Chapter 8: First Stream, Last Resistance

Chirp—Chirp chirp—

The sound of birds filtering through the window rouses me, and as I sit up groggily, a pile of boxes scattered across the living room catches my eye.

Oh, right.

I was so set on sleeping after my shower that I just shoved them aside.

I need to assemble the computer and sort the clothes, too…
No time to laze around.

Messily tidying my hair, I climb out of bed and gather the boxes of computer parts, stacking them in a corner.

Assembling the PC will take a while, so I’ll start with the clothes.

After moving the computer parts, I open the box of clothes.

The clothes inside, for the 100,000 won I spent, aren’t as plentiful as I’d hoped.

No, wait—if you include the underwear, it’s not that little, right?

Let’s think positively.

Buying these in a store would’ve cost twice as much.

Still, five boxy T-shirts and four pairs of athletic pants feel a bit… sparse.

“Sigh… what can I do? I’ll have to order more later.”

Thanks to the small quantity, I finish sorting the clothes in about ten minutes.

Now, all that’s left is assembling the streaming PC and setting up for the broadcast.

I’ve built computers plenty of times, so that’s no issue, but the broadcast setup is the problem.

No, the setup itself isn’t the issue—it’s the thought of exposing “myself” to a bunch of strangers that’s overwhelming.

“I dove into this without thinking, but now that it’s time to do it, I’m kinda freaking out…”

But what can I do?

The money’s already spent, sitting in front of me as a pile of parts, and I can’t just sit here cursing my impulsive decisions.

No other way around it.

Sighing, I start assembling the computer.

The process is familiar, so it doesn’t take long, but cable management eats up a whole hour.

Still, the effort pays off—the setup looks clean and pleasing.

“Phew… done.”

Ugh—I stand, stretching my back to relieve the hour-and-a-half’s worth of strain.

It wasn’t hard work, but my old habit from factory and construction jobs—stretching whenever I get a chance—kicks in unconsciously.

Not a bad habit, so whatever.

Once the computer’s done, everything moves quickly.

I mount the webcam on the monitor, swap the four-port power strip for an eight-port one, install the external sound card, microphone, and soundproofing panels, connect the streaming PC to the internet, and finish the broadcast setup.

All that took just 30 minutes.

Maybe my smaller body made crawling under the desk easier, speeding things up.

Now, all that’s left is to start the stream…

“Alright, let’s turn it on and figure it out from there.”

It’s something I have to do to make money.

Do or die—well, maybe not die, but close enough.

I can’t just say no.

Hoo—with a short breath, I hit the “Start Streaming” button.

LTH.

My Twitch username.

It stands for “Lick The Hako” (Hako being small-scale streams).

After years of hopping between small streams, I became somewhat known and liked the nickname enough to use it.

What kind of hako is waiting for me (the viewer) today?

With a slight thrill buried in my chest, I open Twitch.

[“—First stream”] [“—Day 1 of streaming”] [“LoL stream, first day”]

“Hiss—Haa… the fresh scent of a newbie.”

No actual scent, of course, but I make an exaggerated gesture to calm my excitement.

Tapping my feet like a kid on Christmas, I scroll through when a title catches my eye.

[“Just setting up the stream and having a light drink.”]

Stream setup?

Is it for some new feature?

For that, it’s an unfamiliar username with zero viewers.

So, they’re drinking from their very first stream?

“Haha, can’t resist this.”

My mouse moves faster than my brain, clicking on a stream boldly declaring it’ll drink from day one.

After a brief loading screen, the broadcast pops up in the center of my monitor.

A black screen with no sound—just silence.

I’m certain.

A newbie! A hako! A total rookie!

My racing heart now gallops like a wild horse.

[Hello]

A light greeting.

As expected, no response.

Probably plugged the mic into the wrong port or didn’t connect it at all.

Or maybe they messed up the OBS Studio settings.

Having seen countless hakos, this level of fumbling is nothing, so I type again.

[Can’t hear anything.]

[Oh, really?]

Yup, knew it.

Thrilled, I ask about their mic and streaming software.

They reply quickly, showing some computer knowledge.

“UFO Pro X… fancy stuff. Wait, they’ve got an external sound card, too?”

Impressed by the rare splurge for a hako streamer, I guide them through mic settings step by step.

They learn fast, asking for the next step right after I explain one.

Teaching a quick learner is so satisfying.

