Crisis Within Opportunity

A ban for exposing my chest.

Duration: two weeks.

On Tricky, a man showing his chest on stream was allowed — he just had to restrict the broadcast so viewers under fifteen couldn't watch.

I looked over the regulations they'd emailed me and went digging around the internet. The more I learned, the clearer it became: this world was more conservative about sex than I'd expected. Not so conservative that a man couldn't show skin at all, but the content ratings had gotten a little stricter. That, apparently, was why I'd been suspended.

The incident was already a pretty hot topic on a community I'd stumbled across while searching. Seeing my name sitting there in the open made me flinch, but the comments were wall-to-wall praise, so it didn't feel all that bad. There were even people saying they were looking forward to my collab with Nellka.

...Huh?

A collab?

What collab?

A collab I didn't even know about had already been locked in. Wondering what on earth they were talking about, I opened one of the posts and found that Nellka had left a comment on my apology.

I logged into Tricky right away and checked the comments under the apology. Finding Nellka's didn't take long. It had racked up a ridiculous number of upvotes and climbed straight into the best-comment slot.

It was a content proposal. A proposal, plain and simple — not some demand that I take responsibility. So why had everyone already decided we were collabing?

The community had completely lost its mind. People were saying they couldn't wait, that it was going to be hilarious, that they wanted to see the shirtless bit again. Posts were going up guessing what the content would even be.

At this rate, not doing it would just get me torn apart.

I sent the email. Not because I was scared of getting flamed. Nellka was a million-subscriber YouTuber. The moment I streamed with her, I'd have name recognition. The communities were on fire right now, but internet broadcasting had a short memory — give it a few days and everyone would move on. This was supposed to be the window where I sold myself on stream and locked down regular viewers. A two-week ban. No matter how much bait was circulating now, it was the perfect amount of time to be forgotten. Still, if I turned the stream back on in two weeks, a few people might show up. Growing slowly wouldn't have been the worst thing. But kicking away an opportunity when it landed in my lap wasn't smart either.

A reply came a little later. She'd written her number and asked to talk on the phone.

The phone?

Things were moving way too fast.

I was a man who already struggled to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talk to women. Would a phone call be any easier? The difficulty dropped a notch in that I wouldn't have to look at her face. That was all, though. The fact that I'd be talking to a woman didn't change.

Hello?

Yeees— ugh, ack!

I could already see it playing out in my head: I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hear her voice and bite my own tongue.

Did this... really have to be a call? Couldn't we just text?

I sat there with the phone in my hand and hesitated for a long time. I'd already typed in the number.

"Aaa. Ahem! Hh-hem!"

I checked my voice for no reason and cleared my throat. All I had to do was tap the call button and it would go through, but that one step was killing me.

Press it? No. I wasn't ready. Press it? Just a little longer. Now? No. Wait.

If anyone had been watching me, they would have died of frustration. How long was I going to sit there hovering over the call button? If I'd spent this time actually talking, the conversation would have been over already.

Fine. I had to do it anyway — better to get it over with than waste time like this. If I kept broadcasting, I was going to end up on the phone plenty, and I'd probably have to meet other streamers too. These were the kinds of walls I needed to start climbing now.

I pressed it.

Brrring... brrring...

The dial tone started up. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The longer that ringtone drilled into my eardrums, the harder my heart hammered. Half of me wanted to get the call over with as fast as possible. The other half thought it might be nice if she just never picked up and I could hang up like this.

Ten seconds, maybe. The ringing kept going, and my head started to go hazy.

Should I just hang up?

In the middle of that thought, the tone cut out and the call connected.

"Hello?"

A young woman's voice spilled from the speaker. It was a little low, a little hoarse.

"Uh. ...H-hello?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Ah, this is Park Beomjun."

...

My introduction was met with silence. Sweat started beading on my forehead. I was just starting to wonder if I'd dialed the wrong number when the other end finally reacted.

"Ah! Yes, yes! Beomjun! Hello! This is Nellka!"

The welcome in her voice knocked the tension right out of my shoulders.

"Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Yes, yes. I didn't think you'd call this fast."

