The High School Dropout and the Divine Streamer

It’s already been a few days since I met Detective Lee Jintae. And in that time—a period that felt both fleeting and agonizingly long—I’ve been busier than a one-armed wallpaper hanger.

Mostly recovering, that is.

The price for twisting the laws of providence turned out to be higher than I’d anticipated.

“Water.”

“Jeez, if you’re feeling better, get it yourself, Oppa.”

For the past few days, Jina has naturally become my hands and feet, taking care of every little errand.

“Oh, my. Is that any way to talk to your older brother?”

“Just take it already!”

She grumbles, but the fact that she brings it to me anyway makes me want to keep ordering her around. I suppose as long as I don’t cross the line, I can keep using her as my personal assistant. Perhaps this is the ideal relationship between an older brother and a younger sister.

“I’m in the mood for some snacks.”

“…They’re right in front of you.”

“I’m in the mood for snacks.”

“Are you asking me to feed you, too? Are you actually insane?”

Thwack!

Seeing her hurl the snack bag at my face, I realized I might have crossed the line again. However, I had prepared a trump card for moments like this.

“It seems my little sister doesn’t need any allowance.”

At the sight of the astronomical figure displayed on my phone screen, Jina, who had been stomping toward me, suddenly knelt gracefully at my feet. She then tore open the snack bag she’d just thrown and held it out to my mouth with the utmost politeness.

“Brother, would you like me to bring you a drink as well?”

As expected, money is the best way to build a strong sibling bond.

That’s right. The donations we earned from just two broadcasts amounted to over five million won.

Just a few days ago, I was an unemployed loser struggling to land a part-time job at a gas station, and now, after only two streams, I’d earned more than the monthly salary of a manager at a major corporation.

“These snacks are a bit salty.”

“Here, have something sweet!”

I chewed on the snacks and glanced at Jina.

“Jina.”

“Yeah?”

“Once the money comes in, let’s get you a new phone first.”

Jina’s eyes went wide. I guess this is why one’s daily conduct matters.

“Mine’s still fine, though.”

“Forget it. I’m not taking any arguments.”

While I was at it, I requested a payout. Five million won is more than enough to buy a phone and still have plenty left over. What to do with the rest is a problem for another day.

No sooner had I thought that than a notification popped up on the screen.

“What? Why is it like this?”

“…Oppa, you didn’t know they take a commission?”

Are you kidding me? A commission?

I hurriedly checked the guidelines, and the commission rate for new streamers was a staggering 40%.

“Ugh!”

First, I was shocked by the sheer malice of a platform that takes 40%.

And then.

“Aaaaaaaargh!”

These guys are worse than evil spirits. If this isn’t corporate tyranny, what is?

“Stop eating my snacks.”

Once Jina realized the money wouldn’t be paid out until next month, she snatched the snack bag away with a cold expression and retreated to her bed.

“Jina…!”

“Shut up.”

It was the moment our strong sibling bond was ruthlessly shattered by corporate greed.

‘Even Oranis didn’t make such unfair contracts.’

I sighed deeply and looked back at the commission tier screen.

“Broadcast hours?”

My total airtime so far was barely two hours. Even if the Regular tier was a stretch, I needed to hit 20 hours to reach the General tier…

“I have to do it.”

If I want to buy Jina that phone quickly—no, more importantly, to maintain my authority as an older brother—I need to start streaming right now.

I jumped up and approached Jina, who was sitting on the bed eating snacks.

“Hold the phone for me so I can stream.”

“Right now?”

Without waiting for an answer, I launched the app, entered a suitable title, and held out the phone.

“Kick anyone who came here to see Jina.”

“I don’t have a sister like you.”

After purging the trolls, I sat down next to Jina. Since I don’t have professional equipment yet, I broadcast from my phone and use Jina’s phone to check the chat.

“You all saw the title, right? This is a chatting stream, so if you came here expecting something else, leave now.”

“Who knows? I wouldn’t know.”

I shrugged, feigning ignorance. It wasn’t my business to be involved in anymore.

The viewers were smart enough to change the subject. Most of the people watching this broadcast were active in the Ghost Experience Gallery anyway, so they probably rushed to the scene the moment the stream ended.

“If you’ve caught on, keep it to yourselves. It’s been resolved, so let’s drop it.”

Thanks to my warning, no more content about the Incheon Abandoned Motel appeared in the chat.

