Episode 148: The Unwritten Rule (Reality)

Streamers and pro gamers.

At a glance they look like two jobs with nothing to do with each other, but they have a great deal in common. Both of them eat because there are fans watching. You need some outstanding edge an ordinary person doesn't have, and you only make it in the industry by putting that edge to work. In practice, plenty of skilled streamers get scouted onto a team and debut as pros, and plenty of pros reach a certain age, retire, and become streamers.

The line between them has worn so thin it might as well be gone, and the two jobs cooperate for each other's sake. Streamers collab with pros whose skill is already proven, turn it into content, and chase views. Pros short of A-tier get acquainted with streamers ahead of retirement, leaving themselves a path to debut as streamers once they're done.

A crocodile and the bird that picks its teeth — that is the relationship between Project A pros and streamers today. Each one useful to the other. But between them there is one unwritten rule.

When it comes to skill, a streamer is supposed to yield a step to the pros.

Plenty of people won't agree with that. Why? Isn't there at least one streamer better than the pros? And of course there is. Among the very top amateurs, a few streamers are plainly more skilled than some pro gamers. Even setting aside an odd case like me — someone you can hardly call a pure streamer — a player on BS's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠level is better than a middling pro. The mere fact that F4, a team made of five streamers, reached the PCK finals is proof enough that quite a few broadcasters have already cleared the wall of pro level.

Even with all those cases, the custom that streamers yield a step to the pros took hold because it tires everyone less.

If a streamer refuses to yield on skill, several problems follow. As I said before, people turn the person they like into a kind of sanctuary. That's where the trouble starts. A streamer's fans praise the one they support without end, and the end of that praise is, naturally, pro level, where the highest play is demanded. Sooner or later you get a line like, If so-and-so had only debuted, they'd have eaten the league alive and won.

That might even be true. Debut, and they really might have taken a title. Nobody knows how a life turns out. But the line is more than enough to sour every pro still active, still running toward the dream of a championship — and more than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough to make those pros' fans uncomfortable too. Then it gets thrown back as, If they were that good, they'd have debuted. Coward ran off to a solo stream. And a fight can break out between both fanbases.

The biggest victims of that fight are the pro ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the streamer themselves, so both sides generally try to keep their fans from clashing. Given the nature of the jobs, the custom settled, more often than not, on the streamer yielding a step to the pros.

Of course, now and then a broadcaster broke the rule. Only after a raid of dislikes from countless pro fans, and a comment section turned into a war zone, did they apologize for saying something inappropriate.

Pro fans are a lot like idol fans. Think about idol-fandom culture, and there isn't a single upside to making them your enemy.

I tried, as a rule, not to rub against them either. And that was after I'd already taken plenty of titles.

And yet.

"I think Eunha is better than I am."

You break the unwritten rule, and then what am I supposed to do?!

Before I knew it, my hand was on my forehead. My body moved first — a reflex, ahead of thought. That's how dizzy the moment felt.

I can vouch for it. Severe community addiction, and one of my daily tasks after ending stream is circling the boards. That line has a real chance of becoming a spark. No — it almost certainly will.

No matter how many times I asked people not to compare me with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the pros, they kept circulating bait like that. And now the person who had just won the finals with an overwhelming performance had said it out loud. Of course it was going to catch fire.

Why do I keep setting the community ablaze? Up until now I could call it my own mistake, but this time I really felt wronged. What I want is attention from people who like me — not attention that floods in because of something like this.

Even so, there was nothing I could do. I'd just go live at a reasonable hour and explain it as, You're rating me too high, and it's embarrassing. Whether that even counted as something worth explaining, I had no idea.

"Ahaha... I see."

Caster Hwang Gihun, thrown by a turn he hadn't expected. Given Foxy's image and personality up to now, the line that should have come out was obviously I'm Korea's best entry! Instead it was suddenly, There's someone better than me, and she's a woman streamer. From the caster's seat, he couldn't go this way or that.

"Do you watch Eunha's streams often?"

"Yes! After practice, on my free time, whenever I have a spare moment, I make sure to catch them!"

Jaeseong, saying it with a perfectly calm face. And then—

"Pfft...!"

One thumb lifted straight toward the camera was more than enough to make me laugh. Right. He had always been that kind of guy.

His personality being what it was, I decided to let it go and looked around. Broadcasters with their mouths hanging open, or covering them with a hand, all looking my way. Oldboy and Zzangdol were among them.

"No way. Jaeseong actually said that...?"

