Chapter 3: Prologue – Park-Min-seo
I often think the world’s structure is messed up.
Why should I suffer my whole life just for being born a herbivore?
A life of being exploited and torn apart by predators.
Thinking that’s the life I’ve lived—and will live—makes me feel grim.
“Then why don’t you just die?”
Obin sneered, chugging a beer with ice cubes floating in it.
Kwon Obin.
My classmate for all three years of middle school, and now my only friend I keep in touch with.
The other streamers I’ve met through broadcasts are friends, sure, but more like colleagues.
“Everything’s too hard, the world’s messed up, blah blah. So, what, dying’s the only answer?”
But this so-called only friend was spouting crap like that.
“Why do you have to talk like such a d*ck?”
“What, you want me to go, ‘Oh, poor Minseo, you’re so right, the world’s unfair, you’re perfect’? To a guy with a d*ck?”
No way.
Getting that kind of pity from a guy would just make me sick.
“Just shut up and empathize, you t*rd.”
“If I just blindly agree, you’d hate that too.”
He’s not wrong.
I can’t stand guys who oppose everything I say, but I also feel like keeping my distance from those who just nod along.
…This jerk knows me too well.
Stung by his accuracy, I clamped my mouth shut, and Obin chuckled before continuing.
“You live so complicated, Minseo. Just grit your teeth, chase the money for a few years. If you’d stuck with that dumb concept last year, you’d have saved up for a lease by now.”
“…If it was that easy, I’d have done it.”
“Honestly, that concept was pretty fun. Even some of my friends started watching you.”
I tried everything to crawl out of obscurity.
To stand out, I experimented with all sorts of ridiculous concepts.
One of them was last year’s split-personality gimmick.
Park Minseo, the Scion master, and Joseph, the demon obsessed with League of Legends.
Whenever Minseo suffered from the trashy hellhole game, Joseph would take over and play.
I even made a (tragically low-quality) Joseph illustration to replace my cam and changed my voice for the act, giving it my all.
And it was a massive hit.
My YouTube video hit 300,000 views for the first time.
Subscribers broke 50,000.
Live viewership averaged around 2,000.
I got a few collab offers, and even when I played other games besides League, viewers stuck around.
It was the kind of stream I’d always wanted—or so I thought.
“Why’d you go AWOL?”
“It was the right call. If I hadn’t, I’d be in a psych ward by now.”
“Your personality’s such a f*cking drag. No, it’s just straight-up sh*t.”
Yeah, like Obin said, my personality’s a mess.
I was born this way.
Last year, when my stream was steadily climbing, I suddenly went offline for three months.
The reason? Burnout, self-doubt, or some deep mental issue I can’t quite name.
When I was in the shadows, I wanted nothing more than to break into the spotlight.
But when I finally had a shot, streaming wasn’t fun anymore.
Is this the stream I wanted? Is it even entertaining? I’m not enjoying it. Should I keep going because viewers like it? What about me? Sure, I’m making money, but the more I stream, the more miserable I get.
So I ran.
But when my savings ran dry, I slunk back to streaming.
The viewers’ response was cold, and my editor cut ties.
And just like that, I was back to being an obscure streamer.
With almost no new viewers, my audience was down to about 200 loyal fans from the early days.
The “Jopartan” crew, as they’re called, are so familiar I practically know their usernames by heart.
Since coming back, my streams have gotten darker, stickier, more depraved.
Viewers and I casually throw around nicknames, and the chat’s mostly dirty jokes and nonsense.
It’s turned into a national pity party where we flaunt our misery.
“You made that vibe yourself.”
“I didn’t want it to be like that.”
“Obscurity suits you, doesn’t it? Last year, you looked half-dead. Now you seem fine.”
Obin scratched his head as he said that.
“…What if I just quit streaming?”
“Quit and do what? You don’t know how to do anything else.”
“I could learn something new. Oh, but no civil service exams.”
“This guy’s scheming again.”
Obin’s a level-7 civil servant.
He dropped out of college after less than a year, enlisted, and served full-term.
After two years of studying, he passed the civil service exam at 24.
“Scheming? Civil service sucks. Don’t do it. They’re cutting pensions again.”
“…At least you get a pension.”
I muttered under my breath, sipping my zero-sugar cola.
I don’t like alcohol much—it just amplifies bad thoughts.
“How do you even make a living?”
“Streaming. You’ve got talent.”
“Would streaming make me happy? I just want a normal life.”
“A normal life?”
Yeah, a normal life.
Waking up, going to work, grinding through the day, and leaving in the evening.
Surviving weekdays, feeling good on Friday nights, resting on weekends, and sighing on Monday mornings.
“This isn’t a human life.”
I live on a different clock from everyone else.
I start streaming at 6 p.m., when people are heading home.
I sit at my computer until 4 or 5 a.m., gaming and spouting nonsense.
No small joys from weekends or holidays. No sense of accomplishment from work.
I just happened to be born good at games—not pro-level, but good enough to get attention with the only thing I know how to do.
And now I’ve been stuck streaming for three years.
A career that looks good on a resume? Nope.
Personal growth? Zero.
“I’m flushing my golden 20s down the toilet. I’m sh*t. Human sh*t.”
“Why does every rant of yours end in self-pity? You’re such a weird dude.”
Obin chugged his beer, treating my misery like a snack.
It pissed me off, but that attitude is also why I still call him a friend.
His “deal with it yourself” vibe somehow puts me at ease.
“…Maybe I should get a part-time job.”
“Part-time? Not a bad idea. It’d give you some structure.”
“But would anyone hire me?”
“Here we go again.”
Obin shook his head, exasperated.
“Minseo, nobody wants a male trainwreck.”
“…If I was hot, they would.”
“If you were hot, you wouldn’t be a trainwreck.”
He’s right.
No matter the issue, it always comes back to being born this way.
The world’s rotten, and I’m a piece of trash that can’t even adapt to it.
Sighing heavily, I pressed the table’s call button.
“Two bottles of soju, please. Fresh ones.”
“You’re drinking?”
“You took tomorrow off too, right? Drink.”
“Fine, but don’t blame me when you regret it.”
Obin’s right.
I’ll probably wake up tomorrow full of regret.
But for now, surviving the moment is what matters.
I don’t have the energy to prepare for the future.
Glasses clink.
Burning heat slides down my throat.
The world spins.
*
When I opened my eyes, I was in my room.
How the hell did I get back? I can’t remember.
My head’s pounding, and my stomach’s churning like it’s about to erupt.
“Ugh…”
My raspy voice doesn’t even feel like mine.
A strange pain throbs in my chest.
The clock says 6:30 a.m.
My sister’s probably getting ready for work.
If I go to the living room now, I’ll definitely run into her.
I want to avoid that, but staying in here like this feels like a disaster waiting to happen.
To the bathroom.
Carefully getting out of bed, I felt an odd sense of unease.
Am I still drunk? Everything in the room feels slightly higher than usual.
…Gotta get out.
Washing my face and emptying my stomach will clear my head.
The moment I stepped into the living room.
“…”
I locked eyes with my sister.
As expected, I averted my gaze and headed straight for the bathroom.
But what she said next was completely unexpected.
“Minseo, is that your girlfriend?”
…What does that mean?