“Amazing.”
Sori Hwa covered her mouth with both hands.
A large, rectangular box lay before the door of her dilapidated home.
Having won the prize just two days prior, the delivery had arrived swiftly.
Clutching her throbbing chest, Sori Hwa began to unbox it.
Soon, a sleek, purple, streamlined virtual reality capsule appeared before her eyes.
“Oh, ohh…”
It was a product far too sophisticated to have her tattered home and leaking ceiling serve as its backdrop.
As expected of a high-end item, it required no complicated setup; a simple Bluetooth connection was all that was needed.
“…But is this really right?”
Sori Hwa, whose face had been radiant moments before, suddenly clouded over with gloom.
The reality of her eighty million nyang (TL Note: A unit of currency, roughly equivalent to ‘silver taels’ or ‘silver coins’ in traditional Korean currency systems.) debt weighed heavily on her shoulders, an immutable reality.
Realistically, selling it secondhand immediately to pay off even a fraction of her debt and reduce her monthly interest payments would have been the sensible choice.
*Ding.*
Sori Hwa placed her hands on her slender waist and pierced the purple capsule, the Another V12, with her gaze.
“Haaah.”
Yet, what good would come from a staring contest with an inanimate object?
Exhausted by her own internal struggle, Sori Hwa ultimately hung her head.
****
*Vibration.*
Just then, her phone, resting on the desk, vibrated.
Sori Hwa turned on the screen to find a 1:1 chat request from the Ogogok app.
It seemed Sori Hwa’s ‘Wadeulwadeul’ (TL Note: A Korean onomatopoeia for trembling or shivering, often used to convey nervousness or excitement.) account had garnered quite a bit of notoriety, leading to frequent 1:1 chat requests.
Naturally, these messages were typically along the lines of ‘Don’t act up’ or ‘Don’t spoil the chat.’
This time, she had even been lucky enough to receive a virtual reality capsule.
Indeed, after that, quite a few people had messaged her simply to hurl thoughtless insults.
Assuming it was another one of those conversations, Sori Hwa was about to dismiss the notification and close it, but then she noticed the familiar nickname of the sender.
[ Jomeohyeop ]
The nickname even had a streamer verification badge next to it, leaving no doubt that it wasn’t a fake.
It was the real Jomeohyeop.
Unlike the public chat where she received the virtual reality capsule, this was a private 1:1 conversation.
– Wadeulwadeul-nim. This is Jomeohyeop. Do you have a moment to chat?
For a moment, Sori Hwa almost typed, ‘Big Bro, I’m cold, hug me,’ but then deleted it.
This was a private chat.
There was no need to maintain her persona and cause annoyance here.
Even if Sori Hwa had adopted a persona, she fundamentally remained a fan of Jomeohyeop, which was why she continued to watch his broadcasts.
She had even received a virtual reality capsule worth well over ten million nyang from Jomeohyeop’s broadcast, hadn’t she?
– Yes. What can I do for you?
Sori Hwa typed and sent her reply.
It felt strange, as it was the first time she had ever typed a normal conversation under the ‘Wadeulwadeul’ nickname.
– I was so scared you’d keep up the persona this time.
Anyway, I heard from Capsule Rank that the shipment was completed, so I contacted you to confirm.
– Oh, I received it very well.
Thank you.
– Why would someone who can chat normally like this act like that?
By any chance, could you post a verification photo on our fan cafe?
There are always some kids who claim these roulette events are rigged.
– Yes.
I’ll take a picture and upload it today.
– Thank you.
Congratulations once again.
Jomeohyeop was much gentler than his usual broadcast persona suggested.
Of course, the same could be said for Sori Hwa herself.
Don’t people often feel the urge to create a persona online that they can’t normally express in real life?
– I thank you once again as well.
Sori Hwa intended to end the conversation there.
Anyone could tell Jomeohyeop’s business was concluded.
However, Jomeohyeop’s business was not yet finished.
– And this is a favor.
Could you do a V12 review broadcast with me?
I received a V12 too.
– Huh?
– It’s nothing major.
You just need to explain the differences between it and other virtual reality capsules you’ve used before, highlighting the V12’s advantages as much as possible.
