Master Swordsman’s Stream - Chapter 33

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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 33

Bus Stop.
Lee Geon-yeong, his face hidden beneath a reversed hood, stared intently at his phone screen.
A blue bus approached the stop.
He pulled up the directions he’d searched online to double-check.
‘Is it this number?’
He boarded the bus in a state of uncertainty.
It had been years since he’d taken public transportation.
Beep.
[Fare: 1,200 won]
The bus fare was deducted.
‘It used to be 720 won back then….’
At that moment, Lee Geon-yeong felt the reality of how many years had passed since he’d become an adult.
It had been two years since he’d turned eighteen, but having lived only in his room, he’d never truly grasped it.
‘It’s quiet.’
He took a seat in an empty spot and pulled out his earbuds, fitting them into both ears.
Then he opened iTube and scrolled through his watch history.

[What Even Is Pairing? – The Assassin’s Dawn (Urban Shadows) #1]

Having watched Seo Jun’s entire stream from the beginning, Lee Geon-yeong found the title amusing.
A video edited by someone other than him—a streamer named Seo Jun’s broadcast.
It was footage he’d watched repeatedly while doing additional editing work to send to Seo Jun the day before, and he played it once more while heading to meet him.
From the start, rapid-tempo violin music accompanied a scene of Seo Jun climbing a wall and scaling a clock tower.
‘This was edited really well too.’
A specialized intro for The Assassin’s Dawn created by the other editor.
It was incorporated into the footage he’d worked on as well.
The screen showing Alteon’s night cityscape transitioned rapidly.
It resembled a hero film studio’s opening.
Clips of Seo Jun playing the game so far flashed by in quick succession until a single logo appeared.

[Seo Jun ITube.]

The polished intro instantly elevated the video’s immersion.
‘They said he was experienced… so I’ll be working with him, then.’
Next, Seo Jun displayed the typical behavior of someone playing a game for the first time, and amused comments flooded in from viewers.
Then the usernames of players appeared.
White Horse Bullet Dodger and Big Defense, and his own username.
Brick Extortion King.
‘Ugh. Embarrassing.’
He paused the video abruptly.
Online, that nickname was something he’d been proud of (?).
But knowing that the people he was about to meet recognized his identity made him ashamed.
And he felt pathetic about it too.
‘But man, it really is well-made. I’m jealous.’
The comments were favorable.
When he arrived at his destination, he paused the video and got off the bus.
“I have plenty of time.”
They had agreed to meet at a café.
As Lee Geon-yeong headed toward the meeting place, he thought to himself.
‘This is the first time I’ve done a contract like this, so what do I do? And the other editor is so skilled… do I even have any use?’
Anxiety crept back in.
He’d grown too comfortable in his safe zone.
‘If I let these thoughts consume me here and stop moving forward, then I’ll never go anywhere.’
Lee Geon-yeong opened the café door.
Then he sent a message to the group chat that he’d arrived.
A woman sitting by the window began looking around.
Upon spotting him by the entrance, she waved her hand.
“Hello.”
Lee Geon-yeong started to respond but found himself at a loss for words.
It had been far too long since he’d talked to anyone besides family.
“Yes…. Ahem.”
“I’m Han Ji-min. Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, hello. I’m Lee Geon-yeong.”
His voice grew progressively quieter, like a decrescendo.
But not long after, the atmosphere reversed.
“Seriously? That happened?”
“That’s what I’m saying. A total piece of trash, right? Gets successful and shows his true colors. Do you know how much I suffered building that channel? The revenue was so low I had to work part-time alongside it, scraping by however I could, and I barely managed to grow it.”
Han Ji-min vented her frustrations, and Lee Geon-yeong chimed in sympathetically.
Once they actually met, Lee Geon-yeong realized that conversing with someone wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared—much like before.
“So my point is this: don’t volunteer to be a slave. Got it?”
“You’re absolutely right.”
Lee Geon-yeong was twenty-one while Han Ji-min was twenty-six—quite a gap—but the two seemed well-matched.
To Lee Geon-yeong, Han Ji-min, having started work earlier with accomplishments to show for it, seemed mature beyond the age difference.
“If they try to force passion pay by using profit distribution as an excuse, just refuse.”
“But….”
Lee Geon-yeong wanted to work alongside Seo Jun, who had been the first to acknowledge him.
“The second video that went up today—you edited that, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you check the reception?”
“No. People watching it kind of scares me.”
“You seem to have real talent. You could make it work anywhere else.”
Mm-hmm.
Han Ji-min nodded.
“And a new streamer is probably going to beat you down rather than properly support two editors. His streaming seems successful, but it might not last long. The channel isn’t making money yet anyway, so there’s no way he’d invest in editors. Don’t get your hopes too high.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To punish him if he tries to exploit us like others do.”
Lee Geon-yeong found the fiery glint in Han Ji-min’s eyes unsettling and looked away.
It seemed she had accumulated quite a bit from her previous employer.
“Well….”
Seo Jun would probably be good at fighting in real life too.
Lee Geon-yeong swallowed the rest of what he was going to say.
And at that moment, both their phones lit up simultaneously.
Ding.
A message from Seo Jun saying he’d be there soon.

