Chapter 379
Lunchtime.
The time when the food streamer’s booth draws the liveliest crowds, the game booths get a two-hour break, and a flood of people start heading outside.
Seojun chose to quietly eat his packed lunch in the waiting room.
Wherever he went, chaos was sure to follow, so he had no choice.
He ended the stream with the benevolent intention of letting the warriors fight it out in the community rather than in chat.
If they fought in the chat window, they couldn't properly target each other for a keyboard battle, after all.
That would rob the fight of its fun.
The chat scrolls up so fast, messages get buried anyway.
Wouldn’t it be better for them to fight clearly and vigorously in the community?
That was for the warriors, of course.
Naturally.
Thanks to Seojun’s decision to end the stream, the emotionally charged viewers ignited exactly as he intended.
For Seojun, this was an excellent side dish.
And the viewers saw right through it.
[You’re watching us fight and eating your meal like it’s the most delicious thing ever, you crazy bastard lololol]
* * *
“Wow, look at this. There’s so much chatter, isn’t there?”
A magician isn’t just someone who does tricks well.
It’s someone who puts on a great performance with those tricks.
If one person learned a simple trick but knows how to present it well before people, surprising and entertaining them, and another person has practiced magic so much that no one can spot the secret during practice, but they can’t step in front of an audience—who is the real magician?
A performer is someone who showcases their honed skills in front of many people and gives them a good time.
That also means skill isn’t the most important thing.
It also means a magician is good at communicating.
And their social skills are inevitably high.
“Here, if you go in here, it shows up. It’s a community that’s only active during TwitchStar con. If you want to see what’s happening, just go to the post with 30 upvotes and check it out…….”
“Aha.”
“Thank you.”
The person who gathered the Korean experts at TwitchStar and brought them out to eat together was magician Choi Han-gyeol.
And not just the Korean experts.
A foreign boxer also joined them for the meal thanks to Choi Han-gyeol.
Normally, they would have just greeted each other awkwardly and gone off to eat separately, but Choi Han-gyeol claimed he knew a good restaurant nearby from having performed in the area, and they all gathered under that pretext.
The foreigners had no problem communicating either.
People who tour the world are basically proficient in English, and while only the former national athlete struggled with smooth conversation, their listening comprehension was decent.
“Ah, you want this translated?”
Translation technology is nearly perfect.
But even with the Fourth Industrial Revolution and rapid generational shifts, it couldn’t properly translate internet memes that require a shared cultural sentiment unique to that society, and so the foreigner sought help from Choi Han-gyeol.
And so, a scene unfolded where experts from various fields gathered around a whole chicken, some translating, some sipping a drink or two while browsing the internet.
“Wow, this is getting an insane amount of attention.”
Former Olympic women’s table tennis singles gold medalist Seo Mi-young was replenishing her dopamine, startled by the explosive flood of posts.
For a moment, she had received nationwide attention when she won gold.
But to truly feel that attention, you need a community where you can build bonds with people.
Regrettably, there was no large, active table tennis community.
So while appearing in the news a few times and filming commercials let her sense some level of recognition...
“Wow…….”
It had never given her the thrill of tens of thousands of people buzzing about her.
People who knew her well and those who didn’t were all paying attention and sparking rivalries.
Saying she’ll succeed, she’ll fail.
Just as a politician gets swept up in the illusion of possessing the world while watching the crowds cheering for them during a campaign rally,
She was now refreshing the community page over and over, like an addict, checking every post that contained her name.
The internet is addictive.
When many people get a flood of likes and supportive replies on their comment, they keep coming back to check that comment.
And when their opinion gets dismissed, they can’t just let it go; they have to reply, sparking an unproductive fight that only exhausts them.
“You’re right. They’re fighting like crazy over us.”
Magician Choi Han-gyeol, now in his late thirties scrolling toward forty, refreshed the page only once every twenty seconds, true to his years of experience.
Actually, it was because there were fewer topics about him.
“Wow, this is genuinely addictive. Am I the only one upvoting every post that says I’ll win?”
Choi Han-gyeol joked.
“I’m doing it too.”
“Hehe, me too.”
“Same here.”
And they honestly played along.
It wasn’t something to be embarrassed about or lose face over.
In fact, it felt like they were truly experiencing this internet culture, and they were, in a word, drunk on the atmosphere of TwitchStar.
Choi Han-gyeol checked one last time, confirming that apart from the occasional swordsman vs. mage debate, no real hot topic about him was really circulating, and then turned off his phone.
“Are you all confident you can win?”
World-class performers.
And two athletes who had reached the pinnacle.
Wouldn’t it be impossible to imitate their specialties in just three attempts? But the opponent was none other than Seojun.
The one whose athletic ability is said to have developed to the limits of human potential.
And who might even truly remember his past life.
A streamer?
“Huh, honestly, I watch his streams regularly.”
Seo Mi-young, the former national table tennis player, let out a sigh and continued.
“So I know how much of a monster he is. I know how easily he pulled off the things I once thought were impossible. But.”
“Yes.”
“Even so.”
Since they were all Seojun’s viewers, they laughed.
They could naturally guess what would come next.
“This time will be different!”
“Exactly.”
“We have to take pride in our craft.”
