[ ?????????????? ]
[ What the hell? ]
[ You said you were a noob!!!!! You said you were a noob!!!!! ]
[ It’s disgusting, but I’ve lost my erection… ]
[ Ah, so you weren’t a noob after all ㅡㅡ ]
The chat window, which had momentarily frozen, burst into an uproar. This was a situation even Jo Cheol-gon hadn’t anticipated, leaving him utterly bewildered. From his own perspective, it was certainly not the marksmanship of a noob. There was a clear possibility that Sori Hwa had lied to him as well.
“……It seems we’re done.”
As Jo Cheol-gon remained unresponsive, Sori Hwa said in a self-conscious voice.
“Ah, ah. Yes, it seems so!”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Sori Hwa was also watching the broadcast chat. Her voice plummeted, completely deflated by the suddenly fervent chat.
“No, no. You haven’t done anything wrong. But Wadeulwadeul-nim.”
“Yes.”
“Is this truly your first time playing?”
Truthfully, Jo Cheol-gon didn’t want to harbor suspicions about Wadeulwadeul. While the viewers might not know, Jo Cheol-gon had shared a brief, personal exchange with Wadeulwadeul. Somehow, Wadeulwadeul didn’t strike him as someone who would lie.
Nevertheless, Jo Cheol-gon felt compelled to ask this question. It was his obligation as a streamer to articulate the question burning in every viewer’s mind.
“Yes, it is.”
“By any chance, how low did you set the aiming assist?”
“I just tried it at 0% as a test.”
“……What?”
Jo Cheol-gon had introduced the topic of aim assist precisely because he desperately wanted to defend Sori Hwa. If the aim assist was perfectly calibrated for her, and she had innate physical prowess, she could potentially land all ten shots.
But Sori Hwa had just unleashed an utterly preposterous bombshell. This, Jo Cheol-gon knew, was indefensible.
[ 0%?! You f***ing b****, LOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
[ This is why you shouldn’t stream with concept-playing b*stards. ]
[ Looks like Wadeulwadeul got temporary brain damage from a draft. ]
[ Isn’t the lowest aim assist for pros around 15%? ]
[ This is why you need to be smart to lie, seriously. ]
[ Today’s broadcast is totally screwed LOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
[ She probably even photoshopped her cafe background to get attention. ]
Aim assist at 0% essentially meant she had done everything relying solely on her innate physical prowess. The characters in Royal Commando were fundamentally portrayed as highly trained special forces operatives.
How many ordinary people could possibly flawlessly replicate the precise, disciplined postures of such special forces operatives with their own movements? Thus, even professional Royal Commando players usually kept their aim assist at a minimum of 20%. Some pros, who preferred higher assist, would go up to 40%. For Sori Hwa to claim 0% aim assist and then demonstrate such perfect posture and marksmanship was, naturally, a statement bound to ignite a firestorm of outrage.
“This is a bit much…”
Jo Cheol-gon was a streamer with an uncanny knack for detecting imminent ruin. He immediately sensed that defending this statement would send them both plummeting into the abyss.
“Is that not allowed?”
“No, it’s not that it’s not allowed, but…”
Meanwhile, Sori Hwa, with a genuinely guileless voice, asked a question that left Jo Cheol-gon utterly bewildered. At this juncture, he was powerless. A streamer’s allegiance always lay with their audience.
“Wadeul. I’m older, so I’ll use informal speech with you.”
“……Ah, yes. Just like that?”
“Yeah. I always speak informally when I stream with viewers, you know.”
That was true. Sori Hwa already knew this, so she wasn’t particularly bothered by it.
“Alright.”
“Wadeul.”
“Yes.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Jo Cheol-gon lowered his voice and growled. This was the seasoned finesse of a professional streamer. Despite his internal apologies, this was the only viable path for both Wadeulwadeul and himself to navigate this predicament. Sori Hwa replied with a flustered voice.
“……Excuse me?”
“Hey, just think about it. Pros set their aim assist to 20, but you, who claimed to be a total noob, hit all 10 shots perfectly in the center with 0% aim assist. What am I supposed to make of that?”
“I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps I should have lied?”
“No, what you’re doing now *is* a lie, you f***ing b****.”
Jo Cheol-gon delivered his remarks with as much intensity as possible. It aligned with his typical broadcast persona, and it was what the viewers wanted. He could always offer a private apology after the broadcast concluded.
[ LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
[ The aura of a true master ㄷㄷㄷㄷㄷ ]
[ Next week’s BigTube video: Fraudster Apprehended~ ]
[ Now THIS is entertainment LOLOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
Fortunately, the viewers had mollified somewhat. If Wadeulwadeul admitted that she had fabricated this to garner endearing attention, given her charming voice, the prevailing sentiment suggested they might overlook it. Jo Cheol-gon internally pleaded, then pressed her earnestly.