You know, things like ‘the graphics are great,’ ‘the movements are natural,’ or ‘the response speed is fast.’
Sori Hwa was taken aback by the sudden request.
Jomeohyeop continued to chat.
– It’s like an after-sales service for an advertisement.
We’re not getting paid for it directly, but advertisers appreciate this kind of thing.
Showing this makes them more likely to give us more ads later, haha.
Sori Hwa let out a soft chuckle, for in that chat, she somehow heard the very intonation and voice Jomeohyeop used during his broadcasts.
This was Jomeohyeop’s charm as a broadcaster.
Despite being a major streamer, he was down-to-earth, honest, and possessed a personality that was never unlikable.
“…”
Sori Hwa gazed at the V12, which she had been deliberating whether to sell just moments before.
The purple, streamlined capsule elegantly sculpted its sleek curves, making it an object of profound desire.
‘Just this once…’
Even if she sold it now without using it, it would still be a used item.
Wouldn’t it be better to try it out first?
Sori Hwa also wished to experience the slightly more advanced technology of this world compared to her original one.
Furthermore, the prospect of helping Jomeohyeop, a streamer she regularly watched, was intriguing.
– Of course, we’ll also provide an appearance fee.
And since it’s only voice acting, there won’t be much pressure.
When Sori Hwa didn’t reply, Jomeohyeop, a hint of impatience in his tone, added to the conversation.
– How much is the appearance fee?
Sori Hwa asked that first.
At the moment, Sori Hwa desperately needed money.
– Two hundred thousand nyang.
The review broadcast will probably only be about three hours.
– I’ll do it.
Sori Hwa sent an immediate reply.
It was a job that could earn her over sixty thousand nyang an hour.
Considering the current minimum wage was around ten thousand nyang, it was undeniably a job she had to take.
In fact, since arriving in this world, Sori Hwa had never had a high-paying part-time job like this.
– Great, you’re cool.
Then just leave your phone number here so I can send you the broadcast schedule and content plan.
– Understood.
– I’ll contact you once the schedule is fixed~
– Okay.
The conversation ended there.
Sori Hwa was left utterly dumbfounded.
Given Jomeohyeop’s free-spirited broadcasting style, it wasn’t particularly unusual.
After all, one of Jomeohyeop’s regular segments involved raiding viewers’ homes for a meal.
Still, for Sori Hwa, who had been filled with nothing but gloomy events lately, it was a much-needed reprieve, like welcome rain after a long drought.
“Right.
I need to verify it.”
Sori Hwa focused her phone camera, capturing the V12 within the lens.
She had no intention of writing a lengthy verification post.
The words she would use were already set.
[ Title: Big Bro ]
[ Content: (V12 Photo) I’m cold, hug me ]
‘It’s online, so I should stick to my persona.’
With that, Sori Hwa uploaded the verification photo and prepared to leave.
Today was the day she was called to work at the logistics warehouse after a long time.
“Augh.
It’s cold.”
Feeling another seizure coming on, Sori Hwa took medicine from her pillbox, swallowed it, and went out.
She was utterly oblivious to the profound repercussions her uploaded verification photo would unleash upon the fan cafe.
****
The streamer, Jomeohyeop, whose real name was Jo Cheol-gon, let out a faint chuckle.
It hadn’t been long since their conversation ended, and Wadeulwadeul had already posted a verification of receiving the V12.
Naturally, that verification post immediately shot to the top of the cafe’s popular posts.
“They uploaded it quickly.”
Just as he expected, they were someone who could have a normal conversation.
Jomeohyeop had encountered many viewers, but most of those who adopted personas or sought attention were often perfectly normal people in real life.
Wadeulwadeul was one such case.
The title was simply ‘Big Bro.’
Judging by the antics, they had likely just uploaded a photo and continued their persona with the words, ‘Big Bro, I’m cold, hug me.’
Jo Cheol-gon, being a seasoned internet veteran himself, completely understood the psychology of those who maintained personas.
“As expected.”
Clicking on Wadeulwadeul’s post revealed the expected content.
Well, it was precisely this predictability that made the persona fun.
“But why are there so many comments?”
