Master Swordsman’s Stream - Chapter 42

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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 42

[Han Ji-min]: Boss, I think you need to take a look at this?

Han Ji-min had sent him a message early in the morning.
“What is it?”
Seo Jun checked the contents Han Ji-min had sent and felt his thoughts grow complicated.
Han Ji-min had captured a screenshot and sent it to Seo Jun—it was a screen from AiTube that analyzed channel viewership.
The first thing that caught the eye was the influx of viewers trending upward, despite the channel not even being a month old.
The growth was so pronounced that you could understand why people said the Algorithm had chosen them.
But.

[Seo Jun]: It’s definitely strange.
[Han Ji-min]: Right? What on earth is it?

Seo Jun studied the problematic image more closely.
In the viewer analysis table at the bottom right, the proportion of foreign viewers among new channel arrivals was unusually high—far too high.
‘Hard to tell if that’s good or bad.’
The AiTube Algorithm is said to be beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.
Even veteran streamers were no exception.
Today too, the unfathomable AiTube Algorithm had guided me to this video.
You didn’t find the video—the video found you.
Nobody searched for this video and clicked on it.
And so on.
These were all catchphrases that showed just how arbitrary the Algorithm was.
Reduced to its simplest terms, it recommended videos that drew people in and kept them watching, but the core principle behind AiTube’s operation wasn’t quite so straightforward.

[Lee Geon-yeong]: Oh, what—I just woke up. Why are there so many foreigners…?
[Han Ji-min]: Well, boss, I think we really need to figure out the cause here.
[Seo Jun]: If the Algorithm’s been changed to recommend mainly foreign viewers, wouldn’t that be a problem?
[Han Ji-min]: Probably. But we’re not the kind of channel that would twist the Algorithm, so there must be another reason.
[Lee Geon-yeong]: Could someone from the viewers have promoted us instead? You said there were a lot of foreign viewers during yesterday’s stream because of the martial arts hall, right?

“Maybe that’s it.”
Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be a serious problem.
If anything, it might be an opportunity.
Seo Jun began to think it through alongside them.
Just because he’d handed over the channel didn’t mean he’d wash his hands of it entirely.

[Han Ji-min]: Community?
[Lee Geon-yeong]: It can’t be a community promotion—the traffic’s way too massive. It’s like when that collab with Alpaca aired.

Ah.
Seo Jun thought he understood the reason.
There was only one place lately that would promote his channel like this.
Seo Jun went to the Movie Soft official account and played the teaser video he’d checked yesterday.
“That’s it.”
Scrolling down to the comment section, there was his video link pinned right in the top comment.
Seo Jun let them know about it.

[Lee Geon-yeong]: No wayyy lol
[Lee Geon-yeong]: Is this what you call class? The official account is really going all out
[Han Ji-min]: Overseas is a huge market for AiTube, so something like this is always good. Should I check on English subtitles?

Both of them seemed excited.
Seo Jun simply chimed in here and there, watching as they managed the channel independently.
They’d probably understand AiTube better than he would.
But then an email came in from Movie Soft.
The contents were a request to rewrite the contract and subtitle files for the AiTube video.
“Huh.”
The amusing part was that Movie Soft had explained the reason for this favor to Seo Jun in detail—and it was entirely based on a misunderstanding.
“Well, that works out.”
Even if unintentional, the result was a win-win.
“They even included the subtitle production company’s contact info… and they’re covering all the costs?”
The amount wasn’t enormous, but it was generous.
They’d also raised the advertising budget by fifty percent, too.
Seo Jun shared the good news with the editors.
After they’d chatted about it for a while, Han Ji-min sent an unexpected message through a private chat.

[Han Ji-min]: Boss, won’t you need a manager as advertisements start coming in?
[Seo Jun]: A manager?

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t given a moment’s thought to hiring a manager.
Until now, the housework Tae-woo took care of—or rather, just the advice he offered—had been enough.
‘I’ll probably need one going forward, though.’
Especially for filtering and negotiating advertisements.

[Han Ji-min]: Yes. I’ve done management work before, and since Lee Geon-yeong is busy producing thumbnails, I wanted to help out however I could.
[Han Ji-min]: You can consider it part of channel management—I’m happy to do it unpaid since I hold a quarter share in your channel anyway! That’s what I mean by ownership!

He was an owner, that much was true.
Though.
Thumbnails?
Ah.
Only now did Seo Jun realize that when he’d handed over full control of AiTube, he hadn’t provided a separate budget for thumbnail production.
Why had Lee Geon-yeong taken on the extra work without saying anything?
Seo Jun told Han Ji-min they’d talk about it next time they met, then called Lee Geon-yeong.

“Brick Extortion King.”
-Yes, hyung.
“About the thumbnails—”
-Oh, hyung!
“Yeah?”

Lee Geon-yeong cut him off urgently.
And spoke with force.

-I’m just going to do the thumbnails for free!
“Why?”
-Well, my skills are still behind Ji-min’s, so I want to contribute in whatever small way I can. Plus, making them is fun.
“I see.”

