Master Swordsman’s Stream - Chapter 27
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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 27
Typically, when game companies select streamers to advertise their products, the standard metric is AiTube views.
The reason is simple: the gap in audience size between Travel and AiTube viewers is substantial.
A streamer with 5,000 live viewers but a million tube views, versus a streamer with 10,000 live viewers but only 100,000 tube views.
Which one was better for promotion was obvious at a glance.
Of course, there were exceptions.
If the viewer base showed strong loyalty, had high follower counts, watched Travel reruns frequently, and demonstrated strong purchasing power, you could command higher rates even with lower AiTube subscriber counts.
Of course.
‘Neither of those applies to me.’
AiTube subscribers?
I don’t even have a channel yet.
I don’t even have an account.
My viewer base is what—three days old?
‘I think I heard they do a major advertising push when launching new titles.’
That doesn’t apply to me either.
“So, what do you think, Seo Jun? Will you accept our offer?”
“Thank you for the generous proposal. To be honest, I’d like to sign immediately, but…….”
“……But?”
“It’s a bit bewildering, and I’m curious about something. Why are you offering me such favorable terms?”
Ten million won.
Not much.
By major industry standards, anyway.
For where I am now, even a million would be a good deal.
I should be grateful just to get advertisement work at all.
“Ha. You’re quite cautious, aren’t you?”
“Just curious, that’s all.”
Is there such a thing as kindness without a price?
Seo Jun was smiling easily, but he was already prepared to back out of the contract if necessary.
Though he’d keep the cooperation going.
And while Kim Yun Chan might have missed it, Eve Paimon seemed to have caught that look.
“Hmm, I suppose I need to convince you properly.”
Eve Paimon laughed good-naturedly.
The faint lines around his blue eyes crinkled pleasantly.
“Simply put, it’s an investment. Both Kim Yun Chan and I haven’t missed a single one of your streams.”
Kim Yun Chan nodded from beside him.
“We’ve assessed that you’re going to experience tremendous growth. So the company wanted to build that relationship in advance. Honestly, the teaser video can afford to be a bit late. And by the time we run the beta test, we expect you’ll have grown significantly. In short, it’s a win-win.”
Honest.
Now I understand.
So this is buttering me up.
Making a good impression first.
And it’s a gift, too.
“Yes, truly, we’re the only ones. The other companies don’t know about this yet.”
Kim Yun Chan spoke up from beside him.
“I’m the president—so what if I do?”
Eve Paimon grinned with easy confidence.
And Seo Jun was taken aback.
He was the president?
Kim Yun Chan reached over and slid the contract toward Seo Jun, beginning to explain the various clauses.
Everything matched what they’d said.
As the explanation drew to a close, Eve Paimon spoke to Seo Jun.
“Seo Jun, you can do the advertisement for Twilight of Assassins, but would you mind if I recommended another game?”
“What game?”
“For the Harmony.”
For the Harmony.
It was a martial arts-style action game created by Movie Soft, set on a fictional continent with its own storyline.
“With your skill, I’m certain you’d showcase some incredible plays there. I’d like to see that.”
Eve Paimon had already shifted his priority from promoting the company’s game to watching Seo Jun’s gameplay.
“I’ll think about it seriously. But President, which country are you from?”
“Ah, I’m from France.”
“Is that so? Your Korean is excellent.”
“I had some study-abroad experience in South Korea for a time.”
“I see. Is directness a virtue of the French?”
“No. I simply thought it would be better to be straightforward with you.”
He really is honest.
True to his role as president—he reads people well.
Seo Jun smiled, gathered up the contract, and stood.
“Thank you.”
“We’re the ones who should be grateful.”
“But what if, within a week, someone other than me collects all the Order Fragments?”
Seo Jun suddenly thought of Lee Dong Su.
“Hmm. I don’t think it’ll be easy, but there is one user I think might be capable. Fortunately, since they don’t stream, I was planning to ask them to keep it private.”
Neither of them realized they were talking about the same person.
