Chapter 5: This is not right

Since childhood, when she didn’t even understand what inferiority was, Yoo Seo-ah had always been an excessively brilliant older sister.

Genius.

Prodigy.

The perfect daughter.

The modifiers that clung to the name Yoo Seo-ah were always grand.

“I heard Seo-yeon’s sister is a genius.”

“Apparently she’s never missed first place.”

“She was exceptional even at the gifted academy.”

The kind sister who used to read fairy tales in a gentle voice had become a point of comparison before anyone realized.

Perhaps it was a small mercy that, at least in appearance, she wasn’t compared to her sister.

Every time she heard, “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” she got sick of it.

Simply because the gap between her and her sister was too wide.

A gap so overwhelming that it crushed any attempt to catch up.

To Yoo Seo-yeon, her feelings toward her sister were closer to admiration than jealousy.

“Because it’s not like my sister did anything wrong…”

Though she had once felt upset over her sister’s brilliance, Yoo Seo-yeon wasn’t a twisted person.

She knew very well that feeling inferior to her brilliant sister would only eat away at her.

Also, separate from Yoo Seo-ah’s genius side—to Yoo Seo-yeon, she was a good sister.

When she wanted personal advice, Seo-ah would willingly make time, and even during rare arguments with their mom, she subtly took Seo-yeon’s side.

Sometimes, unexpected quirks would show up in odd moments, but.
No one’s perfect, after all.

“She’s a good person. Yeah, a good person, but…?”

The reason she chose Yoo Seo-ah’s officetel as a temporary hideout for her first-ever runaway was because Seo-ah was a sister she could rely on.

That was also why she revealed her streaming alias—something she hadn’t even told close friends.

If it’s her sister, she’d understand.

If it’s her sister, she’d support her.

Maybe, she could even help persuade their mom about her streaming.

Seeking her sister’s advice about her career path was clearly a wise choice.

A genius who graduated top of her class at Korea University,

With a solid job at a reputable company called Yeryeo Hotel— her advice was surely worth listening to. More than worth it, really.

It should’ve been, but…

“In most of your gameplay videos, your emotional swings are too intense. Like, the March 9 video—you slammed the desk when your team messed up a cue. That clip got trimmed and is circulating online. Under a title like ‘Maru Rage Max’.”

Why was it so hard to listen to?

It was definitely useful advice, and Seo-ah probably meant well, thinking of her little sister.

And Seo-yeon herself had probably already been vaguely aware of those things.

No, but this isn’t the kind of advice she wanted from Seo-ah.

She didn’t want commentary on her streaming direction—she wanted a clever way to persuade their mom.

She didn’t ask for a YouTube channel analysis presentation.

…Why would you even make a whole PPT for that?

And when did you even do a community poll?

“Your video with the Espresso Crew streamers—yours was the only one uploaded late. You should either match the upload timing with others or add more staff to your editing team—”

“Wait, unni. Just hold on a sec.”

Feeling a throbbing headache, Seo-yeon hastily stopped Seo-ah’s PPT.

Her brain felt like it was about to overload.

“We need to put out the biggest fire first.”

“Biggest fire?”

“The stream. I can’t do any of what you’re saying unless I’m actually able to stream.”

Emphasizing again that her immediate problem was the microphone, Seo-yeon opened her mouth to ask for help.

She asked her sister to convince their mom on her behalf, since she was already in the doghouse.

“You have no idea how deadly a break is for a streamer, right? The financial hit I’ve taken during this hiatus is beyond words.”

“How much do you make in a day, roughly?”

“Uh, hmm… it depends. Anyway, Mom never says no to you, so…”

In the end, moved by Seo-yeon’s voice full of desperation, Seo-ah slowly nodded.

Because it’s not like Seo-yeon’s streaming was completely hopeless.

As Seo-yeon said herself, gaining 120,000 subscribers in just one year was no small feat.

The channel’s growth was also fairly stable.

Though the fact that the Espresso Crew contract was only verbal still bothered her…

“I’ll buy you a mic.”

“Huh?”

“If you borrow money from Mom, she’ll definitely interfere with your stream. If she even agrees to lend it in the first place.”

Meeting Seo-yeon’s dazed gaze, Seo-ah continued.

But she wasn’t just giving it away.

There were a few conditions she wanted Seo-yeon to agree to in return.

“Go to college. Anywhere is fine.”

“I—I make more money than most college kids!”

“You don’t go to college just to make money.”

You can’t go all-in on streaming.

It doesn’t have to be academics, but build at least a foundation so you have options outside of streaming.

That was Seo-ah’s final line—her minimum requirement.

If Seo-yeon couldn’t even meet this, she said she wouldn’t help.

“You’re not gonna spend your whole life just streaming, right?”

“…Why aren’t you answering?”

“Oh, yeah. No, I won’t. Not all day, I mean.”

In the end, Seo-ah succeeded in getting her sister to promise to meet her conditions.

The voice recording on her phone captured everything without a hitch.

Seo-yeon, who never imagined things would escalate to recordings, grimaced.