“I’m just here to hit my broadcast hours today, so if you have questions, ask away. If you ask something useless, you’re getting kicked immediately.”

They were mostly questions about my personal details. Come to think of it, I’d never properly introduced myself during my streams.

‘They say self-PR is important ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for streamers.’

A thought I’d seen somewhere crossed my mind. Even if I’m special, the viewers need to know about me to keep watching, right?

With that in mind, I turned toward the camera.

“My name is Kang Jinwoo. I’m twenty-six. I think I’ll get an exemption from the military…”

I paused for a moment before adding the most important information.

“I am the first and only servant of the One True God, Oranis. I am the one who built paradise in hell, known as the miracle of humanity.”

As expected, it went like this.

“It’s not a cult, and it’s not a religious broadcast. I’m just saying I’m the first servant of Oranis.”

Even after witnessing a miracle, the viewers just accepted it as a concept. I had actually expected this. Humans only see as much as they know and believe what they want to believe.

How much more so for viewers behind a screen? They’ll probably just think of me as a talented shaman.

“A great observer who oversees the entire universe?”

Sure enough, they had no interest in the god herself. Even though that was the most important information.

“Anyway, it’s not a religious or cult broadcast, so don’t make wild guesses. Hmm, my highest level of education is elementary school.”

The chat, which had been scrolling rapidly, suddenly stopped.

“What is this, lag?”

No, it was my mistake. It was just so beyond common sense that the chat had paused for a moment.

I clicked my tongue at the viewers’ reactions and picked up a book lying next to the bed.

“So, I’m planning to study for the GED.”

“Oppa is really an elementary grad. There were circumstances.”

As Jina stepped in to testify, the viewers finally started to believe me.

“That doesn’t work.”

I shook my head firmly.

“I once tried to mess with Oranis by asking if she’d heard of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠law of universal gravitation, and I ended up seeing the ‘essence’ of gravity.”

I shuddered as I recalled the horrific memory.

“The human brain can’t handle a god’s knowledge. My brain literally felt like it was melting. If Oranis hadn’t cleaned it up, I’d be a drooling vegetable right now. Ever since then, I never ask about knowledge.”

The viewers still considered it an extension of my concept, but this was something I’d actually experienced. Since no one would believe me even if I denied it, I showed the book titled ‘Middle School Math Summary’ to the camera.

“I’d like that, too. But haunted houses don’t always have ghosts. And…”

I stopped talking and looked at Jina, who was chewing snacks and watching the chat.

“How would parents feel if their kid was only an elementary or middle school graduate?”

“No, why are you bringing me into this suddenly?”

“Well, who told you to say you wouldn’t go to high school?”

Jina bit her lip, having nothing to say.

It happened a few days ago. Jina suddenly declared to our parents that she wouldn’t go to high school. And for the first time, I saw our parents get truly angry.

They were people who hadn’t raised their voices even when their son returned home after ten years, or when our family’s finances were in ruins. Yet, they were firmly angry.

“No. You must go to school.”

“…I have my own thoughts.”

“Jina, a student has things they must do when they are a student.”

Of course, if our parents had known the details, they might have spoken differently. In fact, our parents don’t even know I’m streaming, nor do they know that Jina was a victim of school bullying.

I don’t care if I say, “Actually, I spent ten years in another world serving a god.” Even if I said it, they’d just treat me as if I had mental problems.

But Jina’s story is different.

They are the kind of people who would suffer for the rest of their lives knowing they hadn’t known anything, feeling guilty for not recognizing their daughter’s pain.

So, I decided to keep Jina’s story a secret between the two of us forever.

The day after Jina’s outburst, our parents bought me a GED book. They probably thought that if I studied, Jina would take an interest in her studies again.

They didn’t know that Jina had already decided her career path was to suck her brother dry.

I don’t know if they’ll find out the secret later, but for now, it’s right to respect our parents’ hearts.

I opened the book, but…

“Jina.”

“Yeah?”

“Oppa supports your dreams.”

I flipped through a few pages of the book and quietly closed it.

It seems I’m a filial son after all.

That was when it happened.

Ding!

“A collab?”

Judging by the viewers’ reactions, he seems to be quite famous.

“But is it okay for a newbie like me to apply for something like that? It’s only my third day of streaming.”

“Well, then, shall I give it a try?”

I clicked the link in the chat, filled out the form, and submitted it.

And that evening.

“…This actually worked?”