Oldboy seemed to know Jaeseong well enough to know he wouldn't normally say something like this.

God, my head hurt.

"I'm home!"

"Eunha, you're back? Later than I thought. I figured you'd be here by five at the latest."

After the finals event match and the viewership party, I came home and immediately went looking for food.

"Auntie! I'm hungry!"

It was 7 p.m. On a normal day I would already have eaten dinner and then some, but today's schedule had pushed the meal late. I'd only meant to play the event match and come back. I hadn't expected to stay and watch through the finals. At least it ended fast, 3–0. Otherwise I might have collapsed from hunger halfway through.

"I'll heat it right up, so wait just a moment."

"What's the menu today?"

"Braised pork ribs and rolled omelet. You can't handle spice, so I kept it only a little hot."

"I'm not that bad with spicy food..."

"I still remember those fire-chicken noodles — the stir-fried ones, was it? You ate them on stream, stamping your feet, begging for something to drink."

"Ugh..."

Why did she remember every single thing?

A viewer had donated about seventy dollars and asked me to eat the fire-chicken noodles, so I'd gone live and eaten them. A few bites in, tears and snot streaming, I was desperately hunting for water, and in the end I ended the stream two hours early. Oh, and the facecam was on. Thanks to that, clips of me from that broadcast spread all over the community.

Let me clarify one thing first. I used to handle spice extremely well. In my pro days, the restaurant I went to most was a mala tang place — that numbing, fiery hot pot — and I went with Jaeseong, and we liked the highest spice level. But once my body changed into a woman's, my palate changed with it. My portions dropped to about half of what they used to be, and sweet snacks I wouldn't have glanced at as a man started tasting good. I only learned I was weak to spice then. Before that, the housekeeper never made stimulating food at all, for the sake of my health.

"Here. It's reheated, but it should still taste good."

"Thank you."

I sat alone at the table, scrolling the community on my phone while I ate what she had made. One of my private happinesses. Father cares about etiquette and hates phones at the table, so unless I'm eating alone I can't look at one, and her cooking goes without saying. Happy was the right word.

"Mm-mm..."

"Does it suit you?"

"Yeth, ith really good."

"...You can swallow first, then talk."

The community was, as expected, full of talk about Foxy and me. Project A, the most popular game in the country, and an interview from its pro-league finals — of course it was the topic. But contrary to my worry that my fans and KZ's fans would go to war, the bait drifted into a strange mood.

"What is this..."

If Jaeseong had only said that Eunha was better than him, it would have been pretty loud. The problem was that he shouted me out at a slightly unhinged level, and unwritten rule or not, I got stamped on him as the girl he was down bad for.

Well. A much better ending than fans fighting each other, so I was satisfied with the result. A lot of the people who had been forcing a ship between me and Han Seongun fell off, too. Of course those same people just switched to shipping me with Jaeseong, so it was a zero-sum game in the end.

"Oh my, our daughter's home?"

"Ah, Mom."

"If I'd known you'd be back now, I should have waited so we could eat together. We thought you'd be even later."

Mother sat down across from me with a glass of water. She must have felt sorry, seeing me eat alone. I didn't actually mind.

"It's fine, really."

Still, she'd gone out of her way to be considerate, and staring at my phone would have been rude, so I put it away and kept eating.

"Nothing happened, did it? When they said you'd be late, your father was so worried..."

"Yes. Nothing..."

"...happened."

It hadn't exactly been nothing.

"—really."

Something had happened, but I didn't want to worry Mother, so I didn't say it. Anyway, while I was home Hwang Yeeun couldn't do much, and outside Driver Kwon would be watching, so it would be fine.

"Really? Then that's a relief."

"What about Father?"

"Something urgent came up, so he stepped out for a bit. When he gets back, you have to come out and greet him, all right?"

"Yes. That goes without saying."

And so, after a long mother-and-daughter conversation for the first time in a while, we finished the meal.

"I'll bring dessert up later. Fruit or donuts — which do you want?"

"Fruit today!"

I still hadn't washed since coming home, so I headed back to my room to shower.

"Haaahm..."

Ding. Ding.

"Nn...?"

Nobody should be texting me at this hour. Who?

"Oh. It's email."

Checking, it wasn't a text. It was the sound of mail arriving. After the Platform Exhibition, and shoots like the Newbie Guide, I'd missed ad emails more than once, so I'd set a chime to go off whenever mail came in. So who was it from?

"...Huh?"

I'd thought no name on that screen could surprise me.

This one was a little surprising.