“If you tell me the truth right now, I’ll let it go. You’re not a noob, are you?”
“I really am a noob. You said you saw my room, didn’t you? How could someone in my financial situation afford a capsule room?”
Jo Cheol-gon felt like clapping his hand to his forehead. From his perspective, this was the golden opportunity. If she continued to insist that she wasn’t lying at this point, things would get serious.
[ True to her concept, she’s a master at ruining the mood. ]
[ Let’s just disband the group and ban the stream. ]
[ With that kind of marksmanship and speed, she’s clearly lived a corp-life (TL Note: A Korean slang term, ‘kopchang insaeng,’ referring to someone who spends excessive time playing games, often to the detriment of their real life, akin to a ‘gamer life’ or ‘no-life’ gamer.) She’s 100% lying about being poor. ]
[ Did you think everything would work out just because you’re a girl, you f***ing b**** LOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
With Sori Hwa’s persistent denials, Jo Cheol-gon felt an overwhelming urge to grab her by the collar and shout. ‘I’m trying to save you right now!’ Yet, his desperate, unspoken cry tragically failed to reach her.
“Viewers, I’m really not faking it…”
Ultimately, Sori Hwa, sounding utterly exasperated and crestfallen, even attempted to communicate directly with the viewers. Naturally, however, this was tantamount to pouring oil on a blazing fire.
[ Just disappear. ]
[ D-E-S-T-R-U-C-T-I-O-N ]
[ I loved you, you f***ing b****. ]
[ Playing the poverty card is truly disgusting. ]
Jo Cheol-gon sighed. The situation had become irreversible.
“This won’t do. Wadeul. You’re getting a scolding today.”
“Pardon?”
“Changing the content.”
The text in the corner of Jo Cheol-gon’s broadcast. ‘Part 1: Noob Guest Corner / Wadeulwadeul’ was erased, and new text began to appear.
[ Part 1 (Revised): Fraud Verification / Concept-Player ] (TL Note: A ‘concept-player’ is a slang term referring to someone who plays a role or maintains a persona, often to mislead or provoke, for entertainment or attention.)
[ LOLOLOLOLOLOL He’s got the touch! ]
[ He saved the broadcast like this LOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
[ Revised LOLOLOLOLOLOL ]
It was an inescapable decision for Jo Cheol-gon, and the viewers loved it. Sori Hwa alone found herself in an unjust predicament. There was no greater injustice than being branded a liar when one had uttered not a single falsehood.
“I really didn’t fake it…”
“Do you know how to share your capsule screen?”
“No, this is my first time even using a capsule.”
“Alright, alright. I get it. First, go into ‘Social’.”
Even Jo Cheol-gon was now leaning towards the idea that Sori Hwa was a persistent, disruptive ‘concept-player’. After all, if aim assist was set to 0%, even seasoned pros would flounder and be overcome by silver-ranked players.
[ This concept is getting tiresome. ]
[ Of course, she’ll say she can’t screen share. ]
[ She’ll bail soon. ]
The chat window was anything but friendly. Jo Cheol-gon was eager to conclude this segment swiftly.
“Yes. I’m in ‘Social’.”
“Go to the ‘Video’ tab there.”
“Yes.”
“Scroll down. There’s ‘Screen Share,’ right? Check the ‘Screen Share to Group’ box and share your screen.”
“Understood.”
Sori Hwa, with a subdued voice, did as Jo Cheol-gon instructed. She sensed that both the viewers and Jo Cheol-gon were treating her as a fraud.
“Done.”
“Okay. I see it.”
Sori Hwa’s screen appeared in windowed mode and was broadcast onto Jo Cheol-gon’s display. Now, viewers could also see Sori Hwa’s screen.
“Go into ‘Settings’ and show me the ‘Aim Assist’ tab.”
“Yes.”
Sori Hwa silently navigated to ‘Settings’ and presented the ‘Aim Assist’ tab. As Sori Hwa had claimed, the aim assist was indeed 0. However, this alone wasn’t conclusive proof, as she could have adjusted the aim assist to 0 *after* her initial shots.
“It’s 0, right?”
“Yes. Now, don’t touch any settings, close it, and shoot again.”
Jo Cheol-gon expected Sori Hwa to confess once he pressured her enough. All that remained was for her deception to be unveiled. But Sori Hwa dutifully and silently followed Jo Cheol-gon’s instructions.
Once more, Sori Hwa took up an assault rifle and approached the tutorial shooting range.
[ Take a shot. ]
Now, with the aim assist clearly displayed as 0 for all viewers, there was no opportunity for alteration. Jo Cheol-gon felt he already knew the outcome. The best Sori Hwa could do was perform miserably and then declare her previous shots were mere luck.
