accents like a necklace or bracelet. Shall I bring out a few recommendations?"

"Yes, please. Focus primarily on silver accessories."

Is this what it feels like to witness a sword debate between the Sword Saint and the Blade Tyrant in the flesh? Rihwa barely understood thirty percent of the conversation flying between Dang Riah and the personal shopper. Of course, every time either of them spoke, she nodded solemnly with a deadpan, knowing expression, doing her utmost to pretend she followed every single syllable.

"I really like this one too," Dang Riah said, turning toward her with an approving tilt of her head. "What do you think, Rihwa?"

"...Uh-huh. It's pretty. The aesthetic sensibility and technical sophistication harmonize so seamlessly that it feels like beholding an artistic performance of some kind..."

"Pfft! What on earth are you babbling about?" Dang Riah snickered.

Guess that wasn't it. Apparently, even when utilizing high-sounding vocabulary, the overall impression hinged entirely on who uttered it. When Dang Riah or the personal shopper strung fancy words together, it sounded impeccably chic; coming out of Rihwa's mouth, it sounded idiotic even to her own ears.

"I'll buy this one too, then, okay?"

"Ah, um. Sure."

Before the garment was handed off to the lounge attendant, Rihwa darted a lightning-fast glance at the price tag. Three hundred and fifty thousand silver taels. Insane. Utterly insane. The studio apartment she currently lived in required a security deposit of one million taels and a monthly rent of two hundred and fifty thousand. A single strip of cloth cost far more than a full month's rent!

What proved even more staggering was that this was already the result of Dang Riah specifically instructing the shopper to bring only "reasonably priced" pieces. It had been an emergency concession made after seeing Rihwa spend the entire afternoon looking on the verge of fainting from sheer financial terror.

Naturally, within the gilded confines of a VIP lounge like this, garments priced at three to four hundred thousand taels were probably considered the bargain basement. But that was strictly by the warped standards of the ultra-wealthy. To a penniless pauper like Rihwa, even thirty-five thousand taels for a single piece of clothing felt like highway robbery.

"Since you're getting the blouse, you have to get this skirt too," Dang Riah declared with absolute conviction. "They're practically made as a set."

"R-Right..."

Swept along by Dang Riah's unstoppable momentum, the tally of approved clothes quickly reached six pieces: three tops, two bottoms, and one outerwear jacket.

One or two items she might have stomached, but six sent the heart of commoner So Rihwa sinking like a block of lead. Six designer garments averaging at least three hundred thousand taels each amounted to roughly two million taels. It was an astronomical sum, enough to flip her crimson irises inside out into pure white shock.

"...Um, Young Lady Dang."

"Come on, what's with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'Young Lady Dang'?" Dang Riah waved a dismissive hand. "You're older than me anyway. Just drop the honorifics and speak casually."

"Ah, right. Should I...?"

Given the realities of capitalism—where the poorer one was, the more devoutly one worshipped money—Rihwa generally subscribed to the worldly maxim that whoever held the purse strings was an elder sibling. By that metric, Dang Riah was an untouchable superior, which made dropping honorifics feel strangely uncomfortable.

"It just feels like way too much for me to accept all this."

"Huh? No, no, don't sweat it at all! Seriously, don't feel burdened," Dang Riah insisted breezily. "Whenever I go on an actual shopping spree, I easily drop ten times this much."

"Still..."

Dang Riah brushed off the objection with a grin and tapped a remote to switch on the lounge display. Since the personal shopper took quite some time between curation runs, the large screen had likely been provided so high to watch?"

"...Um, not really."

"Then I'll just put on what I want, okay?"

"Sure."

Lacking the backbone to press the issue any further, Rihwa let the subject drop. Dang Riah navigated to BigTube on the television and began browsing through the feeds.

Rihwa found herself idly wondering: What kind of content do chaebol heiresses even watch? She had half-assumed it would be some high-culture broadcast about philosophy, fine art, or the humanities, but to her surprise, Dang Riah selected a gameplay video of Royal Commando.

Then again, setting aside her pedigree as a mega-conglomerate scion, it wasn't particularly shocking. Royal Commando boasted a massive female following, largely because despite being an FPS, several characters didn't rely on pinpoint, twitch-reflex aim.

"You play Royal Commando?"

"Yeah! You play too?" Dang Riah perked up, her eyes widening with delight.

Though Rihwa had watched gameplay clips for quite some time, she had only actually played the game for a single day. Calling herself an active player felt like a stretch, but since she planned on continuing, she gave a firm nod.

"Yeah. It's fun. Which hero do you main?"

"Paracel is my most-played. It fits the Tang Clan aesthetic, after all."

She definitely had a point. Paracel was an apothecary-themed support hero who hurled syringe darts loaded with healing potions. Her ultimate was particularly entertaining, temporarily converting her into an aggressive DPS slinging lethal toxins. Manipulating poisons and medicines while throwing needle-like projectiles was practically the Sichuan Tang Clan incarnate.