In that moment, Seo Jun felt he’d really picked the right people.
When people land a good position, some tend to rest on their laurels or cut corners.
But Han Ji-min and Lee Geon-yeong were different.
They went out of their way to do more than they needed to, constantly finding ways to help.
You could feel their genuine desire to work alongside him.
‘I got lucky.’
He’d made a point of seeing their character firsthand before signing them, but still—as the saying goes, you can read ten fathoms of water easier than one fathom of the human heart. Understanding people wasn’t an easy thing.
He’d chosen well.

-And honestly, I’m worried you’ll go bankrupt paying me a salary. Ha ha.
“Don’t worry about that.”
-Just kidding. Anyway, we’re Seo Dongbu, aren’t we!

Seo Dongbu?
What was that now?

“Either way, let me know if you ever need a thumbnail budget. Don’t hesitate.”
-Yes. Goodbye.
“You too, Extortion King.”
-Ah, you really… hyung…

Click.
After hanging up, Seo Jun looked up what Seo Dongbu meant online.
It was a neologism combining a streamer’s name with “Department of Labor”—a term used for people who did work like video editing or thumbnail design.
Combining Seo Jun with Department of Labor made Seo Dongbu, apparently.
“So that’s what it meant…”
Neologisms were hard to follow.
“Well, I should head out then.”
Today was the day of his additional checkup.

* * *

“No matter how many times I see it, that movement never stops being amazing,” said Oh Ji-hye, the director of Surface’s Research Facility, studying the screen.
“It really is impressive.”
Oh Ji-hye glanced at the junior researcher who’d come up beside her.
“I already told you that.”
“Don’t look at me like that. Anyone would have doubted me at first. I mean, who would believe you if you suddenly offered to lend them such expensive equipment for free for some streamer competition?”
Fair point.
Oh Ji-hye nodded.
Then she turned her attention back to the screen.
“But with skills at that level, honestly, if the person has the will, they could make money in Virtual Reality doing just about anything. Right?”
The free rental under the guise of a streaming competition was bait.
The lure to bring him back into this world.
But she hadn’t expected the streamer to fit so well.
“You’re right. I’ve watched a few times myself, and it’s fun. Like a new concept skill broadcast. Director, do you know what that person did in the past? Lee Dong-su was asking about the streamer earlier too. And Shin Ha-yeon had that curious look in her eyes too.”
“Drop it. You can’t look at customer information anyway, and you’re not supposed to share it. Next time you try to act like you know something, I’ll stop being so lenient. You would’ve spilled everything, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m sorry!”
“Just don’t get all excited seeing famous players.”
“Ha ha, well then, I’m off.”
Sensing his superior’s nagging was about to intensify, he hurried out of the lab.
Oh Ji-hye paid him no mind and quickly refocused, manipulating the controls to begin Seo Jun’s next test.

His surroundings had suddenly shifted to a blazing desert, then in a blink he was buried in arctic ice, experiencing intense gravitational acceleration, or being cast into the void of space.
This test of extreme situations was primarily designed to measure physiological responses to stress.
It was mainly people looking to reduce their Virtual Reality Access Restrictions who came here—particularly professional players.
Surface would extend access time for those who passed the test.
Of course, none of this applied to Seo Jun.
‘There’s nothing I can do about that.’
Seo Jun drifted weightlessly in the void, thinking.
Soon the space itself began to collapse inward like a sinking crust, pulling him in.
An enormous pressure crushed down on him.
Whoosh—
Light flashed brilliantly, and the moment the pressure released, Seo Jun found himself standing in a pure white room.

‘That was anticlimactic.’
Seo Jun emerged from the Capsule, opened the door, and crossed into the room where Oh Ji-hye was waiting.
He stood beside Oh Ji-hye and waited calmly while she reviewed the various data.
Oh Ji-hye opened her mouth.
“Fortunately, there’s no change from before. If anything, it looks even better. You really are composed.”
“I’ve been through it once—I’d have to get worse for anything to change.”
“That’s something only you would say. Your other tests all looked fine, so I think checking in once a month should be sufficient going forward.”
“You mentioned the Capsule would automatically block things if something goes wrong and send a message.”
“Yes, but do come anyway.”
Tsk.
“Understood. Thank you.”
“Same date next month—will that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“Great. See you next month then.”
Seo Jun nodded in farewell and left the lab.
He had to get home, but he couldn’t be bothered.
Damn.
‘Should I just skip the stream today…? No, what am I saying.’
Being too lazy to stream was something that past-life memories made hard for him—he was too diligent for that.
If viewers were eagerly anticipating something important, he might consider taking a day off.
Seo Jun smiled and stepped outside the Research Facility.
But someone was waiting for him at the entrance.
“We just saw each other this morning and here we are again. It feels nice seeing you at a place other than the Gym for once.”
It was Lee Dong-su, the pro gamer.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s our team’s regular checkup day.”
Ah.
This was a Research Facility.
Not a customer service center or hospital.
Still, because the best equipment and technicians were located here, pro players came for their regular checkups at this facility.
Naturally, when conducting tests, they’d try to see multiple people in one visit, and since Seo Jun had come on the day Oh Ji-hye called him, overlap wasn’t unusual.
“I heard from the director that you were coming, so I was waiting to grab lunch together. By the way, did you and Ha-yeon happen to have met before? She seemed really happy to see you, and asked me to pass along her regards, so I was wondering…”
“No.”
“Really? That’s strange. She seemed pretty excited about it though.”
“No.”

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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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