Excited, I share more tips, and soon, I hear the hako streamer’s voice for the first time.

<“Hello, can you hear me now?”>

A whisper, as if worried their voice is too loud.

Maybe it’s the high-end mic, but the clear voice, mixed with shallow breaths, carries an allure that makes my jaw drop and a strange magnetism that pulls you in.

Shocked by the chills running down my spine, I rip off my earphones.

My ears felt like they were melting.

That sweet, licking whisper, just one sentence, was so captivating I almost got lost in it.

A voice that could dominate streams single-handedly—a monster.

Rubbing my goosebump-covered arms, I let out a long sigh.

Calm down.

Get a grip.

I’ve only heard their voice.

I don’t know their content or streaming style—getting hooked now is dangerous.

Five years of chasing promising hakos can’t crumble like this.

Calming my newly racing heart, I put my earphones back on and type.

[Voice is insane ;;]

<“Heh heh heh, thanks.”>

“Whoa!!”

What kind of voice is this?

Just one laugh, and my hand moves on its own, hitting the follow button.

Five years of hako-hopping kept me from going further, but if it wasn’t me…

“How much! How much to hear that laugh again?! I’ll pay anything!!”

That’s what I’d be like.

No, maybe that’s a stretch.

“Oh, wait, I don’t even know the streamer’s name.”

Scrolling down, I spot the username.

“Jutan-dongja…?”

<“Heh heh~ Hmph—”>

I raise an eyebrow at the neither-cute-nor-pretty name.

“Dongja” sounds like a Chinese character—what does it mean?

I move the stream to my side monitor and Google “Jutan-dongja.”

“One of Japan’s three great demons…”

No way they picked it for that meaning.

They’re not some edgy teen.

[Why’d you choose Jutan-dongja as your username?]

<“Well… no deep meaning, just thought ‘drinking kid’ fits me. I look kinda young, so I went with it.”>

[Is the dialect a gimmick?]

<“Heh, if it was a gimmick, it wouldn’t come out this naturally. I’m a Gyeongsang-do native through and through.”>

The sultry voice mixed with the unique dialect grabs me by the ankles, stopping me from moving on to other hakos.

I lose track of time, chatting about trivial things with Jutan-dongja.

…It’s a mouthful, so I’ll call them Shuten-douji from now on.

[Random thought, but Jutan-dongja is hard to say. How about using the Japanese pronunciation, Shuten-douji?]

<“Hm, is Jutan-dongja that hard to say?”>

[Not hard, but it feels like a four-character idiom, kinda awkward.]

<“Alright then, I’ll switch to Shuten-douji. Doesn’t change the meaning, so why not?”>

[Exactly.]

Seeing the streamer’s username change to Shuten-douji, I nod in satisfaction.

My neck feels stiff, so I stretch it out.

What time is it?

Glancing at my phone, I freeze.

Over three hours have passed.

I check again, stunned.

4:37 PM

Three hours and thirty minutes.
I’ve been glued to a hako stream without even a set username for three and a half hours?

“A siren. A total siren.”

<“Oh, look at me. Said I’d drink, but I forgot to grab the alcohol.”>

They haven’t even started their content.

Hearing rustling, I chuckle and ask if there’s anything else they’re curious about.

Umm—Shuten-douji (almost lost it again) asks if the cam is showing.

“Turning on a cam for your first stream? Maybe it’s because it’s a drinking stream…”

Feels a bit early, but if they’re asking, what can I do?

Nodding, I guide them through camera settings.

Unlike the mic setup, something’s not working—groans keep slipping out.

Well, the mic setup was similar.

<“Ugh—oh, I think it’s working now.”>

Pop—the cam turns on in the bottom left of the screen.

“Oh.”

<“Heh heh, all set now.”>

A satisfied smile curls their lips, revealing sharp canines.

Softly curved eyes frame mystical purple pupils peeking through slightly open lids.

Dark purple hair gleams faintly under the monitor’s light.

Pale, jade-like skin stands out against the dark room.

<“Oh, my face isn’t supposed to show.”>

Right, they didn’t plan to show their face.

As the thought hits, whoosh—the camera tilts down, showing a neatly organized desk.

Five years of ditching big-name streams for hako-hunting…

Past me, you did good.

Etching the streamer’s startled face into my memory, I nod in satisfaction.

No, I should capture it in a replay.

A treasure like this can’t be tossed aside.