Jo Cheol-gon suddenly noticed the number of comments below.
Less than thirty minutes after it was uploaded, the comments were already approaching a hundred.
Of course, he had expected a certain number of comments for a verification photo of an expensive gift, but not this many.
“…Oh.”
And Jo Cheol-gon immediately understood why there were so many comments.
The problem wasn’t the title or the content, but the photo itself.
In the center of the photo, a purple, glossy V12 was proudly displayed.
That, too, was not the issue.
The real problem was the state of the house in the background.
Burn marks on the linoleum, a table leg wrapped in blue tape, a faintly visible hole in the ceiling, ill-fitting windows and frames, and wallpaper roughly torn as if gnawed by rats.
Amidst all this, the state-of-the-art virtual reality capsule sitting squarely in the center created an even more striking contrast.
“Does this guy live in Compton or something?”
Jo Cheol-gon, dumbfounded, zoomed in on the photo.
He wondered if this was another attempt to gain attention, but there was no sign of photo manipulation.
As if echoing Jo Cheol-gon’s bewilderment, the comments all followed a similar vein.
– Ah… no wonder they were ‘wadeulwadeul’ (shivering)…
– Hang in there.
– Give me your account number, seriously, I’ll send you some money.
– It wasn’t a persona after all.
Living in a house like that, you’d definitely be cold.
– I usually wouldn’t say this, but this is seriously dirt poor.
– At this point, they don’t even have a spoon (TL Note: A Korean idiom referring to social class, where having a ‘silver spoon’ means being born rich, and ‘dirt spoon’ or ‘no spoon’ implies extreme poverty.)
– Wait, didn’t they sometimes donate 1,000 nyang?
Where did that money come from?
– Seriously, a true fan… Honestly, I was so jealous at first, but if it’s like this, it seems the right person received it.
It was a rare moment of unanimous agreement in a fan cafe where bickering and tearing each other down were the norm, much like the atmosphere of his usual broadcasts.
Jo Cheol-gon often made mischievous jokes with his viewers, but this was not something that could be touched, even as a jest.
The most crucial thing for a broadcaster was their ‘rock-bottom detection sensor’ (TL Note: Refers to an intuitive sense of what might cause a scandal or public backlash, leading to a fall from grace.).
Making fun of Wadeulwadeul here would undoubtedly lead to a fall from grace.
He suddenly remembered the immediate reply he received when he offered two hundred thousand nyang as an appearance fee.
At first, he’d thought of them as just a funny character, but after seeing this photo, he could no longer laugh.
“Wait a minute.”
At that moment, Jo Cheol-gon’s mind began to race.
Crisis and opportunity were always two sides of the same coin.
Turn crisis into opportunity.
Turn rock-bottom into paradise.
Without such shrewdness, Jo Cheol-gon’s broadcasting style would have led him to rock bottom several times over.
Jo Cheol-gon instinctively knew that this was one of those double-edged sword moments.
The collaboration broadcast with Wadeulwadeul.
It seemed he would need to prepare more thoroughly than he had anticipated.
****
“Wait a minute.”
Sori Hwa, engaged in manual labor, suddenly lifted her head.
Blinded by the prospect of money, she had initially accepted the broadcast appearance, but upon slowly replaying the details, something bothered her.
Jomeohyeop had clearly asked her to highlight the V12’s advantages, focusing on the differences from other virtual reality capsules she had previously used.
However, since arriving in this world, Sori Hwa had never even been to a common capsule room.
She had been too busy accumulating money to treat her Nine Yin Severed Meridians (TL Note: A fictional martial arts condition where one’s meridians are severed, often requiring expensive remedies.) ever since descending from the cave.
Since she didn’t play any games anyway, entertainment like a capsule room was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
This meant that, according to Jomeohyeop’s plan, Sori Hwa’s broadcast appearance would be impossible.
“I’m screwed, aren’t I?”
“Hey, Miss So!
Stop muttering and get back to packing!”
From a distance, the foreman miraculously caught Sori Hwa slacking off and scolded her.
Sori Hwa grumbled and resumed packing.
It seemed she would have to message Jomeohyeop after her logistics center shift to tell him she couldn’t do it.
