The Blood Cult on the Bracket
Most Koreans start their mornings exhausted. Dragging a heavy body out of bed to begin another grueling day. Eyes barely open, limbs creaking like rusty machinery. Even if the mind is clear, it rarely feels like a proper rest—just a confused “Why is it morning already?” after closing your eyes. That’s why everyone wakes up praying for “just five more minutes” or wondering if they can skip the day entirely. Some even go so far as to wish the world would end.
But there exists a blessed group that never has to suffer through this: streamers. While others trudge to work half-asleep, they lounge in cozy beds enjoying deep, peaceful sleep. They turn the games normal people play for fun after work into their actual job, earning money while playing. In short, streaming was the ultimate “honey job”—the perfect example of getting paid to do nothing but enjoy life.
Of course, streamers would protest. “What do you even know about this job? Try it yourself and you’ll see it’s not like that at all.” If you asked why streaming was such a trash career, they’d probably unload a mountain of reasons: extremely unstable income, shattered privacy, mental exhaustion, no real breaks, cutthroat competition in a red ocean, and the constant pressure to chase trends. On paper, the downsides far outweighed any benefits.
But if you asked that question to a brand-new streamer who had just woken up—a twenty-two-year-old named Lee Minji—you’d probably get a very different answer.
“Huh? Streaming’s totally a honey job, right?”
Most streamers would snap back, “Bullshit. You think this is easy? People who’ve never done it always think the grass is greener.”
Minji would simply reply, “I have done it, though.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. I’m a streamer, after all.”
A streamer? In this vast world, there’s bound to be at least one oddball. Among the countless personalities crammed inside society’s fence, variants always exist. And if you asked people who knew her to name the biggest variant in the streaming industry, nine out of ten would point straight at Seongna.
The only reason the question includes “who knew her” is because she wasn’t particularly famous yet. Which, all things considered, was probably for the best.
Anyway.
“Hnnngh…!”
With a sound far too embarrassing for anyone to hear, the woman stretched with all her might and sat up. She must have slept incredibly well—her face was bright, lips curved in a satisfied smile.
Bzzzt! The moment she got up, her phone vibrated, but since she was already awake, the alarm no longer mattered. She grabbed the phone, swiped the alarm off, then stretched again with another satisfied “Hnnngh.” Her movements were bold to the point of being crude, but expecting any ladylike behavior from her was foolish to begin with.
“Ah, what should I eat for breakfast…”
After all, she was nothing like a normal woman.
It wasn’t that she had any actual mental illness or delusions. Sure, her most common nickname was “Crazy Bitch” and her favorite games were the kind people called “psycho games,” but there was no medical diagnosis or objective proof. Surprisingly, she technically counted as a normal person.
Thus, proudly holding the title of “normal person,” Minji shoved one hand under her shirt and scratched her stomach. Then, in one smooth motion, she pulled her shirt off. Even though she lived alone, a woman casually walking around in just panties wasn’t exactly normal behavior. But if anyone pointed it out, Minji would just say, “So what? I’m about to shower anyway,” rendering the complaint meaningless.
After washing herself thoroughly under hot water and stepping out of the bathroom feeling refreshed—
Bzzzt! Bzzzt!
The sudden vibration made Minji tilt her head. Had she forgotten to turn off the alarm? She shuffled over, picked up the phone, and checked the screen.
Turns out it wasn’t an alarm at all.
“Hello?”
She answered immediately when she saw Suha’s name.
“Hello? Minji, you’re up, right? Well, of course you are if you answered… Anyway, where are you right now?!”
Suha’s voice came out in a panicked rush. Minji, unfazed, simply answered the question.
“At home?”
“Home?!”
Suha sounded completely bewildered by Minji’s calm reply.
“What about the tournament?! There’s less than thirty minutes left—you need to run there right now!”
Today was the ICK finals. Since Minji didn’t have a PC at home, she was supposed to head to a PC bang to participate. With the match so close, hearing her teammate casually say “I’m still at home” was understandably frustrating for Suha.
But there was one crucial fact Suha had forgotten.
“Hehe, Suha, I think you’re forgetting something.”
“…Forgetting what?”
“I got a computer, remember?”
Minji no longer needed to go to a PC bang!
“Oh right! That’s true.”
The image of Minji streaming from PC bangs because she “didn’t have a computer at home” had been so deeply ingrained that Suha had completely forgotten Minji could now stream from home. Now that she thought about it, this was the normal state of affairs—why hadn’t it felt strange before?
“Hehe, now I don’t have to drag myself all the way to a PC bang~”
That was exactly why Minji had been in such a good mood since morning. Of course, calling two in the afternoon “morning” was debatable for most people who had already worked half a day, but Minji hadn’t woken up before noon once since graduating high school, so it didn’t matter.
