Episode 2
League of Streaming.
On his way home, Seojun looked up information about it.
'300,000 average live viewers? At this level, it's practically a major tournament, isn't it?'
Seojun had heard from Taewoo that the tournament was popular, but he hadn’t expected this
scale.
After further research, he quickly realized his misconception—while 300,000 was substantial, it fell short of major tournament status.
'Ah, regular tournaments hit at least a million viewers in Korea alone.'
The finals reportedly drew 15 million real-time viewers globally.
For the Korean league, no less.
The popularity of capsule games defied Seojun’s expectations.
He’d heard the craze had reached even adults with no time to play.
Seojun had deliberately avoided capsule-related news until now, so the details surprised him.
'So many people… got swept up in this.'
Seven years ago, he hadn’t cared much about virtual reality either.
But he knew it hadn’t been this mainstream back then.
After arriving home, Seojun consulted an expert—an active streamer and his friend Taewoo.
“Hey, you know about League of Streaming?”
Taewoo, sprawled on the couch with his phone, answered:
“Huh? Obviously. I joined last year and got eliminated instantly. Tch. Really wanted last year’s grand prize. Such a waste.”
Discussing victory after an immediate knockout?
Seojun mentally clicked his tongue.
“What was the prize?”
“A car. They even gave the MVP a supercar. Big-ticket items, right? Companies sponsor heavily because of the viewership.”
“I already looked up the numbers.”
“You did? Why? You’ve never cared about VR!”
“Dunno.”
He’d lived fine without virtual reality for seven years.
Could keep doing so.
So why research LoS?
Damn.
He knew the truth.
He’d just avoided it before because accessing VR was impossible.
That virtual reality from seven years ago…
Had been fun. Enough to make him crave it again.
Wasn’t that reason enough?
It’s not like I’m blowing a hundred million won.
Thanks to Oh Ji-hye’s help, he could borrow gear for free until the tournament ended.
Not like he’d waste years on this.
No reason not to try.
Seojun sat beside Taewoo.
Now, instead of why, he needed how.
“Taewoo.”
Seojun’s eyes gleamed.
“Yeah?”
“What are LoS’s entry requirements?”
“Why ask? Sigh. Officially unstated, but you need to be a streamer. Established mid-tier streamers usually get accepted.”
“If you’re unknown?”
“Crapshoot. Viewers want recognizable faces. Doesn’t mean they never pick unknowns, though. Just luck.”
Taewoo muttered the last part.
“How do you succeed as a streamer?”
“Seriously?”
“Dead serious.”
Taewoo straightened, his unusually solemn expression awkward.
“Dunno.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Know what people always tell me? ‘Must be nice earning money gaming. Easy life. No struggles.’”
“…”
“They don’t see the four years I streamed daily for eight hours to under 100 viewers. Barely covered utilities. Felt like mooching off you post-graduation.”
“Huh.”
While VR expanded the viewer base, streamers multiplied faster.
The real struggle was attracting audiences.
“Still, I’m lucky. Could’ve taken longer than four years. If you blow up, it’s huge—but who knows when? Even grinding ten years might fail.”
Taewoo continued:
“Some hit ten million in a year after five-year slumps with zero growth. Others never make it despite grinding.”
“But if I had to pick one key factor?”
Taewoo leaned forward.
“It’s entertainment value. No substitute.”
To succeed in game streaming, you need either entertainment value or skill. But surprisingly, pure skill streams don't get many viewers. There are too many alternatives like pro streams or edited videos.
"That's why it's hard to succeed on skill alone. Not impossible, but... check this out." Tae-woo found an article to show Seo-jun.
[Game streamers should focus more on being streamers than gamers. Surprisingly, the game itself isn't that important.]
This was one piece of advice from a famous streamer who aced objectivity tests. As Seo-jun examined it carefully, Tae-woo asked again:
"You really interested in streaming?"
"Just got interested."
"Haha. After hearing that? I won't stop you, but what makes you so confident?"
Seo-jun closed his eyes in thought. What made him confident?
Though he hadn't properly accessed VR for seven years, Seo-jun was sure of himself. 'No one could beat me.' Most games featured swords as main weapons, but even without them, it didn't matter. His memories alone - from his past life, he'd literally survived every imaginable battle.
He slowly opened his eyes, suppressing a laugh at the absurdity of his own reasoning.
"I guess... my skills?"
"Being good isn't enough to be a streamer."
"Then how good do I need to be?"
After some thought, Tae-woo declared: "Better than Shin Ha-yeon. No - if you're better than Ha-yeon, you'll definitely succeed. I guarantee it. You know who she is?"
Shin Ha-yeon.
The legendary female pro gamer. More popular than top celebrities - when people said VR, they meant Ha-yeon; say Ha-yeon, they meant VR. The undisputed icon of virtual reality.
All thanks to her overwhelming skills in pro leagues.
"I see."
After consideration, Seo-jun decided: For now, he'd give it a try. That day he messaged Oh Ji-hye about borrowing a pod.