* * *

“Boss, are you sure? This might actually be a huge loss for you.”
Han Ji-min asked the same question for the fifth time.
“It’s fine.”
Seo Jun gave the same answer for the fifth time.
“Really?”
“Yes. We even have a contract, right?”
“Boss! I’ll trust you and follow you forever! Absolute loyalty!”
Lee Geon-yeong watched from the side as Han Ji-min signed the contract with unbridled excitement, utterly dumbfounded.
“No, wait….”
The terms Seo Jun had proposed to them were straightforward.
The two editors would manage the entire channel.
Base salary at minimum wage, but twenty-five percent of channel revenue as incentive.
Unless there was cause for breach, the contract would continue—terms that appeared disadvantageous to Seo Jun on the surface.
Lee Geon-yeong poked Han Ji-min’s arm, his eyes asking for explanation.
Han Ji-min’s voice grew excited as she explained.
She seemed thrilled.
“He’s a god!”
Why was she calling him that now?
He was older than her and female anyway.
“That aside….”
“Extortion King. What’s got you curious?”
Seo Jun, observing all this, spoke up.
“Um, sir, or rather boss. My name is Lee Geon-yeong, not…”
“And your ID is Brick Extortion King.”
Seo Jun flashed an annoying smile.
It was that expression he made during streams when he was deceiving viewers or playing pranks on them.
Noticing that Lee Geon-yeong kept eyeing him nervously whenever his nickname was mentioned, deliberately saying it loudly made Lee Geon-yeong want to hit him.
“Anyway. Even someone like me who doesn’t know much about this can tell that you didn’t need to share profits, Seo Jun.”
This was the part Han Ji-min had explained to Seo Jun several times.
That he could probably find editors without sharing revenue.
And Lee Geon-yeong would have accepted even without the incentive.
“Well. As long as the Extortion King works hard, it’s not a loss for me.”
Seo Jun had his own calculations.
After all, iTube is just one of a streamer’s income sources.
Then wouldn’t it be better to leave it entirely to editors and focus on streaming rather than spending energy trying to manage a channel he didn’t fully understand?
Actually, Alpaca was a success story using this exact method.
Which was also why people joined MCNs despite having to share iTube revenue.
“Let’s see, the boss already has over ten thousand views! I spent months struggling just to break through the ten-thousand barrier!”
Han Ji-min was hinting from the side for Lee Geon-yeong to sign right away.
Lee Geon-yeong eventually let out a hollow laugh and signed the contract.
“Let’s go celebrate with a meal right away, Boss! I have some money I squeezed out of that scumbag one last time. My treat today!”
It was the first time Lee Geon-yeong had ever drunk alcohol, and he got completely drunk that night.

* * *

“What? You’re saying I’m an arrogant madman? Then you’re just plain mad. Hahaha!”
A handsome man who would be treated like a nobleman if he walked down the street in ordinary clothes laughed heartily.
In a battlefield drenched in blood and gore.
A bizarre scene unfolded.
Two young-looking men and dozens of enemies surrounding them.
At first glance it seemed like an ordinary battlefield, but the peculiarity lay in the fact that the many surrounding them hesitated to step forward, instead watching nervously and maintaining tension.
However, those who knew the identities of these two men would find this entirely natural.
“Shut up and clear the way.”
The back of the person who spoke that way bore the character for Righteousness (正).
And the laughing “madman”—rather, handsome man—had the character for Heaven (天) inscribed on his back.
Their identities: the Young Lord of the Demonic Sect and a renowned late-stage master of the Orthodox Sect, the two greatest powers in the martial world.
They had formed a temporary alliance in a moment of crisis.
The memory faded to black again.
And like a lantern show of past lives, that man’s face flickered before him.
That gaze, always full of arrogance and certainty, looked upon him.