Bang!
With that thought, Sori Hwa lifted her weapon. Yet, astonishingly, Sori Hwa’s aim and firing were impeccable. Her posture bore the dignified bearing of a reservist sergeant with zero years of actual service.
Moreover, Sori Hwa had trained in countless martial arts within the cave. Her physical aspects, such as muscle control, and her sensory capabilities vastly exceeded those of an average individual. Hitting a tutorial target was a trivial task for her.
Tatata-tatatatang!
Indeed, as if fueled by Sori Hwa’s burgeoning irritation, the firing continued much faster than before. In an instant, all ten shots cleanly pierced the very center of the target, and it was over.
[ Incredible! You hit all 10 shots! ]
The NPC broadcast its repeated dialogue once more. Jo Cheol-gon and the viewers were instantly rendered utterly speechless.
[ ? ]
[ ? ]
[ ? ]
[ ? ]
A cascade of bewildered question marks filled the chat. Sori Hwa lowered her gun, then looked at Jo Cheol-gon with a reproachful expression and spoke.
“Are we done now?”
“……What… what just happened?”
Jo Cheol-gon struggled to reconcile what his eyes were witnessing. Even so, Jo Cheol-gon was a Diamond-tier player, placing him in the top 10% of Royal Commando. For a professional to achieve this level of performance with 0% aim assist was impossible. Yet, this noob had done it.
“Ah, hey. Wait a minute. I’m experiencing some serious cognitive dissonance right now.”
“Why? Is this still a fabrication?”
Ultimately, a sharpness even crept into Sori Hwa’s voice, like a small animal hissing.
Jo Cheol-gon and the viewers, a crowd nearing 8,000 thanks to the wildly entertaining content, were collectively thrown into a state of panic.
“No, dammit. Guys. Does this even make sense?”
Jo Cheol-gon immediately pleaded his case. Even the viewers, who usually engaged in a combative WWE-like relationship with him, agreed with Jo Cheol-gon’s stance this time.
[ What is this, really? ]
[ Isn’t it a hack? ]
[ Aren’t capsule hacks incredibly expensive? Plus, capsule hacks are for looting capsules, so if you get caught, you can’t even use the capsule anymore. ]
[ So she’s not poor, but super rich? ]
“But hitting a tutorial target is possible if you’ve practiced a lot. If that’s all she’s practiced.”
Jo Cheol-gon finally offered a compromise. Honestly, the suspicion that it might be a hack had sprouted in his mind, but hack accusations were a sensitive issue, and he didn’t want to go that far.
“Let’s play a normal game together.”
Suddenly, Jo Cheol-gon’s tone reverted to formal speech. It was a change that perfectly reflected the confusion swirling in his mind.
“……I don’t want to.”
“Pardon?”
The unexpected reply caused Jo Cheol-gon’s brain to freeze again. Sori Hwa spoke clearly, though her voice was small.
“You’ve treated me like a liar from the start, and it feels like you won’t believe anything I do. Why should I bother?”
Sori Hwa’s words were perfectly reasonable. Jo Cheol-gon had been too focused on his broadcast and hadn’t considered Sori Hwa’s feelings.
Of course, Jo Cheol-gon’s actions and attitude were, in his own way, an attempt to save Sori Hwa, but if by some chance Sori Hwa genuinely wasn’t a fraud, the current situation was certainly reason enough for her to be upset.
“……That’s true. But if we end it here, Wadeulwadeul-nim will leave without clearing all the suspicions, are you okay with that?”
“What does it matter? I’m not a broadcaster, nor am I a gamer.”
Sori Hwa responded cynically. But Jo Cheol-gon knew he couldn’t end the content like this. At the very least, he had to resolve this issue conclusively.
“If it’s proven that Wadeulwadeul-nim isn’t a fraud or a hacker, I’ll give you one million nyang (TL Note: A traditional East Asian unit of currency, equivalent to taels of silver or gold.) in silver.”
Jo Cheol-gon made a drastic move. If Sori Hwa’s photos weren’t faked and she truly was struggling financially, she wouldn’t be able to refuse this offer. From this point on, it was a chicken run: back down, and you lose. Sori Hwa seemed to ponder for a moment, then mumbled.
“……I’ll do it for two million nyang.”
Even in this situation, Sori Hwa was negotiating. Jo Cheol-gon internally thought she was truly formidable, but now was not the time to waste on negotiations. Putting out this fire was the priority.
“Okay, okay. Two million nyang is fine.”
“Good. Let’s play.”
The negotiation was swiftly concluded.
And though Sori Hwa and Jo Cheol-gon didn’t know it, the unprecedented fraud verification show was spreading like wildfire across all communities.
The stakes were rising.
