The Fate-Seeing Genius Streamer - Chapter 1

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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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0. Prologue
“I’m resigning.”
Inside the cramped President’s Office at the Company, Joo Seo-jin spoke with measured calm. The rotund president’s face twisted in displeasure as he glared at Joo Seo-jin.
“What? Joo Seo-jin. You bastard, what did you just say? What? Say it again.”
“Yes. I’m happy to repeat myself. I said I’m resigning.”
Joo Seo-jin—a tall man with a weary, decadent air about him—continued speaking in a flat, emotionless voice.
“I’ve organized all my work into documents to ensure there’s no disruption to the Company.”
Joo Seo-jin’s eyes, shadowed with dark circles, flicked lightly toward the rotund president, Kim Bong-hyuk.
In that instant, Kim Bong-hyuk, who had been struggling to maintain his fierce expression, flinched and recoiled, his upper body jerking backward.
But it was only momentary. Soon enough, Kim Bong-hyuk’s face flushed crimson, and he ground his teeth, his fury erupting in a roar.
His pig-like jowls quivered with rage.
“Ha! You’re spouting nonsense. There won’t be any disruption to the Company—right? Oh, how wonderful! Hey, is that what a sales representative should be saying out of nowhere? When has something like this ever happened?”
“…I’ve documented everything regarding our clients and all ongoing contracts without exception. Please don’t worry.”
“You. Tell me honestly. You’ve been handling client relations solo all this time, so you must’ve built up some know-how by now—you’re trying to poach our clients, aren’t you? Aren’t you!”
“No.”
Joo Seo-jin narrowed his eyes, his voice turning glacial.
“If I intended to steal the Company’s clients and start my own business, I would have done it long ago. It wouldn’t be worth the effort.”
“What?”
“You know as well as I do. In the five years since I joined this Company, I’ve spent four of them handling client relations and sales entirely on my own. Yet you’ve frozen my salary negotiations… and you’ve been dragging your feet on overtime pay.”
“Haa… Listen here, Manager Joo. Thirty-eight million won a year is generous, don’t you understand? Huh? And! The overtime pay is just delayed because the Company’s finances are tight—I told you that! Why don’t you trust me? You shouldn’t treat me like this, you bastard! Be reasonable, be reasonable—!”
“You know perfectly well how many contracts I’ve closed through years of client relations. That’s why you’ve given me what you have.”
“Hey───!!”
“…”
As Joo Seo-jin stood motionless, his eyes devoid of life, Kim Bong-hyuk snorted sharply through his nostrils, venting his rage.
“…Ha! Manager Joo, do I look that easy to you? Listen here, Joo Seo-jin. ‘You, do I───'”
“‘—do I need to teach you how small this industry is? Huh? Once word gets around in this business, you’ll have nowhere to go, you bastard!’ …That’s what you wanted to say, isn’t it?”
“…What?”
“I’ve already heard it, so there’s no need to say it again.”
As Joo Seo-jin narrowed his eyes and his expression turned frigid, Kim Bong-hyuk’s face went rigid.
Because the words Joo Seo-jin had just mimicked were exactly—word for word—what Kim Bong-hyuk had been about to say.
Moreover, he’d imitated Kim Bong-hyuk’s voice with an eerie, uncanny precision. As if possessed by a ghost. It was chilling.
As Kim Bong-hyuk’s face drained of color, seized by an inexplicable chill, Joo Seo-jin continued.
“—’Manager Joo, do you know how much I suffered raising you?’ or ‘—Manager Joo, I’m giving you one last chance. Think about it. Don’t leave and struggle out there.’ That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
“You, you, you…”
“Pointless words. I don’t understand why you’d say them, and I’d rather not hear them again. I’ve already calculated my severance and all the overtime pay owed to me. Please deposit it by the agreed date.”
“…”
Swiftly.
Joo Seo-jin gave a slight bow as a gesture of courtesy, then turned and headed toward the door of the President’s Office.
And just as Joo Seo-jin’s hand grasped the door handle, as if he’d forgotten something, he let out an “ah” and turned his head back.
A chill ran through Kim Bong-hyuk as he met Joo Seo-jin’s dark pupils, and he instinctively averted his gaze. Seeing this, Joo Seo-jin opened his mouth and offered some advice.
“Hmm. Now that I think about it, there’s something that concerns me, so I felt I should mention it… Even if they’re a friend, it’s best not to trust too blindly.”
“…What?”
“Even good friends can become problematic once money gets involved. It’s unfortunate that you’re hearing such unpleasant news on a rainy day like this.”