“That annoying face never ages, does it.”

“If you hadn’t existed in the Orthodox Sect, cooperation in a situation like this would have been impossible.”

“Madman. Are you the Orthodox Sect?”

“We resemble each other too much.”

“Didn’t you forget that I’m ten years your senior? Have some respect.”

“My old friend….”

* * *

Seo Jun woke from his sleep.
“Ah. Just a bad dream….”
He pressed his forehead without lifting his head from the pillow.
His head throbbed.
Vivid fragments of his past life played like rumination, and he grimaced.
“Of all dreams to have. That one, of all things. Tsk.”
Seo Jun clicked his tongue.
His sleep had been restless.
Not merely restless—it had been quite violent.
“Should I just skip streaming today?”
Seo Jun had taken the previous day off.
Not that he intended to tease viewers desperate to see the quest’s conclusion.
Definitely not.
He’d simply had to take the day off to meet the new editors.
There was absolutely no other reason.
Absolutely none.

[Of all times to take a break. Seriously ridiculous]
[Turn on the stream please.]
[Open the door, boss I’m freezing…]
[From now on I swear I’ll never nitpick no matter what you do! So please come back…]

Well, maybe there was a little bit.
Seo Jun smiled, closed the community, and opened the chat room.

[Brick Extortion King: Day 4 streaming time 1 hour 23 minutes, please verify 27 min 34 sec.]
[Han Ji-min: Roger!]
.
.
.

There were many other messages besides these.
Mostly Lee Geon-yeong asking Han Ji-min about various editing techniques, though interestingly, the questions about Seo Jun’s broadcast material came from Han Ji-min to Lee Geon-yeong.
They’re overflowing with passion.
Seo Jun stretched and got up from bed, then went to wash up.
The time was eight o’clock.
“Too late for a morning workout.”
Ding-ding-ding-ding.
While eating a quick bowl of cereal for breakfast, the front door opened.
It was Kim Tae-u, back from an early morning workout.
Tae-u had followed Seo Jun around since high school, though now that they were adults, he only came when he felt like it.
“Hey, you crazy bastard.”
Why was he like this so early in the morning?
“Did you know Lee Dong-su is a Freefall player?”
Freefall?
He’d heard that name before somewhere.
“Is that Shin Ha-yeon’s team?”
“Yeah.”
A team that had maintained a dynasty from the PC era through to the current Capsule age.
“Really? Your movements seemed quite skilled for some reason.”
“Because of how you tortured that player in sparring.”
It wasn’t torture—it was instruction.
“He got close with Shin Ha-yeon while you two talked behind her back. They even had warm soup together.”
Seo Jun thought about it.
Why were friends always like this?
“Oh! And this is a team secret, but apparently Shin Ha-yeon didn’t play any other games for a week—just did Combat Arena—and she eventually beat you.”
“Huh?”
Seo Jun’s AI, naturally, didn’t possess his own skill level, and if Seo Jun fought it again, he could win easily, but it was above Shin Ha-yeon’s level.
The fact that she couldn’t beat it for a week was significant.
But in the end, Shin Ha-yeon had defeated the AI.
‘Hmm, so we have some karmic connection after all.’
Which meant she had transcended her limits and grown.
As a senior in martial arts to a junior who showed such growth, it was gratifying.
So then.
‘As a senior. I should help her out. Hm-hm.’
Seo Jun finished his meal and stood up.
“What are you doing? Why are you getting in the Capsule?”
“Ah. Just going to work out a bit.”
Seo Jun spent quite some time in the Capsule afterward.
It was far more than just a light workout.
Tae-u, for some reason uneasy, opened his phone and went to a Combat Arena-related site.
And he genuinely gasped in admiration.
“Is he insane? What is he thinking?”
The name “Seo Jun” appeared on the Combat Arena rankings.

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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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