The Aftermath of the Joint Broadcast

The song was perfect. Not a single slip.

And no wonder. It stood on Voice Mimicry III and Shifting Timbre II, and I had drilled it over and over for the entire day.

At first I had leaned toward something friendlier to a younger crowd, the theatrical opening of Dizmon Adventure. The vocal was male, though. The tone sat in a completely different place, and the song demanded so much volume and raw power that, without a skill built for singing, I couldn't even dream of attempting it. Gale's Ballad from Gallant Muscleman III got crossed off for the same reasons.

A few trial runs made the answer obvious. The best targets were women, or child characters, whose tone already sat close to mine. From there I sifted through the childhood masterpieces that would hit viewers in their twenties and thirties square in the nostalgia.

The past always gets a coat of gloss. People don't talk about the nostalgia filter for nothing.

I opened with Great Detective Gonan's famous line, sang the opening theme from Cardcaptor Chel, then threw myself into Forgetmonsters—Pigachu, and a full-throated turn as Team Roget's trio. The real trick was sliding, live, between Rosha's voice and Roin's, and when I capped it by shouting I'm Nyaong, nyaong!, you could no longer call this the Miracle joint broadcast.

The Miracle joint broadcast? No. For this one moment, it was Hani's hour of wonders.

The viewer count, which had been stuck in the six thousands only a little while ago, climbed fast once word got out after the Gonan line. Before long it had pushed past eight thousand.

I stole a glance at the Discord chat. Every one of them was gasping in admiration, reduced to just another member of the audience.

The System Helper, who had watched the whole thing, seemed deeply satisfied—and offered a special mission.

Three hundred points!

Voice Mimicry III wasn't especially versatile, so it had come cheaper than something like looks or singing. Even so, picking up Shifting Timbre II on top of it had left me flat broke. Three hundred points landing now would be rain in a drought.

Not far to go.

The count sat around 8,500. I wasn't stopping there. I sent Clemoomoo a message asking him to roll the fourth video, and a cheer even bigger than before burst out of the room.

Nostalgia is a vicious weapon. But you can't stay tied to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the past forever. Set against it, the present would hit that much harder—so I showed them now, not then.

The 2020 season cinematic for Legend of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠League.

A quiet opening theme, a vast range of ice, a sheer drop crowned by a solid wall. Then Zaun, city of crime, and the chance meeting of the explorers Ezreal and Kai'Sa. Pulse-pounding combat. A voice climbing higher and higher. All of it braided together and hauled the viewers in with a fierce pull.

The cinematic ended. The screen cut. What filled everyone's view next was an illustration of Lux—white robes, a mage's staff, yellow hair. I looked across at Ezreal, became Lux, and spoke.

"Um... are we dating? We've barely said a few words to each other."

The picture opposite changed. This time it was Garen.

"Oho~ A showdown between brother and sister! This ought to be fun."

A few more special lines followed. Then the screen went black, wiped Lux away, and spat out an illustration of Caitlyn.

"Target confirmed. Say hello to the rifle of justice."

Nothing is as mainstream as Legend of League, so the viewers sank in easily. They applauded Kai'Sa's line and roared for Ahri's. Somewhere along the way the count broke nine thousand, and the joint broadcast swept every ranking Shindaeryuk TV had to offer.

I could feel it. Time to close in style.

This song, at least, I trust.

Honestly, I had hesitated. Next to Great Detective Gonan, Cardcaptor Chel, and Forgetmonsters, the show it came from was far less ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠known. But the song itself was so good that anyone born in the eighties or nineties had probably heard it at least once.

I loved it so much I sang it constantly as a kid. I even set it as my ringtone.

So there was sincerity in it. Not a song I was merely copying, but one I could sing from the heart. I wanted everyone to hear this lovely melody, these beautiful words, and know them together.

The video changed again. A blue sea stretched without end, and a pure white bird flew hard above it. To the viewers leaning in with fresh anticipation, I offered my heart in a low voice.

I want to be the protagonist of a life. So I say it. Please, never forget me. A message sent to all of them with everything I had.

Even the Discord alerts, which had been chiming so noisily, died away.

Silence.

Then the viewers broke it—a soundless roar through the chat.

The Miracle joint broadcast was over.

The Miracle joint broadcast stirred up a great deal of talk. In a slump brought on by the big corporate broadcasters sitting this one out, it was the first stream in a long while to hit ten thousand viewers. And a new pearl, long buried in the mud, had finally become widely known.

It's a little awkward to say it myself, but that pearl was me.

I felt a little bad for Clemoomoo. From that day on, Clemoomoo and the weird medicine became the room's new catchphrase for teasing him. More Water Balloons were popping because of it, and he said it was fine, but still.

Truth is, the real Water Balloon jackpot was mine.

And it wasn't only the balloons. The first Saturday broadcast after the collab, fan club sign-ups exploded. At first I suspected a hidden camera, or somebody's prank. The growth was that shocking. In a single Saturday the fan club hit a thousand members. A nobody who had been scraping by around a hundred had grown tenfold in a day.

Thanks to that, between Water Balloons, fan sign-ups, and the viewer-count mission, I picked up 230 points over Saturday alone. Add the 300 from clearing the special mission, and it came to 530. A pile even fatter than what I'd held before the joint broadcast. Just looking at it was enough to leave me full.

I was still short. But if the growth held, I might be able to step up to a new tier by the end of the month.

The strategy landed.

Shindaeryuk TV already had far too many people who could sing, and far too many with good voices. BJs who could impersonate at this quality, though, were vanishingly few, and none of them had any real name recognition. On a big stage, I was bound to stand out.

Which is why, from the Friday collab through Saturday and on into this Sunday, letters had already arrived from other BJs—two of them—proposing a joint broadcast.

They want to siphon some viewers while I'm the topic of the moment. If it were a BJ whose heat could actually stretch the momentum, I might think about it...

Unfortunately, neither of them looked like much help in keeping the buzz alive. For the time being I decided to run solo and shore up the fundamentals.

In a way, the popularity I had now was foam. Fans light as paper, ready to turn their backs the moment some controversy or accident blew up. If a broadcast is going to grow with real strength, you need true fans—people who, among countless solo streamers, put your stream first.

Anyway. Don't get carried away, and don't race ahead. One step at a time. Even if it's tedious, keep practicing the impressions.

If the skill were sitting around level five or six, maybe it would be different. At level three, I still needed a great deal of work before it had any finish to it. A face with no improvement means the broadcast's growth stalls too. I couldn't recycle Great Detective Gonan and Forgetmonsters and the rest of the repertoire forever. Staleness turns straight into disappointment.

Growing the roster of impressions, piece by piece, was the baseline. I also had to build new content around them.

I already have an idea... but it won't work until I'm closer with Mia, so I'll shelve it.

For a broadcaster, ideas and creativity matter more than anything. Afraid I might forget, I wrote it down carefully in a note and set to practicing the key lines of the new character I had picked.

It was three in the afternoon. Practice enough, and I'd go live around five.

Two days had passed, and I still hadn't forgotten. That moment, right there where so many people had gathered, under the spotlight, when I had shown what I could do in full color. Remembering the cheers from that day, I threw myself into practice once again.