Dodging the Memes

All week long, the single hottest topic swallowing the gallery had been the ambitious new project Legeno was driving now that he was back. Alone, he was already spoken of as top-tier on Shindaeryuk TV, and he'd joined hands with Output—a notch beneath him, not without shortcomings, but still rated nearly that high. In practice, the thing was almost historic in scale.

Streamers who lived and died by viewer sentiment and the way the current was running had no choice but to care. It wasn't only the gallery. On most of their live broadcasts the project kept coming up: what kind of content they thought it would be, whether they'd throw their names in, how they were calling its chances. The heat showed no sign of cooling, and naturally that same weather blew through my own stream.

"Mm, I can tell everyone's excited. But this is my broadcast, so please keep talk of other BJs to a minimum."

I knew exactly how the people in my room felt. Until I'd turned into a woman, I'd spent five years as a viewer who loved internet broadcasts myself. Of course they'd feel this way. The way you want the national team to take first at the Olympics or the World Cup, they wanted the BJ they liked to step into the enormous project shaking all of Shindaeryuk TV and actually do something. It was the same breed of feeling people usually call a patriotism high.

It's obviously a huge opportunity. But the danger sits right there with it. A double-edged sword.

Not long ago, famous YouTubers had spearheaded content on a gigantic scale. The videos had barely gone up before they were clearing a million views in a single day—that kind of attention. But by the time the programs ended, what most of the participants had left was nothing but wounds. Selfish faces and ugly behavior caught inside the shows got them called out, and then countless viewers raided them. Once someone's coordinates were posted, people stormed YouTube channels and streaming platforms without caring which was which, dropping comments, even sending notes, pouring out every kind of abuse. I'd watched more than a few broadcasters get wrecked like that and never get back up.

If I were desperate, I might take a swing at it. But I've got plans ahead, and a schedule... I don't exactly need to gamble.

I still had to prepare for the Penalty Broadcast, and I'd already set a light duo-stream date with 19Sonyeo. This month was running tighter than I'd expected. I settled the viewers who wouldn't stop yammering about the project and moved on to today's content.

"What I prepared for today is a game. A viewer actually made it and sent it in. Thank you, Hani'sDevotedFan. I'll give it a proper play."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"It's not a total original. They say it's a parody of a game that was already going around. Do you all know Meme Dodge?"

"Apparently the title is Hani Meme Dodge. All right—let's start!"

I'd been sent fan art a few times, but a game was a first, and I was pretty excited myself. The graphics looked stamped out in pixels. A BGM that poked at my urge to take something on was already playing, and on the title screen sat a dot-sprite of me from the old mask-cam days, both middle fingers raised.

"Hold on, this is weird from the jump. There's no way I ever pulled a gesture that nasty. The creator must have something mixed up, right?"

Not a single viewer was on my side. I snorted—hmph—and hit the start button.

A voice suddenly shrieked, a raw, tearing yell, and my pixel character appeared, slamming a keyboard down in a two-handed shotgun smash.

"Uh—uh?"

I was just a square. I had to move that square and slip every kind of attack they threw. Keys poured out of the shattered keyboard. I worked hard to dodge the projectiles, but at the end the sprite screamed that she hated Timong and shotgunned the keyboard with both hands, and fragments of keys blanketed almost the entire screen. Of course the square I was piloting took the hit. The energy bar dropped. From a rough look, two more hits and it was game over.

"What kind of balance is this? This is a total trash game. Trash!"

Before the next stage could appear, money and hearts popped in. A heart restored one bar of energy; money raised the score. I was busy scooting the square around to eat them when the BGM snapped into something tense, and a pixel character revealed herself at the same time—me, in a cat-ear headband, tail and all.

True to what they were hoping for, the Hanyang sprite started in on Kyara's hip dance. She was endlessly stiff. The viewers adored it, declaring the accuracy perfect.

"This is over the top! I was never that bad. You have no idea how killer it was when I worked my waist!"

The sprite advanced, hips still dancing. I double-jumped over her with everything I had and stalled for time. This stage I cleared clean, without a single hit, and when the hearts and money came back I scooped them up.

Whether some viewer's words had taken root, what showed up this stage was a pixel character in a bunny-girl outfit. She dropped suddenly into a crouching-rabbit stance, then sprang. At the same time, carrots poured out of the air like rain.

"This is way too much!"

"At least pick one—the jump or the carrot attack!"

My wail didn't matter. Two whole bars of energy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were gone. And then the next stage. Out of nowhere I appeared dressed in a spotless white dobok, jumped high, and smashed the boards falling out of the sky with a flashy kick. Splinters scattered in every direction. I dodged for all I was worth, but the dobok sprite suddenly stopped breaking boards and threw a spinning kick, and I ate a game over on the spot.

"Aaaagh!"

"Hey, quit the bad-faith nerfing. The difficulty's ridiculous. The projectiles fill basically the whole screen—how am I supposed to dodge that!"

I left the mockery behind and booted the game again. I couldn't quit like this. At the very least, I was going to see every meme that showed up. Second attempt.

Luckily the first two stages were the dobok kick and the bunny girl I'd already confirmed, so I passed them cleanly and reached stage three. Majestic BGM rolled in. A character dressed like some king—robes hanging in layers, cape and all—opened her mouth.

Fwoooosh—! Giant trophies dropped out of the sky. Ladies' League championship cups. On top of that, the character kept repeating your opponent was me. I hadn't noticed at the time, but hearing it from a third-person seat, the line was painfully cringe.

I barely cleared it. I grabbed the hearts and money that showed up in between, and the next stage was Hanyang. I got past her fine and was still feeling the game out when a BGM suddenly hit—urgent, and the kind that set your heart racing. The main theme of Great Detective Gonan! A Small Hani, scaled to young Gonan's build, appeared, thrust out a hand, and shouted.

"Are you insane!"

A laser beam fired from the tip of her finger. Every time she delivered the line, it sprayed in a full-auto burst. Difficulty that had lost its mind. I barely, barely held on with one bar of energy left—and then a gigantic plate, covering more than half the screen, dropped out of the sky. For the first time, a voice that wasn't mine came through.

Rak's voice and mine crossed, and the sweet-and-sour sauce running across the floor began to boil like lava. Then little bubbles started rising under the square I was controlling. Pop!

"This is not okay!"

A water pillar—no, a sauce pillar—chased the square and shot up in real time. From ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the right-hand corner, chunks of sweet-and-sour pork came hurling in one at a time. The difficulty was climbing so far off the rails I was about ready to walk out and get lunch. I barely scraped through the pork and on into the Ideal Type World Cup stage, then forced the words out.

"Seriously, how many kinds of memes are even in this thing!"

The creator, who'd been cackling along with the viewers, spoke up.

"......"

It was the first day I ended a broadcast after midnight.