“…What-”
“Well then, I’ll be taking my leave.”
With that, Joo Seo-jin turned the handle of the President’s Office door with a soft creak and walked out into the office.
Click.
…Leaving behind only cryptic words.
* * *
Two weeks later.
At the Family Home, I sat before my desk after returning home for the first time in a while, pouring coffee into a mug and gazing out the window.
Whoooosh—!
A torrential downpour. It was a day when fierce rain and wind swept across the nation. I had already received my severance pay and all the accumulated overtime compensation long ago.
Buzz— Buzz— Buzz—
Yet my smartphone wouldn’t stop vibrating, and messages kept coming from Kim Bong-hyuk, who was now nothing more than a stranger to me. The emotion behind them was so palpable it seemed to pierce through the device itself.
━[President Kim Bong-hyuk] : Deputy Manager Joo. Or rather, Joo Seo-jin. I’m truly sorry, but would you consider coming back to the Company? All our clients are saying they won’t renew their contracts once the current terms expire.
━[President Kim Bong-hyuk] : That friend I was supposed to collaborate with in business… no, that bastard… is actually trying to poach all our clients and take them with better terms. I’d really like to meet and discuss the details, Joo Seo-jin.
━[President Kim Bong-hyuk] : You were upset about the salary negotiation being frozen, weren’t you? That’s it, right? Huh? I’ll raise it to 45 million won annually. Don’t you want to give it another shot? You really were excellent at your work, Joo Seo-jin. Please think about it. I’m begging you.
….
….
….
I blew gently across the hot coffee to cool it, then took a sip before manipulating my smartphone.
[Block Caller]
I had already quit. I’d received my severance pay and all the back overtime compensation. We were strangers now—there was no reason to stay in contact.
Besides, the Company wasn’t so small that a mere 28-year-old could become a deputy manager. It was a textbook example of what people called a small enterprise.
It was better not to concern myself with it any further.
Buzz—
Just as I was about to touch my smartphone screen and block his contact, one final message appeared, as if it were truly the last.
━[President Kim Bong-hyuk] : And… last time, when you told me to be careful with my friend, why did you say that? How did you know? Are you perhaps acquainted with some kind of shaman with supernatural powers? Huh?
Click.
I ignored it.
I blocked Kim Bong-hyuk’s contact and placed my smartphone face-down on the desk with a soft tap.
Then I picked up the mug again, took another sip of coffee, and frowned with my eyes heavy with dark circles.
Drip.
Blood trickled from my nose. Warm blood. I was accustomed to it—I pulled out a tissue and wiped away the nosebleed, then clicked my tongue.
“Tsk. This is why you shouldn’t speak carelessly about such things. I got irritated and said something unnecessary.”
Kim Bong-hyuk, that pot-bellied president, had asked if I knew some shaman with supernatural powers… but strictly speaking, it was different.
‘Originally, if you carelessly reveal someone’s fate, it brings great misfortune.’
…After all, even a shaman born with spiritual sight couldn’t do what I could—see fate as it truly is and alter it.
* * *
━Seo-jin, you’re not destined to become a shaman. You weren’t born with divine power—rather, you were born with something that the living should never possess: ‘special eyes.’ If you were to receive a divine calling, the spirits themselves would covet those eyes of yours, devouring them whole.
It was something I heard repeatedly from my Maternal Grandfather in childhood, back when he was still active as a mudang.
Unlike being born with eyes that perceive fate, becoming a shaman without divine power was impossible.
Rather, because I was born with ‘eyes’ that even shamans who had received divine callings could never possess, he said that even the spirits would drool with desire for them.
━Seo-jin, there will come things you shouldn’t be able to see, yet you will see them. You must never use that ability, nor speak of it carelessly to others. Don’t take your grandfather’s words lightly, do you understand? Your very life could be in danger. You must remember this always.
My Maternal Grandfather’s warning stemmed from knowing that the ability I was born with—’eyes that perceive fate’—was something the living should never wield. I could never forget what he told me that day.
‘Perceiving fate means… paying a price no matter what. I understand why he spoke that way.’
There was no way around it. From elementary school onward, even now as a working adult, I had paid the price for reading fate, whether great or small.
Whether expressed as fate, heavenly secrets, or by other names, the result was that I resembled a seer capable of divining the future.
Ranging from months ahead to mere seconds, I was born with the ability to perceive what would happen—or what might happen—and to change it.
However, whenever I read fate and altered it, there was always a price to pay.