And they didn’t know that now that Seo Jun was cooperating, there was no longer any need to ask Lee Dong Su for a favor.
Lee Dong Su was only playing Twilight of Assassins because of Seo Jun, after all.
“I see. Well then, I look forward to working with you going forward.”
Eve Paimon shook Seo Jun’s hand with a grin.
“We’ll be eagerly anticipating the synergy between Movie Soft and you.”
* * *
As requested, instead of hunting the Ruler, Seo Jun began to simply enjoy the game, engaging in various activities throughout Twilight of Assassins.
He still ignored missions and quests, doing whatever he pleased—that hadn’t changed.
When several streamers noticed that Seo Jun showed no signs of going after the Ruler, certain thoughts began to take shape.
What if I’m the first to uncover information about the Order Fragments? That’d be huge, wouldn’t it?
As that notion spread, a subtle trend emerged: more streamers attempting to challenge the Ruler.
And Han Ji Min’s employer—an AiTube video editor—had the same idea.
The problem was.
“What a bitch.”
Han Ji Min let out a sigh so heavy it seemed the chair might collapse beneath her as she sank deeper into it.
[Edit this to feel more like that streamer’s style.][1]
[I edited it, so check it.][1]
[Hey.][1]
[Look at this.][1]
Two days have passed, and she hasn’t even read the messages.
It’s been like this for a month.
She pressed her right eye hard with her palm.
“Sigh. They say money is worth more than blood, tears, family, or friends.”
Han Ji Min felt like tearing apart the friend and employer she’d once dreamed of a future with.
“I should’ve known when she kept nitpicking stupid details.”
A year and a half ago, Han Ji Min was just learning video editing.
By chance, she discovered a streamer called Hakko, enjoyed watching her broadcasts, and during one stream heard the streamer mention she couldn’t edit alone and wasn’t doing well on AiTube.
Han Ji Min sent her some sample work with the intent to grow together, and from that point on, their partnership began.
Hakko Streamer couldn’t offer Han Ji Min a stable salary, so instead she proposed: when times are lean, we’ll both be lean; when we profit, we’ll both profit—let’s split the AiTube revenue fifty-fifty.
“And I didn’t just agree verbally back then.”
What’s the point of regretting it now?
For the first six months, Han Ji Min had thrown herself into editing with desperate intensity despite the hardship.
The channel had only 217 subscribers at the time.
There was no way to make money.
Yet Han Ji Min and the streamer had pressed forward together, weathering the difficult period as one.
Han Ji Min went without sleep, cranking out one video per day, building up the AiTube channel.
As Han Ji Min’s editing skills improved, the channel gradually began to catch on with the algorithm, and after about six months, they hit 30,000 subscribers and started generating revenue.
“Those were good times.”
With breathing room in her life, Han Ji Min coasted comfortably for eight more months.
The channel was now approaching 100,000 subscribers.
The live streams, too, saw more viewers thanks to the AiTube presence.
As income grew, they hired another editor—and that’s when problems erupted.
“People are so petty.”
Han Ji Min stared at the monitor on her desk.
There was a streamer whose videos she’d watched obsessively for nearly a year and a half.
A month ago, she’d had a fight with the employer she’d believed was her friend.
The reason: Han Ji Min, for an editor, was taking too much of the profits.
Even though she was the one who’d essentially built the channel.
“Right. Managing a channel is so easy, huh?”
She closed the editing software.
It was time to end this relationship.
She wouldn’t even send this month’s revenue share.
Her mouth tasted bitter.
“What? You want me to edit this to feel like that streamer’s style? You know my skills aren’t there yet, you bastard.”
She’d believed they were friends.
They’d weathered hardship together, grown closer than anyone else should.
She never thought she’d be betrayed like this.
The betrayal made her shake with anger and she wanted to cry.
“What do I even have left?”
A nest egg saved up because she’d been too busy with editing work to spend money.
And editing skills?
Her vision blurred.
A year and a half felt like it had been completely negated.
Still, she couldn’t stop working.
For the first time in ages, she logged into a freelance editing job site.
And she found one posting.