"Ah... is that so?"

"Of course. When you're trying to collab with a male streamer, half the job is just waiting around. Ah, listen to me, saying whatever pops into my head."

"That's quite all right."

She sounded genuinely thrilled. Unlike me, wound tight as a spring, you could hear the fun in her voice.

"Then can we jump straight into business?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We cooked up a piece of content. It might be a little played out, but it's a We Got Married."

We Got Married, of all things. Originally it had been a celebrity virtual-marriage TV show, but these days the phrase got thrown around all the time in internet broadcasting — two streamers running a stream on a married-couple concept. Nellka was proposing that she and I do one.

"With me?"

"Yes. Would that be all right with you?"

She asked it carefully.

We Got Married. We Got Married, huh. Could I even pull that off? I, Park Beomjun. Twenty-five years ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠old. A bona fide lifelong single who'd never had a girlfriend — never even had a female friend. A We Got Married stream? I was overflowing with confidence that I could make it dead boring.

And that wasn't the only thing worrying me. You see as much as you know. With a hobby that consisted of watching streams and YouTube, I couldn't help being afraid the story wouldn't be enough.

"Um, about that..."

"Yes! Go ahead!"

"We don't even have any point of contact. Would a We Got Married even work?"

The most important thing in a We Got Married was immersion. A story the viewers could actually fall into. The first meeting. The flutter of feelings going back and forth. A sweet date, and a confession at the end where they finally confirm what's in their hearts. There had to be a narrative the audience could buy — and I was asking whether we had one.

Nellka answered like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"It works! It'll work! If you just say yes, we'll write you a clean, perfect story."

"Ah. Yes, ma'am."

If she said so, then fine. Didn't seem like something I needed to worry about. She was a million-subscriber YouTuber, after all. She hadn't earned that gold play button by accident. I'd already decided to grab the lifeline she'd thrown me. Now that it had come to this, all I could do was trust her to make something of it.

"Then might I hear the details?"

"Yes! First off..."

It wasn't a long explanation. Just a rough sketch of how they planned to build it out. That was enough. I nodded along the whole time she talked. Yeah. This could work.

"This is still here."

A military uniform with Sergeant First Class rank insignia on it. I'd found it tucked in a corner while I was cleaning out the closet. God, it had been hell. The first year of adapting had gone by without my even noticing how, and I still didn't know how I'd survived the three years after that. Lucky I'd gone in as an NCO. If I'd gone in as an officer... I might have come out even more wrecked than when I went in.

"Ugh. Horrible."

I shuddered and shoved the uniform in deeper. Looking at it had put one thing in my head.

Reserve duty.

I'd been discharged, so I ought to have reserve training waiting for me — except the world had flipped. Naturally, this world put no service obligation on men. So where did that leave me?

I turned on the computer and went to the reserve forces website.

"Please."

Don't be there. The idea of reserve duty was more terrifying than the idea of my service record vanishing. It wouldn't be there. How could it be? This was a reversed world.

So why did I feel so uneasy?

I entered my phone number and authenticated. The screen washed out white, then returned to the reserve forces homepage. The moment it did, a window slid down from the My Training Information tab on the left.

"You son of a—!"

"What the hell are you doing there?!"

It was despair. Had I served in this world too? Then why the hell had I discharged to the reserves instead of fully retiring?

In the original world, most of the women who finished their service applied for full retirement. Apply for a regular discharge and you had to do reserve duty; apply for retirement and you didn't. This side was the same. Male soldiers who applied for full retirement didn't have to go.

"You dumb bastard, reverse-world Park Beomjun!"

I'd already done reserve training once. Those two nights and three days had been complete garbage. Time crawled, the food was awful, and the barracks were filthy. And I had to go through that nightmare six more times?

Just kill me already!

"Fuck..."

I'd gotten my hopes up for nothing. I would have been better off not knowing until the reserve notice showed up. The second I let myself believe I might not have to go, the disappointment hit that much harder.

"Fucking reserve duty."

I shut the computer off, still swallowing down irritation that wouldn't settle.

Time passed, and the day of the shoot with Nellka drew near.