‘Reading fate and changing it, or giving others a heads-up about it—there’s always a cost, whether large or small. That’s probably why he thought I’d suffer. And truthfully, I have.’
Perhaps because I’d paid the price for reading fate countless times as I grew older, I no longer carelessly read fate and then altered it or informed others about it.
I only spoke up when it wouldn’t significantly impact what was to come, and unless it would greatly affect my own life, I stopped changing fate even when I perceived it.
Whether great or small.
The price of reading and altering fate was simply too steep.
At most, just vaguely mentioning to Kim Bong-hyuk, a small-to-medium enterprise president, the crisis that awaited him without making it seem like much, and I’d already suffered a nosebleed.
Even after realizing the company was doomed and resigning, I paid the price for reading and changing fate by spending two weeks bedridden with a high fever, unable to move an inch.
If I were to read fate and significantly alter it, the possibility of death itself couldn’t be ruled out.
‘Anyway. I wish I couldn’t see what’s going to happen… but no matter how hard I try to suppress it, I end up reading fate.’
Reading fate happened regardless of whether I wanted it or not.
Of course, to the extent that I tried not to read fate, it was somewhat suppressed. But it was difficult to resist.
It was unavoidable.
A power that even my Maternal Grandfather, who worked as a mudang and received a divine calling, called ‘something the living cannot possess.’
There was no solution.
Not just in my work life, but even in daily life, I struggled because of these eyes that perceive fate. Perhaps that’s why I’d lived this way my entire life.
A sigh escaped me naturally.
‘If only I’d been born with divine power… I might have become a shaman instead. I wouldn’t have to spend every day suppressing this ability. It’s like a curse.’
A curse. These eyes that perceive fate—this peculiar constitution—could be described no other way. Truly, that was it.
I let out a sigh, then scratched my head vigorously, cutting off the lengthening spiral of my thoughts.
‘No. What’s the point of thinking about it? Nothing changes anyway. Getting depressed won’t help.’
After leaving the company I’d worked at for five years, my heart felt hollow.
Because of these eyes that perceive fate, I’d realized the company was doomed and had to resign… but I had no idea how to move forward.
Thanks to my severance pay and the accumulated night shift bonuses, I wouldn’t struggle financially for a while, but that didn’t mean I could just keep draining my savings indefinitely.
‘Still, I have plenty of time, so I can think about what to do next.’
With that thought, I picked up the mug sitting on my desk again and began sipping my coffee.
Ding, ding—.
That’s when my smartphone chimed with a notification. A message had come in. I wondered who it could be, but it was from an unexpected person.
━[Joo Seo-yoon] : Oppa. Where are you? Are you in your room? What are you doing?
‘Joo Seo-yoon?’
My younger sister. With a five-year age gap between us, she’d always been the family’s cherished youngest, monopolizing everyone’s affection. I tilted my head and replied immediately.
Tap tap tap—
━[Me]: I’m in my room. I’m having coffee right now. The fever’s pretty much gone too… I was thinking of looking into a new job, but what’s up?
━[Joo Seo-yoon]: Oppa, you just quit not long ago, and you’re already looking for a new job? Won’t that wear you down? I’m worried…
━[Me]: Don’t worry. I was just going to do a quick search on where to find a new job. I’m planning to stay home for a while anyway.
━[Joo Seo-yoon]: I see~
━[Me]: ?
A strange response. The moment I tilted my head in confusion, a messenger notification chimed, and a message appeared.
━[Joo Seo-yoon]: Um. So, would you be interested in doing a short-term part-time job? It’s not difficult… I was hoping you could help me out for a bit.
‘Short-term… part-time job?’
Something felt off.
━[Joo Seo-yoon]: Could you help me with a game broadcast I’m doing? It’s important.
Ah—now that I thought about it, I’d heard that Joo Seo-yoon was a streamer who did personal broadcasts. She was probably asking me to help with that… but I wasn’t keen on the idea.
━[Joo Seo-yoon]: Originally, it’s a single-player game, but it supports multiplayer too. The scale is too big to do alone… and I don’t know anyone else. I think it’d be better to do it with you, oppa.
‘Hmm. Even if it’s a personal broadcast, I don’t want to appear in front of strangers. Besides, how much money could she possibly offer? I should just decline—’
━[Joo Seo-yoon]: 1.2 million won. That’s the base payment, and I’ll give you 50% of the broadcast donations and video revenue from that day. Want to do it?
‘?’
I blinked—blink, blink—and without thinking, I started tapping out a reply on my phone.
━[Me]: Then, of course I should do it.
…Capitalism, suddenly laid bare.

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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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