A Decent Partner (2)
I had reached out to Yeonju because I genuinely wanted to hear a perspective different from my own. But this? This was on another level. It felt like she'd flipped everything one hundred and eighty degrees. From Arine's point of view, it was something she had never even considered for a single second.
> Yeah. It might sound a bit out of nowhere, but it's honestly not a bad idea.
The seriousness in Yeonju's voice made it clear she wasn't joking. No matter how lighthearted she sometimes seemed, she was a true professional—one who deserved to be called a large streamer. She'd been broadcasting since her early twenties, which meant she had two more years of experience than I did at twenty-five. If someone like her was saying this, it wasn't just some random thought.
“Why do you think so?”
I was genuinely curious about my sister's reasoning. I wanted to understand what kind of thinking had led her to suggest this. And just as I expected, Yeonju laid out her logic in a clear, convincing way.
> First of all, the virtual marriage scene on Naty is completely saturated right now. You know that, right?
“Yeah. Everyone's doing it, aren't they?”
> And unlike the others, you'd be jumping in as a latecomer after most pairings have already established themselves, right?
“That's true.”
> So you can't just do the same thing everyone else is doing. Stimulation loses its effect when it's repeated too often.
“Right.”
I knew this all too well. How crucial differentiation really was. If fried chicken was trending and you opened a shop selling the exact same fried chicken as everyone else, would it sell? Of course not. Because people have inertia. Once they've started eating at a particular fried chicken place and the quality is decent, they'll keep ordering from there even when a new shop opens. Why? Because the new place is an unknown variable, and switching is a hassle. When you already have a reliably good option, there's no reason to risk the uncertain one.
So what should someone who starts their chicken business later do? Give up on selling chicken altogether? No. There are two paths. Either make a fried chicken that's noticeably better than the established places, or develop a seasoned chicken that offers a completely different flavor. You stay within the general demand for chicken while creating a clear point of difference. The first approach is about raising quality. The second is about differentiation. Raising quality beyond veterans with years of accumulated know-how is difficult, but creating differentiation is relatively simple.
Content worked the same way. To survive, you had to differentiate.
> Large streamer with large streamer? Large with mid-sized? Those pairings are everywhere now. The outcome is too predictable. That's the problem.
“Hmm.”
> Plus, you're not in a position to ride the coattails of someone bigger than you, and it's hard to expect much of a trickle-down effect. And recruiting anyone mid-sized or above is difficult, isn't it? They all have their own schedules, or they might already have virtual marriage partners.
“...Yeah, that's right.”
That was actually what troubled her the most. Virtual marriage might seem simple at first glance, but once you moved past the early boom, it became incredibly difficult. You had to pick from the remaining people who weren't already paired up, which made it hard to find someone who fit your taste. And they all had their own schedules and circumstances, so coordinating everything was a complicated process.
> But in your case, the demand is already there, right? That means you can carry the viewer numbers all by yourself.
“......”
> So what you need is a streamer who can make the broadcast fun, follow your lead, and still give the viewers something fresh. In that sense, I think a hako streamer isn't a bad choice at all. It's novel, for one thing. A virtual marriage between a hako and a large streamer.
It was fresh. It would probably grab attention right from the start. After all, it wasn't the usual format. How well you could retain the viewers who came for that novelty would be up to the streamer themselves.
> And it would let you show that your version of virtual marriage is different. Of course, only if you can find a hako streamer who actually has good chemistry with you and can create entertaining moments.
At the very least, a hako streamer would have almost no reason to turn down a virtual marriage with her. Unlike others, they'd probably be willing to drop their own schedule to make the collab happen. After all, she would be the one providing the trickle-down effect. They'd likely let her lead the broadcast in whatever style she wanted and try to match her pace. To them, Arine was in the position of power. That would make things comfortable for her too—no unnecessary stress from trying to negotiate opinions. That was a huge advantage.
And separate from all that, Yeonju's exact words—“your virtual marriage would be different”—had clicked into place in Arine's mind like the final piece of a puzzle. Difference. That was the keyword Arine valued most in broadcasting. Showing content and sides of herself that other streamers didn't. If she couldn't do that, there would be no reason for people to watch Arine.
......As expected of her sister. Her perspective was so much wider than hers. Even though Arine had risen faster, the experience that came from watching the broadcasting scene for so long didn't disappear. It was precisely Yeonju's sharp eye for the industry that had let her read the early virtual marriage boom on Naty and jump on board quickly. Back then, Arine hadn't even dreamed it would become such a massive trend.
> Well, that's about the extent of what I've been thinking while watching Naty lately. Did that help at all? Now that I've said it out loud, it kind of sounds like nonsense?
“No, unnie. It sounds pretty convincing to me.”
> Really?
“But... the problem is I have no idea which hako streamer would actually be a decent partner like you described...”
It wasn't that she wanted to look down on all hako streamers, but it was true that, compared to verified large or mid-sized streamers, hakos were more likely to lack broadcasting skill. On top of that, virtual marriage required someone who had good chemistry and rhythm with her while also being entertaining on stream. She couldn't exactly go through every male streamer's channel to find a virtual marriage partner, nor could she ask all of them for collabs.
The only decent idea that came to mind was holding an audition. Something like “Looking for a Husband,” where she would audition potential virtual marriage partners. But the thought of judging people like that made her feel uncomfortable.