"So... you got this because you think you're better than Ha-yeon?"
"Yeah."
"You crazy bastard. Then go pro."
"Too dangerous."
"Are you actually insane?"
Oh Ji-hye's reply and delivery arrived in under a day. As if she'd been waiting.
The minor problem:
"Ugh! Move! I need to connect these cables! Didn't I say we should call the installation technician? Or at least wait until my stream's over before touching anything!"
Seo-jun silently bowed his head under Tae-woo's scolding as he installed the pod.
"Hey. Didn't I declare you tech-illiterate after you washed your broken phone with soap?"
Maybe he had.
"How do you nearly break this just by installing it?! This looks crazy expensive!"
Having no retort, Seo-jun kept wiping the pod in the corner. Tae-woo glared before plugging the last cable and flopping onto the bed.
"Done. Biometric account?"
"Ready."
"Then you can log in now."
"Thanks."
"For what? By the way - this premium model's overkill for streaming."
"Don't worry about it."
It's borrowed.
"Sigh... where will you stream?"
"Travel."
Travel was the dominant game streaming platform.
"Same as me. Show me your stats. How good were you seven years ago to be this cocky? You have MyVR installed?"
"Here."
Seo-jun opened the app. The screen displayed his VR account details - creation date, playtime, stats.
"Wait. This account's less than two days old. When did you lose track of time?"
"Oh that? Deleted my old one."
"Stop lying."
"Serious."
"Listen. If you're really better than Ha-yeon - no, better than ME - I'll handle all chores. If not..."
Huh.
The prize catch jumped into the boat unasked.
"I do everything?"
"Scared?"
"Deal."
Seo-jun answered instantly. Taking the challenge paid off.
"Ha! No backing out now, rookie. I won't go easy. Not starting your stream today, right?"
"Yeah."
"Come right in."
Seo-jun watched Kim Tae-woo's retreating back head toward his room before entering the capsule.
As the lid closed, Seo-jun leaned comfortably against the backrest.
He closed his eyes and sank into thought.
Streaming.
A field he knew nothing about.
It wasn’t inherently interesting to him, nor did he harbor any naive belief that raw talent alone would suffice.
So if someone called his current endeavor a stupid waste of time, he couldn’t argue.
Still.
The corners of Seo-jun’s lips twitched upward.
People start with far more things they can’t do than things they can.
If you don’t challenge yourself out of fear of failure, you’ll never go anywhere.
[Connecting to virtual reality world in 10 seconds.]
[10]
[9]
.
.
.
[1]
Whoosh—
Darkness momentarily engulfed his vision as a nostalgic sensation washed over him.
Flash!
A blinding white light pierced through his closed eyelids.
This was the lobby—a stark white room devoid of decoration.
Streamers typically used this space to interact with viewers before or after games.
Since Seo-jun’s account was newly created, the lobby lay completely empty.
I’ll need to personalize this place too.
[#105979 has sent a friend request.]
A notification popped up as he glanced around.
When Seo-jun accepted the request, another message appeared:
[Kim Tae-woo has invited you to ‘Training Hall’.]
The environment instantly shifted to a martial arts dojo upon acceptance.
“You here?”
Tae-woo approached, dragging a white robot-like dummy behind him.
“This is Training Hall—a pre-installed capsule game. No downloads needed.”
“Like Minesweeper? We didn’t have this back in my day.”
“‘Your day’ my ass. Meet our dojo AI, Kim Chul-soo.”
Tae-woo gripped Chul-soo’s hands from behind, puppeteering them with exaggerated shakes.
“Cute design.”
“Heh. After enough beatings, just seeing Chul-soo’s face’ll make you crap yourself.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
Tae-woo smirked meaningfully.
“Take your hits first. We’ll talk afterward. Weapon choice?”
Without hesitation:
“Sword.”
Tae-woo positioned Chul-soo in front of Seo-jun and retrieved a blade from a storage area.
“Take it.”
Seo-jun gripped the hilt. An identical sword materialized in Chul-soo’s hand.
“Explanations now?”
“…Sure.”
“Chul-soo’s a sparring AI. I named him. Beat Level 7, and I’ll do your chores.”
“Why not just fight you?”
“I can’t hold back here. This space equalizes all conditions—pure skill. Chul-soo has Levels 1 to 10. I’ve cleared Level 8. Beginners should start at… Level 4.”
Tae-woo shrugged.
“Assuming you actually have talent. Pros clear Level 9, FYI.”
Seo-jun shrugged back and tapped the settings window hovering before him.
“Good warmup.”
This could be fun.
“Pfft—I should record this. VR Newbie Fearlessly Challenges Level 4—Gets Pummeled to Tears! Catchy? If it trends, maybe I’ll collab with you.”
Seo-jun chuckled.
“Just watch quietly.”
…
…
…
“I am watching. Why aren’t you starting?”
“Hmm. It’s not working.”
“What’s not working? Press 4 to start.”
“No—why’s Level 10 locked?”
“You little…!”
