Afterward, I started studying internet broadcasting.

I watched other people's broadcasts, learning the culture and rules of this field, understanding firsthand how this world operated.

Only then did I realize how ignorant I had been.

As I applied what I learned, viewers gradually started trickling in.

I added a webcam to my broadcast. I bought proper lighting. I invested in a separate PC for streaming alongside my gaming PC.

I set up a channel for saving video clips and began managing a community for my viewers.

Slowly but steadily, my audience grew.

I've never been particularly talented at anything.

Broadcasting was no different. I wasn't great at speaking or showmanship.

But I had the tenacity and perseverance to push through to the end. I wanted to keep doing this as long as I could.

I practiced my voice, tried to keep up with the latest internet trends, and brainstormed ideas for my show...

About a year later, one of my video clips unexpectedly went viral.

It was a clip of me dancing with joy after clearing a game that had stumped me for a month.

I hopped around mimicking the dance of the game's protagonist at the end. Apparently, my dance was kind of funny.

- Why is this guy dancing?

- Looks like he just beat XXX game. Look at the screen.

- Wow, that game's a real blast from the past. I quit playing it when I was a kid.

- This guy only plays tough old-school games, right?

- Does he take game requests then?

Viewers started coming in from everywhere, and word about me slowly spread in the community...

Luckily, the next game I played was a classic but well-known in its time, drawing in many nostalgic viewers.

Even though the number of viewers fluctuated depending on the game I played, I consistently streamed, and the channel steadily grew, showing an overall upward trend.

I aimed for a broadcast that was controversy-free and comfortable to watch, steadily increasing my regular audience.

Three years into broadcasting, I had moved beyond being a mid-level streamer to rank modestly among the top broadcasters on the platform, though not quite at the very top.

***

The very first viewer who had watched my broadcast continued to visit regularly.

They called me 'bro.' I called them 'little buddy.'

I knew nothing about them – not their name, age, or anything else. But they were my longest-standing viewer and most loyal audience.

Especially in the early, uncertain days of the broadcast, they pondered with me about the direction it should take and even volunteered to help me manage it like a manager.

I was truly grateful for them. I even wanted to meet them in person and treat them to a meal.

However, they rarely talked about themselves.

They avoided discussing personal details, let alone meeting in person. So, I never brought it up either.

Besides, it was better to avoid too close a camaraderie between a broadcaster and their viewers.

***

As the broadcast grew and I firmly established my place in this field, the viewer began to show up less frequently.

I felt a pang of regret, but I was too busy to dwell on it for long. I assumed they must be occupied with their own busy life.

Time passed, and one day, thinking of them, I searched their chat logs, wondering if they had left a message when I wasn't paying attention.

There it was,

- Long time no see, bro!

Left a few weeks ago, a message I had missed from them.

- The broadcast has grown so much while I was away, hasn't it?

- Do you only read chats with donations now? Lol, what's this?

Viewers had increased so much that, at some point, I could no longer read every ordinary chat message.

My interactions with viewers had long been through messages displayed during paid donations.

- Uh... I don't have money to donate...

- ...

- Hey, bro.

- I'm going to have surgery soon...

- Can you just say something encouraging?

The message ended there.

Staring blankly at the log, I suddenly stood up.

That chat was left by them weeks ago. Even though it had been a while, I had to do something.

***

They had always been reluctant to reveal personal information.

But inevitably, some details had slipped through in our online interactions.

They often mentioned visits to a hospital in Seoul, were young, male, and occasionally complained of chest pain and difficulty breathing, turning off the broadcast.

I managed to trace the hospital and, surprisingly easily, found him among the long-term patients.

He was in a coma, unconscious in bed, barely breathing, connected to life-support machines.

"..."He was just a child.

Years of being bedridden had left him looking much younger than his actual age.

His head was shaved, covered with a hospital cap, wearing an oxygen mask, eyes closed in sleep.

Beep- Beep-

The rhythmic sound of machines echoed in my ears.

I stood beside the bed, silently looking down at the child.

Beep- Beep-

Beep- Beep-...

The child’s breaths were barely audible amidst the mechanical beeping.

Unable to look anymore, I closed my eyes tightly.

"My child really loved your broadcast, Mr. RetroAddict."

His mother expressed gratitude repeatedly for my visit.

"Your broadcast was the only thing he looked forward to. On days without it, he’d rewatch your recordings..."

"..."

"The monotony of hospital life... and how painful the cancer treatments were... That small body wasn't easy to endure, but your broadcast often made him smile."

I stuttered a question, looking at her weary smile.

"Why me?"

"Pardon?"

