Chapter 24: Broadcasting Brings Money (1)

Early morning, just as dawn was breaking.

Many people were starting to stretch their bodies awake, and Choi Byunghoon joined them. However, there was one difference:

“Uuugh… Finally done.”

He stretched to relieve his muscles after working all night.

He had finished uploading the edited video for Bio Crisis’s final chapter, Chapter 5, including its ending sequence.

Despite feeling extremely fatigued, he didn’t head straight to bed. Instead, he moved the cursor to the channel’s ‘Community’ section.

What game should Purple aim to complete “perfectly” next?

Hello! This is the editor and channel manager. Please freely suggest games you’d like Purple to attempt next! Your valuable opinions will be shared with him.

Participants: 3,238

View Results ▽

For Byunghoon, what mattered more than the voting results was the number of participants. Considering the poll was posted during early morning hours, the participation rate was quite high.

At the end of yesterday’s broadcast, there were around 2,300 viewers, with a peak at about 2,900…

The inevitable decline was due to viewers tuning out as the stream had continued late into the night.

Still, more people stuck around till the end than I expected.

A small smile formed on his lips. This, along with the positive community response, indicated an increase in loyal viewers.

A total of 2,600 votes. Once the voting ends, we’ll have a better idea of how many new viewers each game might attract.

That was precisely why he’d set up this poll. Subtracting the number of loyal viewers from each vote count would give him a rough estimate.

I’ll discuss the rest during our meeting with that guy…

Choi Byunghoon messaged his still-sleeping friend and then yawned widely.

“Phew…I’m dead tired.”

He closed his eyes, quickly succumbing to sleep.

Early afternoon, Lee Kyungbok met Choi Byunghoon at their usual café.

“When did you have time to prepare this?”

“Well, it’s not rocket science.”

Kyungbok was looking over the material Choi Byunghoon had compiled. It consisted of graphs and numbers summarizing the results from the Youtube poll.

“Hmm… But isn’t the number of participants lower than expected? We currently have 160,000 subscribers, right?”

The Perfect Play channel had gained thirty thousand more subscribers since their last meeting. This was thanks to the addition of multilingual subtitles as well as uploading all the hidden route stories.

“Even if most of them are foreigners, shouldn’t there be at least ten thousand votes?”

However, only around nine thousand people participated in the poll. Considering they’d posted the notice in Korean, it wasn’t surprising that foreign viewers didn’t participate, but even then, the turnout seemed low.

“Hey, that’s perfectly normal.”

“Normal?”

“Think about it. What our subscribers want is Purple content, not community engagement. Naturally, few bother checking the community section.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Yeah, dude. I was actually surprised there were more votes than I expected.”

“You think this is a lot?”

“Of course. Even Youtubers with over one million subscribers have voter participation rates below 20%. But our channel has less than forty thousand Korean subscribers, yet we’ve reached almost 25% participation.”

Lee Kyungbok nodded at his friend’s explanation.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that. It means many people like us enough to participate.”

“That’s true, but don’t get too excited.”

“Why not?”

“Not all of them will return for future broadcasts.”

Choi Byunghoon adjusted the smart link settings and displayed a holographic graph:

[1st Place - Debaeck (2,126 votes)]

[2nd Place - Elden Soul (1,981 votes)]

[3rd Place - Gunner Ground (1,722 votes)]

[4th Place - Falling People (1,311 votes)]

Below it were detailed numbers for each rank.

“As you can see, opinions are divided, aren’t they? The top vote-getter barely reached two thousand votes. If we switch to another game, our viewership will likely drop.”

“Well, that makes sense since most of them came here for Bark.”

“Exactly. Plus, this poll was only open to Youtube subscribers, not those watching live on other platforms. Our audience is bound to decrease more than expected.”

As Choi Byunghoon spoke, he discreetly observed Lee Kyungbok’s expression. His friend nodded solemnly with a serious look on his face.

‘Even someone mentally tough like him must be disappointed.’

Despite Kyungbok’s resilience, Choi Byunghoon felt compelled to remind him of reality. Having witnessed numerous streamers rise and fall, he knew all too well how quickly their fortunes could turn sour.