“Seriously, how did I forget? I even helped install it myself…”
“Anyway, I’m just gonna dry my hair real quick and hop on. Wait for me in voice chat, okay? I’ll be right there.”
“Got it.”
After hanging up, Minji grabbed her hair dryer and started drying her hair. Normally, hot air would damage hair, but Minji’s blessed body kept even her hair in perfect condition. No matter how roughly she dried it, it always stayed silky and shiny—a pearl necklace on a pig, as the saying went.
Once her hair was dry and she’d changed into comfortable clothes, she sat down in front of her sleek PC decorated with Bolekia’s golden sword patterns. Her outfit was just an oversized T-shirt and panties, which was a bit embarrassing, but since she lived alone, it didn’t really matter.
“Hm~ Hm-hm~”
Humming cheerfully to the pleasant sound of the PC powering on, Minji looked almost mythical with her attractive voice and slightly suggestive outfit. Anyone who actually knew her true nature, however, would probably be thinking, “What the hell is she up to now?” with growing anxiety.
Anyway.
“Ahem, hello? Can you hear me? The great one has arrived. Huh? Why’s everyone so quiet? Guess I’ll just have to wait since I got here early. Why did the heavens give birth to a perfect superhuman like me, Lee Minji? I’m already terrified of my own—”
“We can hear you. We can hear you, so please stop.”
“Hehe, I thought you couldn’t.”
“First, could you check the announcement I posted in the channel? It’s stuff everyone should already know—rules for the finals and other important details.”
After joining the Naise Squad’s voice channel, Minji checked the message Eder had posted in chat. It summarized the differences in rules between the preliminaries and finals, along with how the tournament would proceed. Normally, she should have read it the day it was posted instead of waiting until the day of the tournament, but—
“First time seeing this. I’ll read it now. Let’s see… Hmm…”
As if this girl had ever read anything in her life.
“Is there a three-line summary?”
Anyone else would have been shocked, but the Naise Squad had long since adapted to Minji’s antics. At this point, they just went “Ah, Seongna’s being Seongna again” and moved on. It was basically Stockholm syndrome—or gaslighting, depending on how you looked at it.
“Also, the bracket’s out too. Take a look.”
“Ooh, the bracket.”
During the ICK preliminaries, teams never knew who they’d face until the day of the match. Only after being invited to the tournament room would they find out. The official reason was to prevent match-fixing. But since the finals were broadcast live, hiding the bracket was impossible anyway. A bracket made things exciting—“Who’s gonna win between these teams?”—and no game company would willingly give up that kind of hype. Besides, with so many eyes on the finals now, no one would be stupid enough to attempt match-fixing.
…Though, considering how many esports leagues had collapsed due to match-fixing scandals, it wasn’t entirely impossible.
While Minji rubbed her eyes and scanned the bracket containing sixteen teams, searching for the Naise Squad and checking their opponents—
“Huh? Ryong-gak’s on the other side.”
Baek Ryong-gak’s team was placed on the completely opposite side of the bracket. That meant they wouldn’t have to face the tournament’s biggest favorites until the finals.
“Yeah, our luck’s not bad. I really didn’t want to run into them. I saw their highlight video—Ryong-gak was basically carrying the whole team by himself.”
This was probably how a normal person would think.
And the abnormal one—
“Darn, I was hoping we’d get to beat Ryong-gak like a dog at least once.”
“…?”
Yeah, that reaction was more in line with Minji.
Ding!
“Sorry for keeping you guys waiting. I was sorting some stuff.”
“Late fee.”
“Wait, you’re still holding that against me, oppa?”
“Late is late.”
“Even you, Minji… Ugh… Fine.”
Once Suha finally joined the voice channel, the Naise Squad was finally complete. Having advanced to the finals with overwhelming dominance, the team had been greedily eyeing the championship—
“By the way, who’s our opponent again?”
—or not. Their real goal had been to make ICK a success and revive Ias. But thanks to the developers successfully finishing the Winter Showcase, that goal had already been achieved. Minji herself had also lost some motivation after reaching the finals and receiving her custom Ias PC. In the end, the team’s current mindset was simply: “Winning would be nice, but if we don’t, oh well.”
“I don’t know much, but apparently they play kill maps a lot.”
“Their team name is… what the heck is this?”
[Blood Cult]
Minji thought to herself, Wait, last time it was the Heavenly Demon Cult, and now it’s the Blood Cult? Don’t tell me these guys are also roleplaying weirdos who give people bizarre nicknames.