The Hako Streamer's Life (6)
An awkward silence settled over us. Arine stared at me with slightly widened eyes, as if the food in her mouth had suddenly become irrelevant. After a brief moment of eye contact, she seemed to snap back to reality and began chewing again, swallowing the food down her small throat.
Then, as if desperately trying to erase the awkwardness, she let out a bright “Ahaha!”
“What was that? Practicing your We Got Married lines?”
“Did it sound like that?”
“Well, people don’t usually say it like that, do they? Who just comes out and says they like being together… It sounded like straight-up flirting.”
“Guess so. Must be the alcohol. It’s been a while since I’ve had a quiet meal like this with someone.”
I blamed the half-empty beer can I hadn’t even finished. Worried I might cause another misunderstanding like last time, I quickly apologized.
“…Sorry if you didn’t like it.”
“No. I like eating together with you too… I do, but… ugh, what am I even supposed to say?”
Seeing her fidgeting face made my heart flutter faintly. I’d thought so before, but Arine really seemed weak to straightforward compliments. She tried to act cheerful to avoid making things even more awkward, but her gaze kept drifting into empty space.
On stream, she hid her emotions well, but in private she was surprisingly defenseless.
…Is it because it’s me?
The thought crossed my mind, but I immediately shut it down, knowing it was nothing more than ridiculous overthinking. We’d exchanged numbers and grown much closer lately, but that didn’t mean we were anything special. Arine had plenty of friends and colleagues besides me. The idea that I was somehow uniquely special to her made no sense. It was just a hopeful delusion born from my own wish to be someone important to her.
Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, I abruptly changed the subject.
“You don’t have to say anything more. I get the vibe. Anyway, how was it? Today’s shoot?”
I asked her the same question she’d asked me after her first filming. When things got awkward, work talk was always safest. After all, we were business partners, and we had plenty to discuss when it came to the job.
“So, what did the top-tier streamer Arine think after experiencing hako life? Was it uncomfortable?”
“Can I be honest?”
“Be honest. Do I look like the kind of person who’d get hurt by something like this?”
Despite how I might look, I was over ninety percent T-type. I didn’t usually flinch at rational criticism.
“……Honestly, there were a lot of uncomfortable things.”
“A lot, huh.”
Oof. That actually stung. So much for not getting hurt. But I understood. Having experienced Arine’s broadcasting environment myself, I knew the difference between her setup and mine was like heaven and earth. Everything here must have felt clumsy and inconvenient to her. Even if she claimed she’d lived like this before, that had been a long time ago. And just because you’d experienced something once didn’t mean it stopped being uncomfortable. I constantly brainwashed myself into thinking I’d gotten used to it, but the truth was I was always waiting for the day I could replace everything the moment money came in.
“I even felt embarrassed about telling you I was fine with this kind of life since I’d done it before.”
“Really?”
“The room’s cold because there’s no proper heating. Humidity control is a mess. No soundproofing, so you can hear everything from outside. The camera quality is terrible, and without any decent lighting, everything comes out dark and murky.”
“Ugh.”
It hurts too much. Please go easy on me. Just a little gentler. This is the first time I’ve been hit this directly.
“Nothing went smoothly. The keyboard suddenly broke, and even though it wasn’t a high-spec game, the computer froze just from being on for a while.”
“………”
I have no excuses. I’m sorry for making you broadcast in an environment like this. Listing them one by one, it really did seem like the worst possible setup to invite someone over for a broadcast. I even felt guilty for putting Arine through such a horrible experience.
I glanced sideways at her expression. Despite everything she’d said, she didn’t look the least bit angry.
“But.”
“Yeah?”
“I liked it.”
“After everything you just listed, what part was good? Seriously.”
“First of all, the contrast made for great broadcast material, which was nice. But beyond that.”
She actually looked happy.
“It was good because I got to see just how amazing Do Doyun really is?”
What? This sudden praise drift. I was trying to decide whether I should call her out on it when Arine continued with a serious expression.
“You’ve been doing this all by yourself in such a difficult and uncomfortable environment, without any support. That’s really incredible.”
At those words, my lips—which had been about to spout some nonsense—stopped. I didn’t want to interrupt what she was trying to say. It didn’t feel like empty praise. It felt like she genuinely recognized me.
“You said four years, right? So you’ve been holding on like this for four whole years. When I thought about that, I started seeing you differently.”
“Come on. It’s nothing special. All hako streamers broadcast like this. I’m not the only one.”
That was true. I wasn’t the only one struggling to keep a stream going. If the streamers we actually saw were one percent, then the ninety-nine percent sunk beneath the surface were probably living in conditions similar to mine.
She nodded as if she agreed.
“You’re right. Hako streamers all broadcast like this. But that’s exactly why most of them don’t last a year.”
“……”
“Four years. You lasted a full four years. There must have been so many moments when you wanted to give up, when your spirit almost broke. But you overcame all of that and survived. That alone is amazing. I couldn’t have done it. Not ever.”
