New Streamer
A person who says they’ll give you the most is often the one most eager to take the most away. Anyone who’d spent enough time in the world had learned that lesson the hard way, and Yeongho was no exception.
But he also knew better than to meet every offer with suspicion. After more than a decade of reading the room in corporate life, he’d developed a fairly sharp sense for how much sincerity someone like Choi Pinam was really putting into his words.
Fanboying... was probably part of it.
There was definitely a calculating side to it, too. But the goodwill he felt from Pinam was so strong that the rest almost didn’t matter.
The man genuinely wanted him to succeed and seemed eager to help make that happen. Yeongho was a little taken aback that a person could come to like him this much just because he’d done well in a game.
Of course, Pinam saw things differently.
He was a broadcaster, yes, but before that he’d been a gamer, and somewhere in the back of his mind he still carried the romantic dreams of a true enthusiast.
A guy old enough to be almost forty was putting on a performance like that? How could he not be awestruck? If anything, it bordered on reverence.
People who said, “It’s just a game,” were the sort who’d never truly fallen into one.
For a man in his late thirties to produce plays that even pros would struggle to pull off was as unbelievable as hearing that a sixty-year-old had just debuted in Major League Baseball.
And when you considered how VR had shifted the popularity of so many sports into the virtual realm, the latter might even have made more of a splash in terms of public attention.
“I do have a business registration and everything, so I can help you with a fair number of things from our side.”
They talked about viewer acquisition in the beginning, collaboration between creators, content scheduling, tax matters. There was support for the kinds of work that happened outside the stream itself, too—schedule management, video editing, digital rights, ad deals, and so on.
All the little pieces that could eat up an enormous amount of time if you tried to handle them alone were things he could help with.
“I’ve been streaming for years, and with this guy here, the two of us even went so far as to rent and build out this studio together. But you’re still a rookie in this business, Hyeong-nim, so I’m sure it’ll help a lot.”
“Just hearing you say that makes me realize how little I actually know. I feel kind of embarrassed, honestly—like I’m stepping into this industry way too easily just because people keep telling me I’m good at games...”
“No, no, not at all! In the end, the streamer’s skill is what matters most. Everything I mentioned is just side business. If Hyeong-nim doesn’t start, nothing happens anyway.”
Choi Pinam laughed as if the whole thing were nothing, then rubbed a palm over his knee with a trace of nervousness and went on.
“There are companies called MCNs that handle this sort of thing professionally. I’ve got a few connections, too, so if you want, I could introduce you to one.”
“Ah, there are companies like that?”
“They’re a lot like entertainment agencies. I’m saying this with all due modesty, but their professionalism is probably better than ours. Still, I’d really like it if Hyeong-nim joined our team.”
MCN companies that managed and supported broadcasters usually signed contracts with revenue splits somewhere between 20:80 and 30:70.
When Pinam brought that up, he held out one hand with a confident flourish.
“So... you mean fifty-fifty?”
Yeongho scratched his cheek awkwardly, wondering if he meant they’d split everything down the middle.
Of course, if he considered the fact that they were lending him a studio and a VR capsule, along with support for all the management tasks that came with streaming, it didn’t seem like such a bad deal from a beginner’s perspective.
But after just saying that professional firms took twenty to thirty percent, was it really something to brag about to ask for fifty?
“Five percent! We only take five percent. Didn’t I say I’d support you with everything we’ve got?”
“What...”
Yeongho couldn’t help staring in genuine shock.
A contract this generous, with a fee of only five percent? At that rate, it was practically saying they wouldn’t take anything at all.
Once he factored in the cost of a manager’s labor, they might even end up running at a loss.
Seeing Yeongho’s flustered expression, Choi Pinam grinned and pulled out the prepared contract, laying it on the table.
“Read it over. I kept it simple.”
Still stunned, Yeongho reflexively took the contract and looked through it.
Just like in their conversation, it said they would provide full support in nearly every area.
Even the contract period was short—only one year.
“I guarantee it. With your skill, Hyeong-nim, you’ll definitely grow to a company-level broadcaster within a year. I kept it short on purpose in case you ended up thinking we’d just become a burden to you later.”
It was basically a contract that said they’d shower him with resources up front.
If Pinam had merely been thinking long-term and trying to milk Yeongho’s growth for profit, then he would have been normal to lock in a term of at least three years.
The reason he’d offered terms like this was simple: he had genuinely fallen in love with the play Yeongho had shown him.
To be blunt, Choi Pinam didn’t trust other people all that much to begin with.
He’d seen all kinds of ugly things while broadcasting.
But this time, he wanted to show sincerity and receive sincerity in return, which was why he’d set this whole thing up.
If all he’d wanted was to ride Yeongho’s potential for easy gains, he never would have made a contract like this.
“Honestly, this feels so generous that I’m almost embarrassed. But I do actually have something I’ve been worrying about...”
“Go ahead, Hyeong-nim. Is there something I can help with?”
Yeongho had been prepared to take some help, but he hadn’t expected Pinam to go this far, so he answered while awkwardly letting his gaze wander.
“I’m not really young enough anymore to chase a dream without any income. I was planning to try this for about a month, and if it didn’t work out, I’d start looking for a job.”
“Ahahaha! That’s what you were worried about? You really do worry a lot. Well, I’m single, so I live however I want, but as a family man, you’ve got a lot more to think about, huh?”
Pinam laughed and slapped his knee, then took back the contract and added something under the clause that specified the term, pen scratching across the page.