“But honestly, mine is really hard, so I think it’ll be tough.”
“Same for mine.”
“Hahaha. There was a poll, and 54% voted that the streamer would fail!”
The former national table tennis player laughed and showed her phone.
The voting was in full swing.
“Oh, I’m voting now too. 58%? Not bad. Ahem.”
The balance master smiled with satisfaction.
Getting over half meant they had acknowledged how difficult this looked.
“I have 51%.”
The darts master, who had once frustrated Yamada Rise by planting three darts into a single point, also boasted.
“Oh.”
“Huh, why does ‘Mages are cooler’ only have 40%?”
Of course, there was one magician whose poll was strange.
Choi Han-gyeol held back his gradually stiffening expression.
It was because people had chosen ‘Swordsmen are cooler.’
Fortunately, an even more shocking poll result appeared.
“Hmm, my ‘Streamer will fail’ is only 9%. What is this? I was champion the year before last, you know?”
The foreign boxer was clearly showing on his face that he was seriously shocked and started tapping at his phone.
He had entered the fray directly to enlighten the Korean viewers who had been rubbing him the wrong way.
[Honestly, if you look down on the boxing hyung, you know lolololol?]
[I just see a second Yul lololol]
[Rise just not participating at all is so damn funny lololololol she probably knows it’s impossible anyway]
The Korean experts around him each went to the poll post, voted for Seojun winning, and then quietly went back to their seats.
Even they thought the boxer stood absolutely no chance against Seojun.
* * *
The lunch break, which had seen the fiercest hill warfare in history, came to an end.
[He’s truly the worst streamer of all time, for real.]
[A rare genius who singlehandedly ended the indie game trend just by turning off his stream and instead made everything about himself lololol]
[And he’s an absolute master of sowing discord, getting fans and haters to fight each other the best lololol]
The community, which had been abandoned by the exhausted normies and left to the demons, slowly returned to normal.
But natural self-correction originally takes a long time, so Seojun decided to apply artificial force himself.
[Starting stream.]
It was the most effective way to suck in the demons.
“Yes, we’ll start in an hour. You’re already seated? That’s impressive. But go enjoy some other things too. Especially the one I’m doing the ad for tomorrow. If you check it out beforehand, it’ll be that much more fun.”
Seojun targeted a chat that said “Upvote for the streamer who busted his ass practicing during lunch” and banned them for 15 minutes.
Then he laughed as if at something ridiculous.
“Me, practice? I knew you’d say that, so I recorded the past two hours. Here, have a look.”
One hour before the start.
Seojun spent the time showing his viewers the video of his lunch at high speed.
-Eating an expensive lunch box
-You’re pulling in ten million won per ad, of course you eat pricey stuff
-From the streamer’s perspective, it’s actually cheap
-Hourly wage is tens of millions, wow
-Wow this bastard laughing while watching the community is so real lololololol, wow lololol, I mean lololol
-He really isn’t practicing. Does he just browse the community?
-This guy is the real deal...
“See? I didn’t practice.”
He chatted on like that until it was time, and Seojun left the waiting room.
Once again, people had gathered in front of the main entrance, and after they disappeared, Seojun arrived first at the booth prep room, his eyes widening.
“Huh?”
“Hello!”
“Why is Bangju here?”
“I was called in.”
“By Team Leader Seon?”
“Yes.”
“Ah…….”
So they really meant business.
Seojun just shrugged it off and started warming up.
Then Bangju and the cameraman, who had arrived a bit late, headed up to the booth first.
Cheers and applause rang out, and the staff member keeping an eye on the booth kept glancing back at Seojun, turning his head repeatedly.
Probably to signal when it was time to go out.
Bangju introduced the challengers, hyped up the purpose and atmosphere of the booth with some energetic comments, and carried on with the hosting.
And finally, the signal came to Seojun. After adjusting his mic settings, he went up from under the stage to the top.
“Hello, everyone.”
His mic linked up with the speakers installed on the stage, amplifying his voice.
“No point dragging this out, let’s get right to it. First up is darts?”
Since Bangju had earlier introduced the order, Seojun stood in front of the darts.
“Hello, athlete.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Seojun-ssi.”
“I’m the one who should be grateful you’ve taken on the challenge. Alright, then before you show us your demonstration, let me warm up a little.”
“Ah, sure.”
“What you showed us in the first test was sticking ten darts into a single point on the same scoring board, right?”
“Yes.”
The art of finely adjusting angles to cram ten darts into one spot.
Because of the number of darts, sticking ten into a single point demands precise, tightly-packed aiming and planning.
“Hmm, shall I give it a try first?”
“Huh? Ah, I’ll be showing something different from the first test.”
“Oh, this is just warming up. Let me do it once, and then you can give your demonstration.”
“Understood.”
Seojun received the darts from the staff and swung his arm very hard, releasing the first throw.
The dart flew like a bullet and embedded itself in the board.
While the viewers were flooding the chat with mockery, asking if this was a strength competition and who throws darts like that, Seojun threw his second dart.
-???
-????????
-I said hit the same point, sir?
-Excuse me? lolololololololol
The second dart didn’t land in the point where the first dart was stuck, but rather, it embedded itself into the first dart.