Yes, and she was right about that too. Not many streamers could endure four years like this. Most lasted anywhere from six months to a year. Two years at most. After that, most people realized the reality of their situation and stepped away from this world. Doing internet broadcasting for a long time could be poison for an individual. It was a career that wouldn’t even get you a single line on a resume. The longer you dragged it out, the further away employment became. Very few people could cling to that uncertain lifeline for as long as I had.
Why are you so idealistic? Look at reality, Kim Doyun. That’s not persistence, it’s just stupidity!
You’re not a kid anymore. You need to wake up. How long are you going to keep chasing dreams?
Choi Seoyeon’s words came back to me. She had called me stubborn. As time passed, she treated me like an idealist who couldn’t face reality. Maybe she was right. No matter how much experience I gained, results never followed. But at least she had never once cheered for my dream. She had never acknowledged the effort I’d put in like Arine just did. All she ever did was throw cold reality in my face.
“……”
Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. Maybe that was all I had ever wanted to hear. If Seoyeon, my parents, or the people around me had acknowledged my efforts even once, I might have given up on this internet broadcasting dream. Because they treated the time I’d invested and all my hard work as meaningless, I became stubborn and poured even more of myself into streaming just to prove that it wasn’t meaningless.
And now, this girl—who I hadn’t known for very long, who was practically a stranger compared to my family or ex-girlfriend—was giving me the support and encouragement I had always wanted to hear. It was so unbelievable that it felt like a lie.
So instead, I said something twisted.
“You could call it steadfast. Or just stupid. Stubborn. Everyone around me told me to stop. They said there was no money in it and I clearly had no talent, so why keep going?”
“……Oppa.”
“Don’t you think I’m an idiot too? Keeping at something with no chance of success? If it weren’t for you, I don’t know how much longer this life would have gone on. Five years? Ten? Clinging to something with no end in sight—isn’t that ridiculous?”
It was true. If it hadn’t been for Arine, I might have stayed a hako for the rest of my life. I still was one, technically. A self-mocking laugh hovered over the table. The devil in my heart screamed that Arine must think the same. That the support and encouragement were just superficial. That I shouldn’t fall for sweet words. That no one in the world would truly understand or cheer for an idiot like me.
If I said this much, maybe she would finally reveal her true feelings. With that thought, I spat out those self-destructive words and waited for Arine’s response.
She set down her chopsticks, looked at me for a moment, then quietly opened her mouth.
“No. I think it’s cool, actually.”
And at that answer, my breath caught for a moment.
“Anyone can challenge something when they know they have talent and can succeed. But staying steadfast in the face of uncertainty, when you can’t see any results… not just anyone can do that. You did, oppa. That’s why it’s cool.”
Her fingertips, which had been touching her beer glass, trembled slightly. At the same time, the world seemed to slow down. Her lips moved incredibly slowly, and my brain felt like it was carefully savoring every single word she said.
“…I know. I know how terrifying empty effort can be. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, when nothing comes of it—the frustration that eats away at you. Only people who’ve experienced it can understand.”
Her voice trembled faintly as she spoke. As if she were imagining that time. It felt like she was telling me, I was the same as you. I had foolish dreams and suffered because of them.
…So I understand you.
“I went through it too. During my trainee days. I couldn’t endure it in the end and got eliminated. But you’re different. You carried that fear, that frustration, and still pushed through to get here.”
Then Arine smiled brightly and nodded.
“So don’t think you finally saw the light because you met me. The willpower that let you endure before you ever met me—that’s what brought you this far. I just happened to be there at the right time.”
Was it really true? The girl in front of me was saying that meeting her was also part of my own effort. That if I hadn’t endured those four difficult years, I never would have encountered this luck. A laugh escaped me. It felt like the kind of laugh that could crumble at any moment. I didn’t know why I was laughing instead of crying. My eyes were stinging and the tip of my nose burned, but the tears wouldn’t come.
I had thought no one would ever understand me. That no one would cheer for this foolish endeavor, so I had to overcome it alone and prove myself. I believed that once I succeeded through streaming, everyone would come back and tell me—
…Doyun. You really are amazing. We didn’t believe in you, but all that effort you put in wasn’t meaningless after all.
But this girl in front of me, without having proven anything herself, without showing any results of her own, affirmed me. She even gave me credit for the success of my broadcast that had finally found its light because of her, saying it was all thanks to my own willpower. She told me she understood me, that the effort and pain I had carried weren’t meaningless.
Those few ordinary words—yet filled with sincerity—shook my heart violently. The fact that on this path no one had ever acknowledged, I had finally met the one person who called me “cool,” left me unable to lift my head. My shoulders trembled as I looked down.
And when I finally raised my head again.
“……Oppa?”
The moment I saw Arine looking at me with cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, my heart began to pound violently for some reason.