- Party A may notify Party B (Choi Pinam Studio) of contract termination at any time, and the termination takes effect immediately upon delivery of such notice.
“Would that do it? It’s not like we’re putting down a deposit or anything, so there’s no need to worry about penalties or clawing money back. Try streaming, and if it’s not for you, just tell us comfortably.”
“Ah... if you go this far, I’m honestly going to end up even more embarrassed and grateful...”
“I’m telling you, I believe you’ll make it big, Hyeong-nim. I’d bet that in a month you’ll be right around my level, so there won’t even be any reason to worry! Hahaha!”
Watching Pinam laugh so heartily, Yeongho found himself smiling as well.
Maybe it was because he was young, but he really did have that feeling of charging in without hesitation, no brakes at all.
At any rate, when the other man had gone this far, dragging his feet and acting indecisive would be terribly rude.
He combed through the contract for hidden traps, but there wasn’t a single poisonous clause to be found. So Yeongho took the pen and signed his name without delay.
“Okay! Then we’re officially on the same team now, right? If Hyeong-nim ever gets dissatisfied and wants out, I won’t have anything to say, but barring that, we’re in this together all the way!”
“Yes, haha. Thank you. I look forward to working with you.”
They shook hands firmly.
How long had it been since someone had believed in him enough to offer this kind of goodwill?
Probably not since he’d graduated from school, at least.
It had been a long time since he’d felt warmth rise in his chest at the words of someone who wasn’t family.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“All right, folks. Didn’t I tell you yesterday something big was coming?”
The moment Pinam turned on the broadcast and started talking with that cocky, lounging attitude, viewers who’d already been tipped off quickly began typing as if they all knew exactly what was coming.
— We know, now get out of the way already.
— You mean you’re collabing with God-Father, right? lol
— Is it Battle Island again? The last one ended way too fast, I was disappointed.
— Come on, bring out God-Father already~
“Tch, you people. Fine, yes, I’m going to be with our God-Father Hyeong-nim, but that wasn’t the big thing I was talking about. Ah, Hyeong-nim! You’re ready? Okay!”
— Wait, are they already in voice chat? Aren’t they together today?
— Sounds like God-Father is at Ttotoring’s house today.
— So what’s the big thing?
— What?! Are those two living together?
— lol of course they are lol family, you know;;
“All right, all right, enough nonsense. Everyone, go to the address in the notice and hit follow while you’re there, got it?”
— Huh???
— God-Father’s starting a stream?
— What the hell, for real?
— Holy crap lol so he’s really streaming from now on??
Like a swarm of bees stirred up from a nest, the chat exploded.
Most of the people watching Pinam’s stream were sharp-eyed gamers who came expecting high-level play.
Even to them, Yeongho’s gameplay had been so absurd that it was beyond merely good; it was downright abnormal.
People had spent ages lamenting that a man with that kind of talent never streamed and only showed up as a guest.
And now it turned out he was actually starting his own broadcast.
It was only natural that they’d buzz with excitement like children handed an unexpected gift.
Pinam’s current viewer count was in the 2,800s.
Even though the stream had just begun, he was already close to his usual peak number.
He’d deliberately been dropping hints in earlier broadcasts that something was coming, all for this day.
That was why so many viewers had come expecting a collaboration with the mysterious master gamer they called God-Father.
But now that it wasn’t just a collab and Yeongho was actually streaming himself, nearly three thousand viewers flooded the notice’s link all at once.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“Ahem. Aah.”
He cleared his throat after turning on the broadcast and stole an awkward side glance toward the camera.
He’d made up his mind and taken the leap into streaming, but now that he was actually doing it, he felt embarrassed, and the mood was strangely unfamiliar.
Streamer SJ DAD.
He’d created the channel using the same name he used for his game ID and uploaded it that way.
But even after nearly ten minutes had passed since he’d gone live, the viewer count still hadn’t budged from zero.
“Hmm...”
Starting a stream on your own, without any help, really wasn’t easy.
With nobody showing up, he’d started worrying that maybe this really couldn’t succeed after all, and just as that anxiety was beginning to settle in—
The viewer count changed to 1.
“Ah, welcome, BlackCamembertAnt-nim.”
“Yes. I look forward to working with you. I’ll be playing games with an acquaintance in a little while.”
“I’m thirty-nine. I’m nervous because it’s my first day streaming.”
Pinam had told him not to pay too much attention to every single viewer’s chat, but since this was his first viewer and there was no one else around, Yeongho answered earnestly.
“I think we’ll probably be playing Battle Island.”
“You mean Bronze rank, right? I haven’t played ranked yet, so I don’t have a tier.”
“Yes! Thanks for the support.”
His tone was openly dismissive, but Yeongho didn’t mind. He simply smiled and answered politely.
“Thank you for following. I can’t stream very long, but I do plan to keep doing it every day.”
“Hmm. Still, I’d like at least a thousand people to come watch today.”
That was when he was chatting with the one viewer.
The count, which had been showing 1, suddenly started climbing in a blur.
89 viewers.
277 viewers.
498 viewers.
Whether the first viewer was shocked or not, the crowd that had rushed in by the hundreds began greeting each other one after another, and the chat window turned into chaos in an instant.
Dozens of new lines appeared with every blink, until even Yeongho couldn’t keep up with reading them.
925 viewers.
1,411 viewers.
2,027 viewers.
In only a few minutes, the count had already surged past two thousand.
He tore his eyes away from the dizzying flood of chat before he got motion sick and bowed his head politely to the viewers.
“Hello. I’m the rookie streamer, SJ DAD.”
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