Chapter 6: The Relationship Between Dolls and Thread(2).
Starting my streaming career was purely by chance.
Years ago, I was holed up in my room, skipping meals to play League of Legends.
Not long after hitting Challenger as a Sion one-trick, I got an invite from a YouTube channel.
The Artisan’s Spotlight.
A show where they invited masters of specific champions to a studio for interviews and ranked gameplay footage.
The studio wasn’t far from where I lived, so I accepted without much thought.
The pay was decent, too.
I spent about four hours in the studio playing Sion and chatting, and a few days later, the video went up.
The response was explosive.
Back then, the League community had a subtle disdain for tank players, so a Challenger Sion main like me became a hot topic.
Looking back, it was probably because League was still in its “golden age” before it got “sick.”
Sure, it was already called “the game that makes your parents disappear” or “the game where you’re guaranteed to get flamed,” but it wasn’t yet the cesspool of “untouchables” or “lunatics” it’s known as now.
Anyway, that video brought me a lot of attention.
It helped shift the image of tank players from “bus riders” to calculated playmakers.
The community’s scorn soon shifted from tanks to supports, but that’s not important.
That attention sparked a dumb thought: “Should I start streaming?”
During the Artisan’s Spotlight interview, people found my quirky way of talking entertaining.
In reality, it was just me being socially inept from years of isolation.
I owe it to the editor who polished my awkwardness into a “unique personality.”
So, I started streaming.
After about a year, my average viewership hit 500.
I hired an editor, started a YouTube channel, and grew steadily by uploading a video daily.
I got greedy to climb higher.
The problem was, my streaming talent wasn’t that great.
Chasing a dream beyond my abilities, I tried all sorts of forced concepts, most of which flopped hard.
But one concept succeeded.
[Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo! I hate the world! I hate League! Hate! Destruction! This trash game must perish!]
[All day eating and fighting—the evil of Korean society! The League bros!]
[I’m Joseph, the demon in Park Minseo’s heart, here to judge the League bros! Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!]
Joseph, the Demon of League.
[Wha… what? Was I possessed by that guy again?]
[Damn it. No matter how much I hate League bros, no matter how much they’re societal garbage, I shouldn’t hate them!]
[I’m a hero. I’ll protect the League bros!]
The virtuous Sion artisan, Park Minseo.
Yes, the split-personality concept I mentioned before.
With flashy OBS manipulation, I staged the stream like a musical, and both live viewers and YouTube subscribers went wild for this unhinged clown act.
“…Looking back, I was already losing it back then.”
A clown needs not just humor but cold-headed situational awareness.
But Joseph’s concept was too successful, and it ended up consuming me.
Maybe it was inevitable.
Long-time live viewers knew Joseph was just a lucky gimmick I stumbled into, but YouTube newcomers were different.
They wanted me to be a lunatic. They preferred the crazed Joseph over plain Park Minseo.
For Joseph, they’d throw out huge donations they’d never give otherwise.
Gradually, I spent more time streaming as Joseph than as Minseo.
That was still fine.
Even if the concept was consuming me, the stream was thriving, and I was making good money, so no problem, right?
But my subconscious disagreed.
‘Woo-hoo-hoo. Stupid Park Minseo. Nobody likes you.’
‘You’re just a dumb, pathetic League bro. Abandoned by your family, ignored by viewers, only good for gaming.’
‘Even that game skill’s deteriorating because you’re clowning around in my mask. Struggling in Master tier lately, huh?’
‘You’re stuck with me forever! With me, Joseph the demon!’
I started having nightmares about Joseph.
Would things have been better if I’d gone to a psychiatrist back then?
But I didn’t have a single person to confide in.
Mental fatigue piled up, and I grew increasingly irritable on stream.
Shockingly, viewers loved it.
Even when I cursed at the camera or wailed, “I’m done!” in a broken voice, they laughed hysterically.
– That’s just who this guy is.
– He’s a god of streaming.
– Dude, even if it’s scripted, I respect it. If this is live, you should be a TV producer fr.
As my stream grew, so did my stress.
I sensed danger, but the snowball was already rolling too fast to stop.
Joseph had become a toy controlled by the audience.
Park Minseo was just a string attached to it.
But that string wasn’t strong—
One day, it snapped.
And so, Joseph-Park Minseo went AWOL, and people moved on to their next toy.
When I finally patched my mental state together and returned months later, all I had left was about 200 Jopartans.
That’s the whole story.
*
But that toy’s life is over now.
Staring into the bedside mirror, I clenched my fist.
A woman born beautiful is like acing the top three exams.
Plain Han-nam Park Minseo had no choice but to stream.
It was the only way to scrape by as a shut-in.
The only thing I was good at was League of Legends.
“But things are different now.”
Now, I’m beautiful. Not just beautiful—a stunning beauty.
Maybe “girl” fits better than “beauty,” but “cute girl” sounds too otaku-ish.
Anyway.
This stunning Park Minseo doesn’t need to stream.
Why?
Because there are endless ways to make a living without it.
Celebrity. Idol. Model. Influencer.
If those don’t work, hostess, escort, or sugar baby.
And if all else fails, seduce a guy and settle down.
No matter how messed up I am as a person, this appearance makes it possible.
I wish my chest was a bit bigger.
It’s not completely flat, but it’s not exactly voluptuous either.
Maybe the hospital gown’s too baggy.
Thinking that, I reached back and tugged the gown tight—
A cold voice from the ward’s entrance froze me like a frog before a snake.
“…Nothing.”
“Do that kind of thing in private, where no one can see.”
My sister, with a look of disdain, walked to the bed.
In her suit, she sat on a folding chair and scanned me up and down.
“Why’s your hair like that?”
“…It’s one of the symptoms, they say.”
“Hm.”
Guess she doesn’t like the platinum blonde.
She’s so strait-laced, it makes sense.
“Should I dye it black?”
Living under her roof for months has made me overly cautious.
“No need for that.”
She replied in a flat tone, crossing her arms and closing her eyes.
Tapping her arm with one finger, she spoke slowly, eyes still shut.
“When’s discharge?”
“Two days from now.”
“Billing?”
“…Haven’t paid yet. It’s more expensive than I thought.”
“I’ll cover it for now. Pay me back later.”
“…Really?”
She always shot me contemptuous looks when I asked to borrow money.
To think she’d offer this herself.
“Of course.”
She opened her eyes and looked straight at me.
“We’re family, aren’t we?”
Her softer-than-usual gaze felt oddly chilling.
“…Thanks.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“Already?”
“Why, got something to say?”
“No, nothing.”
Her business done, she stood up as if there was nothing left to discuss.
In her suit, she strode out of the ward, heels clicking.
“Oh.”
Pausing at the entrance, she turned her head slightly.
“Text me your discharge time on KakaoTalk.”
“…Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Her next words were utterly shocking.