"True enough. That really screams Tang Clan."

"What about you?"

"I only started recently, so I can only really handle Trooper."

"Trooper? The basic starter? Isn't he an aim-reliant DPS, though?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

As the hero featured in the basic tutorial, Trooper had the quintessential kit of a classic, straightforward FPS soldier.

"Fascinating. It's been ages since I've seen a girl main an aim DPS."

"I suppose so. Most seem to prefer support or tank."

"What rank are you?"

"Ah... my account level is still too low, so I can't queue for competitive yet."

"You really are brand new! Want to team up sometime?"

"Sure."

A simple promise to play a game together. Discovering they shared a hobby made Dang Riah—who had previously felt like an alien from another dimension—suddenly seem far more approachable.

"Here. Punch in your number."

"Ah, sure."

Dang Riah held out her smartphone, and Rihwa carefully keyed in her digits. Seconds later, Rihwa's phone chimed with a brief ring before cutting off. Dang Riah's number appeared on the screen.

"Save it."

"Will do."

Saving the contact sent a gentle flutter through Rihwa's chest. Until today, the only contacts stored on her phone were a construction site foreman, a logistics warehouse team manager, her landlady, and a social worker assigned to her case. This was a monumental milestone: saving the number of someone she could genuinely call a friend. And to think the very first friend she made in this new life was a chaebol heiress. Such was the absurd persuasive power of an overwhelmingly pretty face.

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

Just as they finished swapping numbers, a soft knock echoed at the door. The personal shopper had returned with another curated assortment. Rihwa's fleeting euphoria instantly wilted into gloom. The relentless costume change marathon had resumed.

By the time the shopping concluded, Rihwa was completely drained of energy. Dang Riah, on the other ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hand, had spent the entire session nodding approvingly and snapping an endless flurry of photos every time Rihwa stepped out in a new outfit.

The garments had felt obnoxiously expensive at first, but considering the grueling modeling labor she had just endured, Rihwa could almost rationalize them as fair compensation.

"I have to head back to Sichuan now. Keep in touch!"

"Yeah. Thank you so much for the clothes. I'll take good care of them."

"Don't mention it! It's nothing."

With a parting promise to meet up in Royal Commando, the two went their separate ways. When Rihwa finally stepped back inside her studio, both of her hands were weighed down with designer shopping bags. Dang Riah seemed to have dropped roughly three million taels on Rihwa's wardrobe alone.

I have to pay her back eventually.

Rihwa couldn't help the thought. Getting to talk with Dang Riah one-on-one in the Personal Shopping Room had shown that beneath the chic, arrogant first impression, the girl was simply straightforward and fiery.

Granted, this generous appraisal was undoubtedly smoothed over by the mountain of luxury garments she had gifted her. And having her as the very first real friend Rihwa had made in this world added a bit more bias. All right, maybe a lot of bias.

Still... how on earth am I supposed to pay that back?

Sure, she currently held about two million taels transferred by Jo Meohyeop, but that represented her entire net worth.

The root of the issue was that So Rihwa had zero steady income. It wasn't as if she were an idle youth lounging around by choice—she rushed out to work the moment any shift opened up. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠problem was that no one was calling her in for work anymore.

Rihwa gingerly placed the shopping bags in the cleanest, sunniest patch of floor in her tiny apartment. Right now, those designer clothes were worth considerably more than her own physical body. In truth, there wasn't a single object in this entire room worth less than So Rihwa herself.

Her balance sheet stood at two million taels in cash against eighty million in medical debt, yielding a net worth of negative seventy-eight million taels. Because every physical possession in the room carried at least some minute positive value, Rihwa was effectively the sole speck of financial antimatter in the apartment. Sinking into her well-worn habit of self-deprecation, she felt the gloomy weight of reality pressing down on her again.

Odd jobs and bottom-of-the-barrel manual labor would never dig her out of this abyss. Ultimately, her only viable salvation lay in livestreaming. Hadn't she seen with her own eyes how much revenue Jo Meohyeop generated in a single three-hour broadcast?

"All right."

Steeling her resolve, Rihwa slapped both of her soft cheeks with her hands. Now that she had committed, there was no point in hesitating.

she hadn't configured a single setting, overlay, or stream parameter.

The feed began broadcasting live to the Ogogok account linked to her V12. All that transmitted was a pitch-black void. Without setting up a webcam or avatar capture, it was only natural.

Thus began a broadcast launched with absolutely zero preparation. In truth, Rihwa had merely intended to turn the stream on so she could fiddle with the backend settings while seeing how it looked. Under normal circumstances, after all, no sane person on the internet would ever bother entering a stream that showed nothing but a pitch-black screen.

"...?"

By the time she realized how grave a miscalculation that was, the viewer count—which had started trickling in by ones and twos—had inexplicably skyrocketed past one thousand.