The second content is more important than the first.

When their initial content performs well, streamers become hopeful and enthusiastic about continuing. However, it’s inevitable that some viewers will tune out once one segment ends.

Yet, many streamers have difficulty accepting this reality.

As viewership drops, they start to panic.

They wonder if they’ve done something wrong or question whether the timing of their broadcast was problematic. Streamers tend to search for answers from various angles.

Poor judgment leads to unfavorable outcomes. In such cases, streamers often lose sight of their strengths, end up mimicking others, take unnecessary risks, frequently change their broadcasting schedules, and gradually decline.

That marks the beginning of a vicious cycle.

Naturally, viewers who had stuck with them would eventually lose interest and abandon ship, causing even more stress for the streamer, leading to further poor decisions. This vicious cycle ultimately forced many to exit the industry alone and defeated.

With Kyungbok’s mental fortitude, this shouldn’t happen, but I still need to manage my expectations.

Most struggling streamers didn’t have anyone around them to offer support early on, but Lee Kyungbok did. As both his friend and editor, Choi Byunghoon was collecting data to assist him.

“Well…I guess there’s nothing we can do about it now.” During that pause, Lee Kyungbok made up his mind.

“Yes, so don’t expect too much from today’s broadcast—“

“Let’s take this weekend off first.”

Before Choi Byunghoon could finish his sentence, Lee Kyungbok abruptly announced they would take a break.

“…What?” Choi Byunghoon blinked at him, taken aback.

Weekends typically drew the most viewers due to everyone having more free time. Yet Kyungbok wanted to skip broadcasting?

“I need some time to think about which game I want to play next. I appreciate that my subscribers voted, but I have to find something that interests me.” Lee Kyungbok calmly explained his decision. “The stream will only be entertaining if I’m doing what I enjoy.”

If the streamer isn’t enjoying themselves, neither will their audience. Lee Kyungbok had no intention of deviating from this principle.

“I’m sorry you put in all that effort, but it feels like we’re putting the cart before the horse by playing games based solely on viewer demand.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize…”

“And I think you also need a break.”

“What?” Choi Byunghoon blinked, puzzled as to why his name had suddenly come up.

“To be honest, I’m not well-versed in video editing, but it seems like you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.”

Lee Kyungbok knew his friend’s routine very well and could easily tell that he’d been sacrificing sleep ever since the stream started airing.

“It’s not like we’re going to strike it rich and quit anytime soon. I want this channel to last for a long time, so let’s make sure to take care of ourselves along the way. If anyone saw us now, they’d think I was running some kind of sweatshop.” Lee Kyungbok chuckled at the thought, glancing at the chat window.

Those words felt like a slap to Choi Byunghoon’s face.

I was being too hasty.

He had thought it crucial not to miss any opportunities created by Lee Kyungbok. As such, he’d been monitoring everything live and extracting footage on the spot. Even after the broadcast ended, he’d thrown himself into his work without pause.

And that wasn’t all? During breaks, he checked community reactions online, barely ate for a week, and slept very little.

I believed we should strike while the iron is hot.

It bordered on obsessive compulsive behavior. Since he had introduced his friend to this industry, Byunghoon felt compelled to show tangible results. And once those results started pouring in, he became increasingly fixated on them.

But upon reflection, there was no need for haste.

If anyone could turn this around, it’s him.

Lee Kyungbok was an extraordinary talent who drew viewers to him instead of chasing after them. Once Byunghoon accepted that fact, he felt much more at ease. He smiled warmly at his friend’s concern for him.

“C’mon, you know I can handle this, right?”

“Oh yeah? So this is your natural face then?”

“Hey now, if I took proper care of myself, would I be stuck as just an editor? I’d definitely be a celebrity!”

“You’re full of hot air!” Choi Byunghoon teased back, but soon turned serious again.

“Listen, since we have some downtime, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“What’s up?”

“You saw those trolls in the chat last time, right?”

“Trolls? Oh…” Lee Kyungbok frowned slightly as he recalled the incident.