“…….”
Ironically, it was the streamer she’d seen in videos sent to her by her former employer.
A person whose skill couldn’t be compared to anyone else’s.
That person was looking for a freelancer to edit a few videos right away.
And if things went well after a discussion, they were also considering a full-time editor position.
“You want to split revenue too? Fine. Let’s see if you’ll actually write up a contract. If you’re planning to just work me to the bone without signing anything, you’d better think again.”
Han Ji Min sent an email to Seo Jun first.
* * *
-So you’re hunting the Ruler tomorrow? Finally lol lol lol lol lol lol lol
-The real deal is coming.
-Seeing other streamers fail and realizing the room master is totally on another level
-Finally ㅠㅠㅠ
-Honestly with that skill level, doing pickpocketing or minigames is crossing a line.
-Real talk, if you’re that good, give me some skill
“Yeah everyone, see you tomorrow.”
-Damn!
-See you on stream!
-Later!
Click.
Seo Jun ended the stream and stepped out of the Capsule.
After showering, he sat down at his computer and checked his email.
[Teaser video is complete.]
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[Mr. Seo Jun, as a fan, I have to say if you only stream Twilight of Assassins your broadcast will die, so here’s my advice…]
[Report: User mijhvn0216 used foul language.]
The first email was from Movie Soft, saying the teaser video was done so now he could do whatever he wanted.
The rest were mostly advertisements and viewers giving unsolicited commentary on his stream.
There was no email from an editor.
“Tch.”
After he’d put out the public call for editors, a few videos had been submitted on the first and second days.
But none of them had impressed him.
No matter how much he appreciated them as fans, he couldn’t hire an editor without sufficient skill.
“Well, at least I’ve secured two videos to upload to AiTube.”
One was a collab video with Alpaca, edited by Alpaca’s editor Lee Su Han, and the other was the first broadcast edit commissioned from the freelance job site.
Seo Jun played the video he’d received from the editor named Han Ji Min.
His impression was.
“Clean, no unnecessary fluff. Are they experienced?”
A voice came from behind Seo Jun.
“Yeah.”
Seo Jun answered, already aware from the footsteps that Tae Woo had arrived.
“You gonna sign a full contract with them?”
“Hmm…….”
Seo Jun wanted to entrust the entire channel to an editor.
He judged it would be more efficient that way.
And through Lee Su Han, he’d learned that it was much better if the editor was a fan who watched all the broadcasts.
“We’re still talking. For now I’ve given them a few pieces, and the quality is definitely solid.”
“Yeah? If you can lock them down, definitely do it.”
If he couldn’t find an editor,
he was thinking about joining an MCN.
“Yeah, let’s wait a bit longer. But they might accept, so we’ll see.”
The two of them stared silently at the monitor for a moment.
“That’s true. Or search directly yourself. Scout one of the people who’ve posted fan edits.”
Tae Woo said this, then patted the back of Seo Jun’s chair before heading to his room.
It was typical of Tae Woo to check in on how Seo Jun was doing every time his stream ended.
Seo Jun followed Tae Woo’s advice and opened AiTube.
And he started searching.
“What should I search for?”
Unknown.
Unmatched.
Ruler.
Streamer fan video.
And so on.
But no matter what he searched, nothing came up.
Seo Jun gave up and instead searched for editor application videos to see what others were submitting.
Then he spotted a familiar AiTube username.
[PublicBathroomBrickExtortionKing]
A viewer he’d been watching regularly, but who’d never responded to manager requests.
Seo Jun examined that video.
157 views and a title that just said “.”
The video description read “Streamer Seo Jun Editor Application Video,” which caught his attention.
“Why is this public? And……, I don’t think I saw this in the mail.”
Seo Jun went back and checked his inbox and spam folder again.
He wondered if he’d accidentally deleted it.
After checking, he confirmed he hadn’t missed anything.
‘Let me just watch it.’
Some time later.
After viewing the video, Seo Jun rested his chin on his hand, lost in thought.
“This is actually really good. Why didn’t they send an email?”
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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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