The Talent Scout

"Guess it's about time to wrap this up," So Rihwa murmured to herself as she shut down Royal Commando. Leaning toward the microphone, she addressed her audience. "Next time, I'll try playing a few other characters as well."

Naturally, the viewers—who had spent the last two hours completely spellbound by her monstrous gameplay—erupted in protest. Yet even in their complaints, not a single soul dared speak out of turn or push their luck, even in jest.

The atmosphere was the polar opposite of what she had faced upon first booting up her stream. Across the entirety of Ogogok, one would be hard-pressed to find a more courteous, disciplined community. It was almost impossible to believe these were the very same foul-mouthed hellspawns who had flooded her chat with insults barely two hours prior.

"Look at that. You all knew how to type politely after all," Rihwa remarked, letting out a soft, amused chuckle. "Good."

That quiet, faint smile—the first she had displayed all stream—instantly sent the chat spiraling into utter disarray.

Rihwa knitted her slender brows at the chat's absurd veneration.

"What do you mean, 'Matriarch'? I'm twenty-two years old, for heaven's sake. That title is banned from here on out."

"Yes. I want to prepare properly before I stream again," Rihwa explained, adjusting her mic. "Everything was so chaotic earlier that I couldn't even finish setting up my rig at home. And today's outdoor stream was a complete accident anyway."

Realizing that the broadcast was genuinely coming to an end, the audience began detonating donations. While small change had flown steadily during her matches, it was unwritten platform etiquette to pour out the real money during Just Chatting segments.

"Ah... thank you so much for the support. Thank you. As for tomorrow, I'm not entirely sure yet. The messages are scrolling too fast for me to keep up."

The notifications chimed without pause. As Rihwa mechanically offered her gratitude in a state of mild sensory overload, she couldn't help but marvel at the sheer surrealism of it. In this world, the minimum wage hovered around ten thousand silver taels per hour. Yet in less than thirty seconds, she had earned more than an hour's worth of backbreaking manual labor.

"Stop saying ridiculous things," Rihwa scolded flatly. "What patrol?"

She could feel her stream's public persona veering off into deeply troubling territory. When she had first envisioned life as a female streamer, she had imagined something sweet and gentle—being doted on, fawned over, maybe treated like a delicate little sister. Instead, her channel had somehow taken the express lane toward organized crime syndicate leadership.

"...Normal human beings live in Sinseong-gu too, you know," she clarified, feeling a sudden pang of guilt for inadvertently tarnishing her neighborhood's already abysmal reputation. "It's not some grand assembly hall for the Unorthodox Faction."

Yet judging by the rapid flurry of messages, the viewers had already firmly classified Sinseong-gu as an unholy den of villainy on par with the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult's grand altar. Realizing that any further protest would only fuel the fire, Rihwa gave up.

"I'm signing off now. I'll catch you all next time."

And with that, her debut broadcast came to a close.

Her concurrent viewer count sat at 1,500 right as the stream went dark, having peaked at an astonishing 4,000 viewers earlier. It was a dazzling, unprecedented debut for the rookie streamer Wadeulwadeul. Unbeknownst to Rihwa herself, reaching a peak of 4,000 concurrent viewers on a debut stream was an all-time record for any new creator on Ogogok who hadn't transferred over from an established following on another platform.

Streaming, as it turned out, drained far more mental energy than Rihwa had ever anticipated. Between the frantic outdoor broadcast and the intense hours spent locked inside the virtual reality capsule room, the entire endeavor had lasted barely three hours. Yet the sheer exhaustion weighing down her limbs felt heavier than an eight-hour shift hauling crates at the logistics center. The moment she dragged herself into her decrepit apartment, she collapsed face-down onto the mattress without even bothering to wash up, drifting straight into unconsciousness.

"Uuugh..."

As was always the case, a convulsive, bone-chilling frost erupted from her blocked meridians, wrenching her awake from the depths of sleep. Glancing toward the wall clock, she saw that barely two hours had slipped by.

Grimacing through the stinging ache in her chest, Rihwa reached for her prescribed medication and swallowed it down dry, abandoning any hope of returning to sleep. Once her consciousness snapped awake, falling back under was impossible. If her head felt clouded and heavy, a quick cycle of internal energy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠circulation would sweep the fog away. Martial arts, she mused, proved remarkably practical for daily survival even when she wasn't using them to cave in someone's skull.

Settling into the lotus position, she guided her qi through the Microcosmic Orbit. The internal circuit flushed the residual chill from her core and restored clarity to her mind.

"*Haaah...*"

With her energy settled, Rihwa performed the quintessential ritual of modern civilized life: checking her smartphone. Sure enough, an unread notification waited on the screen.

The sender was Jo Meohyeop. Not stopping at a simple text, he had also attached a web link. Tapping the preview took her straight to an online forum board.

Scrolling down, Rihwa found that the thread was piled high with upvotes, already immortalized in the forum's Hall of Fame. It stood as undeniable proof of just how deep an impression Wadeulwadeul's first broadcast had carved into the community.

Rihwa typed out her polite reply alongside the digital café voucher. It wasn't an exaggeration; without the virtual reality capsule he had gifted her and his persistent encouragement, this broadcast would never have happened. The moment her message delivered, Jo Meohyeop shot back a reply.

She remembered watching an informational video on Bigtube where a veteran creator emphasized that the greatest virtue of any streamer was consistency. Having gathered such explosive momentum on day one, she needed to strike while the iron was hot. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠To Rihwa, streaming wasn't a leisurely hobby; it was a lifeline for literal physical survival.