It had been during the battle against Overlord when Kyungbok declared that he would fight without using his rocket launcher. Once Overlord entered phase two, some viewers started badgering him to use it despite his declaration, which had annoyed both Kyungbok and Choi Byunghoon.

“I’m sure you witnessed firsthand how much crap they spewed just so their comments wouldn’t get caught by the moderator bot.” Choi Byunghoon’s language turned coarse, likely due to the unpleasant memories resurfacing.

“The moderator bot couldn’t filter them out at all.”

“That’s true. Thankfully, your skills shut them up, but such disruptions can demoralize other Trot users.”

“That’s true. It distracts viewers from enjoying the game.”

“Right. And there weren’t any major issues when you played Bark, since your skills had already been established by then. The Trot users knew you were good at what you do.”

“Hmm… So they’ll be even more riled up during my next stream?”

“Yes, exactly. Why? Because it’s a new game, and they have no allegiance to anyone yet.”

“So I just need to show them who’s boss, right?”

“Exactly, but here’s the thing: Among the influx of new viewers, there will inevitably be troublemakers. They see you as their latest target.”

As an editor, Choi Byunghoon understood the behavior of trolls well. Their ultimate goal was to grab attention from both the streamer and other viewers by stirring up conflict.

“A well-established streamer with a huge fan base won’t budge and might even face backlash if they engage. On the other hand, picking on smaller streamers garners little reaction or attention.”

“So it’s easier to mess around with broadcasts like mine that have decent viewership but not too many hardcore fans?”

“That’s right.” Choi Byunghoon leaned forward earnestly. “As I’ve mentioned before, we also need to get a manager at this point.”

“A manager…”

This wasn’t the first time they’d discussed the necessity of having one. Choi Byunghoon used his smart collar to bring up a holographic email.

“What’s this?”

“I noticed this morning—it’s from an MCN agency.”

“An MCN agency?”

“It’s not a big one, though. It seems quite new.”

Lee Kyungbok frowned and shook his head.

“Hmm… But I don’t want to be tied down anywhere just yet.”

If he signed with this MCN, they would assign him a manager who could handle tasks such as negotiating advertising and sponsorship deals, managing his Youtube channel, connecting with fans, arranging meet-and-greets, etc. However, Lee Kyungbok didn’t feel the need for such assistance at this point.

“Phew, glad we’re on the same page.”

“So wait, why did you show it to me then?”

”…Does that mean you’ll dismiss this offer?”

“Oh, right.”

“And considering your potential, there’s no reason to sign with a newcomer when bigger MCNs will undoubtedly reach out soon.”

Eventually, partnering with an MCN would become inevitable once Kyungbok’s broadcasts gained more traction. Choi Byunghoon was confident that Lee Kyungbok was currently undervalued. Once people recognized his true worth, larger MCNs would surely approach him first.

“In any case, let’s get back to the topic of hiring a manager.”

“You said we should cut ties with that agency and find someone else?”

“Yes.”

“…Do you have anyone specific in mind?” Lee Kyungbok asked at Choi Byunghoon’s swift response.

“Joo-ho.”

“…Park Joo-ho?”

“We can trust him, right?”

Park Joo-ho was another friend they’d known for ten years like Choi Byunghoon. Unlike them, though, he excelled academically.

“Hmm… Do you think he’ll leave his stable job for us?”

“He will. After all, his brain works like magic when it comes to finances.”

“So he agreed?”

“Yes. I’m not sure about the specifics, but he’ll definitely make more money here, right? Plus, his work hours would be flexible with less stress.”

“He’d earn more?”

“…Have you even checked our earnings so far?”

“Oh.” At Choi Byunghoon’s question, Lee Kyungbok finally considered the financial aspect. He had been too engrossed in the thrill of broadcasting to check until now.

“How much have we made?”

“For goodness’ sake… See for yourself.” Choi Byunghoon chuckled and shared their profit status via smart link.

Lee Kyungbok’s eyes widened at the sight.

“…Is that how much just from one week?”

The amount was significantly higher than he’d expected.