> I guess so? You don't really know many hako streamers, do you?
“Nope.”
> That makes sense~ Sigh. It's not like you'd have any reason to collab with a hako in the first place. You're the Arine who has every large streamer begging to collab with you.
A hako streamer with good broadcasting sense, great chemistry with her, and... wait. Collab?
The word “collab” her sister had used suddenly made one person flash through her mind.
Do Doyun.
The streamer she'd done a Christmas special advertisement broadcast with just a few days ago.
“....There is one.”
> What?
“Unnie. There is one. There's a hako streamer who's pretty skilled and seems to have really good chemistry with me!”
Of course, they'd only met once. But even after searching through nearly a year of her own memories, she couldn't remember laughing as freely as she had that day. No other collab had been that much fun.
> Really? Who is it?
“Do Doyun.”
> Do Doyun? I've never heard that name before.
At her sister's completely unfamiliar tone, Arine could only let out a small chuckle.
#
After finishing my afternoon part-time shift, I came home and turned on my stream. It was six in the evening—the time when office workers got off work and headed home. I started my broadcasts around then and kept going until dawn. After analyzing the broadcasting patterns of large streamers, this had been the most reasonable start time I could come up with.
I turned on the stream and waited about five minutes. Once people started coming in, I began warming up the chat. It was a short thirty-minute to one-hour casual talk session before we started gaming.
“Hey everyone, hi there.”
About twenty viewers trickled in one after another, as if they'd been waiting. Even though the numbers were small, the fact that there were people who welcomed me made me feel good as a streamer.
“Ah, I only slept three hours last night and worked a long shift, so I'm a bit sleepy. Sorry about that. I'll try my best not to sound tired during the stream.”
My body being tired was my own fault. The viewers didn't need to accommodate that. Even if the viewer count was low, my attitude toward broadcasting had to be the same as a professional's. That was the courtesy I'd learned after at least three years of streaming—the courtesy I owed to the precious viewers who watched my content.
If it weren't for these people who told me it was okay even when I was like this, I probably would have quit streaming long ago. I felt grateful toward them, but I didn't express it out loud. It would be too cringey for guys to say stuff like that to each other. I just kept that feeling tucked away in my heart and tried my best to repay them with more entertaining broadcasts.
“Oh? A new co-op game? You're talking about that one, right? The one where you open a door and ghosts pop out?”
Since I always kept up with the latest trends on Naty, there was no way I'd be less informed than my viewers.
And then—
Vrrrrrrrr.
The vibration of my phone filled the desk.
I usually turned my phone on silent when streaming, but I'd forgotten. I must have left it on the desk after coming back from the bathroom earlier when I said I'd turn it off. I politely apologized to the viewers.
“Ah, sorry about that. I'll turn off the vibration right now. What kind of hako streamer leaves their phone on during a broadcast? You idiot.”
I scolded myself out loud as I reached to tap the screen and silence the phone. That was when I saw it.
A DM notification from someone who had never once contacted me since I broke up with my girlfriend.
What the—? I don't have anyone who would message me.
No friends, no family, no ex-girlfriend. The Instagram account itself was set to public for broadcasting purposes. Maybe it was an ad or a sponsorship offer. Or maybe I'd hoped someone might find a use for it. Though honestly, I'd never received a single message until now.
I swiped down slightly to check the content.
What is this supposed to be?
I let out a disbelieving snort. Was this some new kind of catfish? Had they run out of other people to impersonate and decided to use Arine's name to DM me? It had to be one of the viewers in my stream right now. There was no way anyone would pull such a malicious prank otherwise.
“Haa~ Who is it?”
When I spoke in an irritated voice, the viewers responded with question marks. I figured I could turn this into more chat content, so I told them what was going on.
“Hey, hey. Who sent me a DM pretending to be Arine? Pfft. This is ridiculous. Are you doing this because we collabed a few days ago? The username is even ‘Arine_official.’ Haha. It's obviously one of you guys, right? Come on, fess up. If you confess within three seconds, I'll let it slide.”
Neither the viewers nor I believed it for a second. There was no way a huge streamer like Arine would contact me after we only happened to do one ad broadcast together by random matching. My greatest strength was my ability to see myself objectively. So I didn't entertain any pointless expectations from a prank like this.
But the prank didn't stop there.
Now they're even using emojis to pretend to be a girl. This is next-level malicious. Did they get even more excited because I just mentioned it on stream?
“Ugh, what the hell is this guy doing? Dude. Stop texting me. This isn't funny~”
As I said that, I checked the profile picture. It really was Arine's face. It was one of the profile pictures she used often. Her actual Naty streaming profile used the same one. Looking at the photo of Arine smiling brightly, I thought, Wow, they really put a lot of effort into this impersonation—but at the same time, an inexplicable chill ran down my spine, so I tapped on the profile.
Posts: 320 / Followers: 152,000 / Following: 40
One hundred and fifty-two thousand followers?
And below that were the everyday photos Arine had taken. The most recent fan meeting pictures, casual outfits she wore when going out. The person in every single photo was unmistakably Arine, no matter who looked at them.
“......No way.”
Wait, wait, wait a second.
This was really Arine? Then this was her official Instagram account, and the message that just came in was actually sent by Arine herself?
At that moment, the hand holding my phone began to tremble violently.