The Virtual Marriage Announcement (2)

18,000 viewers. Just how impressive was that number? Even in an era with more famous female streamers than ever, the so-called top-tier conglomerates—those near-walking platforms—were still mostly men. When you checked their peak hours, right after the office crowd logged in, their numbers usually hovered between the high ten thousands and the low-to-mid twenty thousands. So even though this was an event stream, the figure Arine had achieved broke straight through the ceiling for a female streamer. Besides, it was only seven o’clock. Viewer count hadn’t even hit its true peak yet. People would gradually gather from now on, and the real crowd wouldn’t fully assemble until around ten at night. If this many had already flooded in less than five minutes after going live, it was obvious the number would easily sail past twenty thousand as time went on.

“I’m really going to broadcast in front of this many people…?”

Sure, during the last big multi-streamer collab the combined viewer count across all rooms had probably reached this level. But that never gave me the visceral sense that I was the one being watched. There were simply too many streamers, I was too busy juggling them all, and they were the main event while I was nothing more than a side act.

This time was different. This time it was just the two of us—me and Arine—facing this staggering audience alone. There were no other veteran top-tier streamers to lean on, and we weren’t even playing games. We had to satisfy an absurd number of people with nothing but the script we’d prepared and our raw ability to talk.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. A thrill surged up from my toes and my legs kept trembling no matter what I did. I had never once imagined myself as the main host in front of a crowd like this. A thousand viewers would have been more than enough to satisfy me. Hell, even five hundred would have felt like a solid achievement, right? That was the mindset I’d had while grinding away at streams with only fifty people. And now, simply because I’d met one streamer named Arine, I was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠standing here in front of all these people.

It clearly wasn’t thanks to my own talent. These people hadn’t come to see me. Still, staring at the overwhelming flood of names in the viewer list, I felt an inexplicable rush of exhilaration. It was as if broadcasting in front of this many people made me feel like I was actually someone who mattered. And the stronger that feeling grew, the harder I trembled. My stomach churned like I was about to be sick.

But that surge of excitement and nerves only lasted a moment. Watching Arine smile effortlessly in front of eighteen thousand people and conduct the stream with polished grace, my overstimulated mind snapped back to reality.

…Right. I’m still the supporting act. Who am I to think I’m the main ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠character?

Once the broadcast began in earnest, she would naturally take the lead. I had neither the variety content nor the big-stage experience to steer a show like this. My only job was to follow her flow smoothly, avoid causing trouble, and ride the current without messing it up.

The exhilaration faded, replaced by a strangely pleasant sense of relief. Until a second ago I’d felt like the captain of a tiny boat trying to navigate a pitch-black sea at night. Now it was as if Arine’s lighthouse beam had cut through the darkness and lit my way. Surprisingly, all a person really needs is one solid thing to trust before their mind finds stability.

At her introduction I re-entered the voice chat I had stepped out of earlier.

“Hello, everyone watching. I’m Do Doyun, streaming on Naty. It’s nice to meet you.”

It was a greeting I had given so many times in front of countless people that I had lost count.

The chat from new arrivals and longtime Arine viewers churned together in a chaotic wave. Was my voice actually considered good? I had mostly streamed to male audiences before and rarely received comments about it, so I had no way of knowing if they were sincere. Still, just hearing it gave me a small boost of confidence.

But I didn’t keep staring at the chat. In a joint stream the most important thing was focusing on the person in front of you.

“It’s an honor. Thrilling and exciting.”

“Should I scream or something? Waaaaaah! I’m so happy!! I’m so happy to be doing WGM with Arine!!! Like that?”

Over-the-top reactions were my specialty. The moment the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stream light turned on, my shame switch flipped off, so lines like that flew out without hesitation.

High energy on stream was always welcome. Even if it was a little forced, high tension beat low tension any day. I had been worried about reactions like Who is this nobody? Why did she bring in some unknown hako? but the audience response was better than I expected. I let out a silent sigh of relief. With the atmosphere this friendly, I felt the pressure ease. As long as I didn’t ruin the broadcast, we’d be fine.

Arine’s subscriber emote—a cheering figure—flooded the screen as explosive support followed her words. She glanced sideways at the chat, checking reactions, then continued smoothly.

With that, she brought up the PPT we had prepared together. The clean white template displayed the title Arine & Do Doyun Virtual Marriage Announcement. When she flipped to the next slide it read Part 1: Self-Introductions.

“Sure. My streamer name is Do Doyun. I mainly broadcast comprehensive games on Naty at 6 p.m.”

The origin story. It would definitely be more entertaining to go into detail rather than give a dry self-introduction. Arine’s instinct to balance communication and fun was spot on.

“It’s not actually that important, but back when I first started my streamer name was just Doyun.”

“Not ‘just Doyun’—it was literally two Korean characters for Doyun. I was too lazy to come up with a proper handle so I used my real name.”

“Then I was playing some game and I made a warrior character, right?”

“You know my playstyle. Pretty stubborn. Or just plain stupid.”

She giggled, apparently remembering the scene.

“I’ve gotten better since then, but back then I basically played without thinking. I relied purely on grit. So I mindlessly grinded for like twenty hours straight and someone saw it and went, ‘Does this guy have no brain? Is he a dodo?’ You know that brainless warrior character from Mapl—uh, that game.”

“Yep. It was so funny and it fit my playstyle perfectly. That’s when I changed my name to Do Doyun.”

Along with the chat spamming “lol” Arine burst into bright laughter.

“I think so too. Yeah.”

At her question I paused.

Is it really okay to keep broadcasting like this?

A moment of hesitation. The image I was about to show would be completely different from the character I had built until now. I was a comedy streamer, practically a clown. I was confident in my ability to make people laugh. But after the announcement date was revealed, I had spent the remaining time agonizing.

…Should I show the exact same side of me during the virtual marriage?

It would still be entertaining if I kept doing the same thing. But then what was the point of doing WGM at all? The reason so many people watched virtual-marriage content was because they wanted to feel butterflies. They wanted vicarious thrill.

And it was the same now. The reason these eighteen thousand people had gathered wasn’t just to laugh and chat. There had to be more. The quiet flutter of excitement and heart-pounding tension hidden between the laughs—that was the desire I needed to fulfill.

So I had to change. The side I showed today couldn’t be the comedy streamer Do Doyun. It had to be a guy who was funny and surprisingly sweet. Arine had drawn this many people for me. The least I could do was give something back.

Therefore I answered her naturally.

“Hmm. I don’t have many regrets. Actually, I like it more now.”

“……Because it’s my real name, so you can call me by my name?”

The moment the words left my mouth, Arine’s laughter stopped short. Time itself seemed to freeze. The chat, which had paused for a split second, suddenly surged forward as if it had been building momentum for this very leap.

The chat erupted, burning hot.