Sure enough, Jo Meohyeop offered the exact same guidance.

Evidently, that blockhead gangster she had bumped into during her outdoor stream had left a deep, indelible impression on Jo Meohyeop and the rest of the viewers. Then again, his sudden intrusion had single-handedly cowed the entire unruly chat into absolute submission. In a bizarre, roundabout way, the thug was practically her benefactor.

Next time I run into him, Rihwa resolved quietly, I'll only hit him once instead of twice.

With that generous vow settled in her mind, she decided to wash up. While circulating the Microcosmic Orbit technically expunged metabolic impurities through her pores—rendering frequent bathing strictly unnecessary—it remained a matter of personal comfort. Standing beneath a stream of hot water always lifted her spirits. When she had first awakened in this female vessel, the unfamiliar contours had made bathing awkward and distressing, but by now, she had grown thoroughly accustomed to her body.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Rihwa plugged in the hairdryer. Because of the Nine Yin Severed Meridians, drying her hair thoroughly was a matter of urgent medical necessity. If she left it damp, the freezing yin qi radiating constantly through her flesh would literally freeze the wet strands solid like icicles.

"What a royal pain in the ass," she grumbled, combing through the locks from roots to tips beneath the blast of warm air.

If there was one thing about living as a woman that she found undeniably tedious, it was managing long hair. She had tried chopping it into a short bob once, but even to her own eyes, it looked so dreadfully mismatched with her features that she had painstakingly grown it out again.

Once her hair was reasonably dry, Rihwa picked up her smartphone. Another message from Jo Meohyeop had arrived while she was in the shower.

Rihwa arched a delicate brow at the sudden question. They had exchanged dozens of messages over the past few days; she had no idea which specific topic he was referring to.

Now that he mentioned it, he had brought that up. But hadn't he specifically noted that an introduction would only happen once her channel grew to a respectable size? Before she could ponder further, another text flashed on the screen.

That took her completely by surprise. An MCN—a Multi-Channel Network—was an agency that managed and represented digital content creators. Jo Meohyeop's agency, Arc Network, was a reputable mid-sized company managing nearly fifty active streamers.

Curious, Rihwa logged into her Ogogok dashboard. Her private inbox, which had been a barren wasteland until yesterday, was overflowing with unread direct messages. While the majority came from enthusiastic viewers, several corporate handles stood out conspicuously among the clutter, exactly as Jo Meohyeop had predicted.

The message went on at length, praising Wadeulwadeul's exceptional mechanical skill, captivating vocal persona, and immense viral potential before passionately pitching the benefits of signing an exclusive contract with their agency. Clicking through the other corporate inboxes revealed near-identical overtures from rival companies. Having hosted a grand total of one stream, receiving this level of aggressive corporate recruitment left her utterly flabbergasted.

Judging by how earnest Jo Meohyeop was in his explanations, this wasn't some elaborate prank. Then again, nobody in their right mind would dare play a hidden camera prank on someone with Wadeulwadeul's terrifying street reputation right now.

Even though he spoke with complete detachment, Rihwa felt a genuine debt of gratitude toward him. Giving his agency priority was the very least she could do in return.

A quiet warmth filled Rihwa's chest at his gratitude. A moment later, Jo Meohyeop forwarded the contact information for his dedicated producer at Arc Network.

Ending her chat with Jo Meohyeop, Rihwa stared at the phone number on her screen. Was the world truly allowed to pivot so violently overnight?

Just yesterday, I couldn't even secure a stable factory job because of my appearance... and now I'm a blue-chip prospect in the streaming industry?

Her life felt less like reality and more like the absurd synopsis of a trashy light novel. Clearing her throat to ensure her voice sounded steady, she dialed the digits.

The call barely had time to ring before the line clicked open, as if the person on the other end had been hovering over their screen in anticipation.

A crisp, remarkably energetic woman's voice burst through the receiver at machine-gun speed. It was a rather bizarre dynamic—the party receiving the call offering a breathless greeting before the caller could even utter a syllable. Jo Meohyeop had evidently briefed her in advance that Rihwa would be calling.

"...Ah, hello. Yes, this is... Wadeulwadeul."

She hesitated for a split second, debating whether to give her real name, before settling on her streaming handle. She had never intended for it to become her permanent online identity, but since everyone already knew her as Wadeulwadeul, walking it back now was out of the question.

An absolute fan after watching one stream? It reeked heavily of corporate flattery, but Rihwa had to admit it didn't feel bad to hear.

"Ah, yes... thank you. But this is all completely new to me, so if you could explain the details..."

"...Pardon?"

The rumor that agencies were desperate to sign her was undeniably true; this woman was coming on with terrifying assertiveness. Thoroughly overwhelmed by the producer's momentum, Rihwa stammered into the phone.

"Y-You're going to catch a flight? Just to meet me?"

Neither in her past life as a roaming martial master nor in her present existence as an impoverished young woman had a total stranger ever boarded an airplane just to see her. The sheer absurdity of the situation left Rihwa at a complete loss for words.

"Still... that feels like far too much trouble on your end..."

Like beans crackling over an open fire, Jung Minju locked down the time and venue in a rapid-fire blur. Exactly three hours from now. It was currently nine in the morning, which meant their meeting would take place right around noon.

Before Rihwa could assemble a coherent response against the hurricane-like assault, the call terminated.

Standing frozen in the middle of her cramped, drafty room, So Rihwa stared blankly at her dark screen. Just twenty-four hours ago, the concept of a high-stakes corporate business meeting hadn't even existed in her wildest dreams.