"Why out of everyone else... There are so many funnier people doing broadcasts... Why did he choose me?"

How did he end up in my unnoticed broadcast of all places?

And then stayed to support me as my channel grew.

Why did he do that? Why this child?

Hearing my words, she paused, then smiled faintly and spoke.

"Why me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why did he choose to be born to me, of all people? There are mothers much kinder and more patient than me..."

Her hand gently stroked the child’s thin cheek.

"Let's ask him together when he wakes up."magic

"..."

"Thank you for visiting today. My child would be happy to know you were here."

I left the hospital with her respectful farewell echoing behind me.

"..."

The child had been sick since birth, suffering from a type of childhood cancer.

He had lived in the hospital his whole life. His only window to the world was the small screen of a smartphone.

Especially fond of watching my broadcasts.

What was so interesting about watching this dull old man's cramped little world?

...

In recent years, his condition had worsened.

He had undergone surgery as a last resort. Miraculously, the surgery went well.

However, he fell into a coma afterward, becoming essentially a vegetative state, and hadn't regained consciousness since.

"..."

You reached out to me, trapped in my own shell.

And I, chasing only money, ignored you when you needed me most.

The increase in viewers meant that, eventually, I couldn't read every regular chat.

My interactions had long since been limited to messages displayed with paid donations.

- Can you just say something encouraging?

I had missed such a simple request for encouragement, leaving you isolated from the world until...

'I want to reach out to you, as you did for me.'

Just as you did for me, I wanted to give you courage.

'But what can I do...?'

That night, broadcasting late, I asked my viewers,

"What's the hardest old game you can think of?"

With a renewed resolve, I inquired further,

"A game so challenging that it seems almost impossible to overcome."

Many people typed responses, but one message caught my eye.

- How about the 'Protect the Empire' Hell Ironman Challenge?

'Protect the Empire'.

A game released a decade ago, reasonably popular, but no one had ever cleared its most difficult mode - 'Hell Ironman'.

I decided to take on this challenge.

I kept it a secret from my viewers, but I pledged all donations received until I cleared the game to a childhood cancer support foundation.I started the game.

'Protect the Empire' was far from easy. The Hell Ironman mode was brutally hard.

I faced game over.

The empire fell, again and again, and again, and again, and again.

But I didn't give up.

Even when the red GAME OVER screen appeared, I brushed it off and started another round.

- PRESS START

Again.

Even when a playthrough I spent dozens of hours on exploded due to a ridiculous accident.

- PRESS START

Again.

Even when a playthrough that had lasted hundreds of hours crumbled under the enemy's assault.

- PRESS START

Again.

Even if a playthrough reaching the ending failed at the last stage.

- PRESS START

Again, again, again, again, again!

Once more-

I didn't give up.

I would fight in my own way, try to overcome this challenge.

I will cheer for you.

So, you too.

Don't give up.

Keep fighting your battle...

...

Half a year later.

I succeeded in the 'Protect the Empire' challenge on my 742nd attempt.

I defeated the final boss and cleared the last stage.

Finally, I reached the game's ending.

And then-

***

...

Gradually, my consciousness, which had been submerged, sharpened.

It felt like waking up from a terrible hangover. I groaned, twisting my body.

Sensations returned to the extremities of my body. I became aware of my fingers and toes. Twisting my sore joints that seemed unused for ages, I managed to open my eyes.

My vision was blurry.

'Where am I...'

I clearly remember, after drinking heavily... I opened the teleport gate, fell into it, and then...

Plummeted into pitch-black darkness.

But here, it was warm, soft, and even smelled nice.

'What?'

As I blinked several times, the world came into focus. Finally, I could clearly take in my surroundings.

A lavishly decorated palace... except for the bizarrely pink decor, it seemed quite expensive.

I was lying on the floor of this palace. And someone was giving me a pillow with their lap.

Huh?

A lap pillow?

What I was resting on was a warm, soft thigh. But who would do such a generous... no, embarrassing thing for me...

Slowly raising my eyes,

"Ah. You're awake."

A woman smiled gently at me.

Snow-white skin, red irises. Glossy pink hair and horns protruding on each side of her head. And the distinctive nun’s attire.

...In other words, the seventh-ranked commander of the Nightmare Legion.

Salome.

The Succubus Queen shyly asked me,

"Did you sleep well, darling?"

Her tail, characteristic of her demon kind, wagged like a puppy waiting for its owner.

"..."

Staring blankly at Salome,

"Woaaah! You scared me!"

Without realizing, I threw a punch, hitting Salome's jaw.

--TL Notes--

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you want to support me or give me feedback, you can do it at patreon.com/MattReading