In any case, it seemed a contract had been struck between Seo-ah and Seo-yeon.

At least, until issues were raised about Seo-yeon’s streaming content.

“About Battle of Legend—it looks too emotionally draining. Viewers’ reactions aren’t great either.”

“…What are you talking about? Bad reactions?”

Battle of Legend, or BoL for short.

The main content of ‘Maru YouTube’, and the most popular game in the world.

It was the main engine that had fueled Seo-yeon’s channel growth, making it a game she was deeply attached to.

As much as she loved it, it stressed her out too.

But that’s what games are for—stress and fun, right?

However, her sister in front of her was denying the value of BoL.

She didn’t deny that it was the world’s most popular game,

But she claimed it was doing more harm than good.

“You get too immersed, your emotions get hurt easily. You even fight with your teammates sometimes.”

“I’m trying to work on that…”

“The audience doesn’t like it either. You make one mistake, and they tear you apart like they’re out for blood. How’s that any different from the hate comments celebrities get?”

“…It’s not that bad, though?”

Compared to other streams, viewer reactions to Baore streams were relatively more intense.

It was true.

Objectively speaking, Yoo Seoyeon wasn’t particularly good at Baore.

Viewers constantly commented that their teeth were getting ground down every time she missed a skill.

And when she happened to die once—don’t even get started.

Sometimes, there were even viewers who said they wanted to roundhouse kick her in the head.

But all those reactions were part of the back-and-forth banter with viewers.

It was the main engine driving the fun in Yoo Seoyeon’s streams.

It was clear evidence that viewers were deeply immersed in her broadcasts.

And yet, now they’re saying the reaction isn’t good?

What was that supposed to mean?

“In the end, it’s stressful for you too. Seoyeon, did you start streaming to be called a troll?”

“No, unni, I think you’re misunderstanding something here.”

“Your emotions get stirred up, chat breaks your mind, you get teary-eyed—and you’re saying that’s fine? I don’t think so.”

She was wrong.

Yoo Seoa was someone Yoo Seoyeon could never beat with logic.

It was also true that, to someone unfamiliar with streaming, the whole situation might seem confusing.

But even so—telling Seoyeon to cut down on Baore streams was like handing her a terminal diagnosis.

It was obvious the stream would slowly die off.

So, she made up her mind.

If words don’t work, let actions do the convincing.

No matter what her sister said, she couldn’t give up on Baore.

“That’s just how it is when you play Baore.”

“That’s just a gaming addiction…”

“Have you ever seen anyone not get angry playing Baore? It’s a completely natural reaction.”

“So yeah, that’s what gaming addiction is.”

“Nope, that’s it. You’re coming with me. I’m pretty sure you just don’t get it because you’ve never played Baore yourself.”

Seoyeon’s last move, cornered and desperate.

Her “screw it, whatever” approach resulted in her dragging Seoa to a nearby VR room.

In the end, Seoa was human too.

And if you’re human, you will express emotions playing Baore.

Once Seoa actually played the game herself, she’d understand why people got so emotionally fired up.

That’s just the kind of game it was.

From the moment you’re teamed up with strangers with no names or faces, emotional outbursts were inevitable.

It was supposed to be that way.

[TrialAccount01 (Archer) SensitiveSpot (Knight)]

[TrialAccount01 (Archer) BelovedE (Priest)]

[TrialAccount01 (Archer) ShowMeYourBack (Warrior)]

[TrialAccount01 (Archer) is on a killing spree!]

What on earth just happened here?

“…Hmm”.

Despite having just taken down three people solo, her face was completely calm.

And her class was an archer.

A class that’s basically doomed if enemies get close.

It’s also a hard class to control— any beginner like Yoo Seoa would usually die without even getting a shot off.

But just now, Yoo Seoa had wiped out the enemy instead.

[(All) ShowMeYourBack (Warrior): Ah, it’s a smurf.]

[(All) BelovedE (Priest): Look at that movement lmao, can’t even pretend not to be one.]

Messages, often called “high praise,” flooded the Baore global chat.

The cherry on top was from the knight on the enemy team who had just gotten a headshot from Seoa’s arrow.

[(All) SensitiveSpot (Knight): But like, how did you parry with a dagger as an archer? Archers can parry with daggers??]

Yoo Seoyeon wanted to ask the same.

What the heck had just happened?

Was it even possible for a ranged character like an archer to win a close-range fight against a melee-specialist like a knight?

But unfortunately—the only person who could answer that question was a complete VR beginner who didn’t even know how to type in the in-game chat.

[Victory!]

“Hmm, it’s probably better to stretch a little before playing. This game’s great for spraining your wrist.”

She watched silently until the first match ended.

Yoo Seoa’s final KDA was 17/0/4.

Unbelievable numbers for someone playing Baore for the first time.

“…Isn’t this kind of wrong?”

“What is?”

That same calm voice as always.

Not a trace of emotion in sight.

That was the moment Yoo Seoyeon’s final move… went down in flames.