You're Not a Pervert, Are You?

A fan is someone who stands behind a particular group, or a particular person.

Usually the word means people who cheer for someone, who like them, who hold them dear. I had fans like that once, too—back when the past me was Galaxy, Choi Eunha, a Project A pro and a starter for KZ.

It would have been stranger if he hadn't been popular. The most beloved game in the world, and a starter on the best pro team in Korea at that game, playing the position everything ran through. Of course people watched.

But fans are never people who show you only one face. What I put up in a tournament—my skill, my performance, the results—changed how they behaved. When I popped off, they hoisted me up as the best entry in the country. When I didn't, when I was merely fine, they tore me down as nothing but hype. When I looked poor and we lost, they cut me to pieces as if they meant to kill me.

I was a pro. If I put up numbers that didn't satisfy them, enduring it was part of the job. I told myself that, over and over. The trouble was that two years became three, and I couldn't endure it anymore. People around me said it more than once: if it hurt that much, just stop looking. This damned personality of mine wouldn't feel right until I'd checked their reactions anyway. I had always been like that. If someone was talking about me, I had to hear every word of it before I could settle, whether it was slander or anything else. There was a time I was badly hurt after learning that someone I'd thought a close friend had been badmouthing me behind my back.

Well. All of that was behind me now.

"Eunha, the soup's going to go cold."

"Ah."

Sitting at the table without eating, lost in some other thought—if Father had been here, I would have caught it badly. He'd been a little softer with me lately, and it seemed I'd loosened up to match. I never knew when a real scolding would land, so I had to be careful. Careful, and then careful again. The father I had now might not be that man. Even so, to me, Father was still fear itself.

Enough stray thoughts. Eat. The housekeeper had been up since early morning to set this table, and drifting off in front of it was no way to thank her. Beef bulgogi sat in the center. Beside it, a small plate of stir-fried fish cake, a rolled omelet studded with ham and green onion, soy-braised quail eggs, and more. The table was crowded with nothing but the side dishes I liked, and my chopsticks never really stopped.

"Mm... that's good...!"

You really did have to hand it to the housekeeper. When I'd run away from home to become a pro, the thing I missed most was exactly this—the home cooking she made. Warm soup, rice, and enough side dishes to fill half the table, tucked one after another into a small mouth. That was how breakfast ended.

"It was so good again today!"

"Was it? Thank you for eating well. But isn't that too little?"

Sadly, my stomach was already full, whatever I wanted. I hadn't even managed half of what I used to eat when I was a man.

"Yes. I'm full."

"Aigoo... skin and bones like this, what am I supposed to do with you... You need to eat more..."

"Ahaha..."

But nothing else was going down. Forcing a bigger appetite would only backfire, so giving up was easier. Still, my height... I wished I were a little taller. You had to eat if you wanted to grow. Maybe I should at least drink milk? Hmm. Not a bad idea.

"Thank you for the meal."

"Good. Go upstairs and rest."

I thanked the housekeeper for another delicious table and headed up to the second floor, toward my room.

Ah. I'd almost left it behind.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠habit of a dessert after a meal was an old one I'd never managed to break, so I hurried back down, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bar of ice cream.

"Hmm-hmm-hmm~♪"

I'd always loved this kind of thing. After I became a girl, though, I honestly couldn't live without something sweet afterward. I tore the wrapper, took the stick, drew the ice cream out, and tossed what was left at the trash.

"Mm~"

I bit off a greedy mouthful and climbed to the second floor again.

On the wrapper in the bin, it said:

I put on the usual warmup music and enjoyed the ice cream. Eat one dessert with mint chocolate on stream and the mint-chocolate faithful went to war with the mint-chocolate haters. I'd decided to hold off on anything mint-choco while I was live. No point setting chat on fire for nothing.

Mm. Finished.

"Aaaand—hello, everyone~"

"K-tube? No, I haven't seen it. What are you talking about?"

"Oh. Geonmo's K-tube..."

For a second I thought someone had posted a callout video. My stream had blown up on the back of one controversy after another, which meant I never knew when it might crash just as hard. I had to watch myself. Easy come, easy go—that was how the world worked.

Fortunately it wasn't a controversy. The collab I'd done with Geonmo-hyung yesterday had gone up, by the look of it. Right. Now that I thought about it, before we collabed he'd asked if I was all right with it possibly being uploaded to K-tube. I was a streamer anyway, and if his K-tube spread my name around, that was only a good thing, so I'd said yes without a fuss.

"But it's up already? We collabed yesterday."

Even if they'd worked an editor half to death, the time it takes to upload a video and all the rest of it—that should have been too tight. A donation that came in right after settled the question.

"Ah. The full video..."

If it was a completely unedited full upload, that made sense. It would still take a while to go up, but Geonmo-hyung had a PCT broadcast at dawn the next day. Upload it before bed, get up at dawn, check that it was live, then go cast—that tracked.

Since it had come up, I figured I'd look, and I opened Geonmo-hyung's K-tube channel. On the broadcast screen, of course.

"This one?"

A long video, about five hours, uploaded only six hours ago.

I skimmed the video with chat and we talked about yesterday's collab.

"He really was good that game, I'll give him that. A few clutches that shouldn't even have been possible."

"Now, now. No fighting in my chat."

Talk to me, not to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠each other. I didn't say the thought out loud. The moment I did, they'd be calling me a vixen and teasing me for it. I could already see it.

"Sorry? Four hours, fifty minutes, twenty-five seconds...?"

Ten thousand won wasn't that much money, but they'd gone to the trouble of donating, and it wasn't a hard request, so I decided to play it. What had even happened around then? My ace? A clutch? Or was it one of Geonmo-hyung's moments? I'd been so nervous yesterday that, aside from the kill bet on the last game, I couldn't really remember what I'd done.

The instant it started, a shy high-school girl's voice came through, stumbling over oppa, and on the cam a man in his twenties burst out laughing at her.

In other words, the exact part I most did not want to see, and most did not want to hear...!

"HEY!!!!"

I couldn't take another second of it!

"I was going to let it go yesterday, you know?"

It was my first collab, and I understood that, given the moment, me saying oppa was going to look funnier. Geonmo-hyung ran such a shameless money-chaser bit that if you paid him and asked him to say oppa, he'd do it. Him calling me noona wouldn't have meant a thing to those viewers.

"Even so... even so, you all should have been on my side!"

I'd thought my own viewers would back me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up, and instead they chimed in with the other room and dogpiled me...

"I got team-killed, and you counted that toward the kill tally? I mean it. I really mean it!"

"You'd dogpile me again if we went back? You're chat-banned for thirty minutes."

I really had been ready to let it go. You started it.

"Anyway, tell me. Why did you do that to me?"

"Ugh."

"I'm genuinely curious, so I'm asking. If what you want is to watch a person get embarrassed... isn't that just being a pervert?"

I meant it. I really didn't understand why anyone would want to see that. And I was seventeen. A minor. Did the child-protection law not scare them at all?

I'd thought my viewers were normal people.

Looking at them now, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't so sure.