Chapter 4 : Everyone has a plausible plan

LevitTV’s ban is an IP block.

Using a bypass program, it’s possible to break through, but for now, it wasn’t necessary.

‘Yeah. This is Lucy 3 years ago.’

Even 3 years later, Lucy’s mental state is fragile, and the chat management is strict, but compared to the early days of broadcasting, it has improved a lot.

It’s what you would call the 10 Confucian Scholars, the “Confucian Girl” vibe?

This tendency was one of the factors that made Lucy’s broadcasts boring.

Huh? Despite these flaws, why watch Lucy’s broadcasts?

Ah, finally, you’re getting to the point.

Newbies, I’ll explain just once, so listen carefully.

Lucy, no matter what anyone says, has the qualities of a ‘superstar.’

I’ve even written posts on Pann Board for promotional purposes before.

• Lucy is a superstar
  At crucial moments! When it’s absolutely necessary, Lucy unleashes her potential!

ᄂ(Unbelievable)
ᄂSeason average .150, hit one lucky home run in a postseason game?
LJust a lucky break, haha?
ᄂShe’s a superstar, but her average viewers are… (hint)
ᄂBut the stage was amazing, I’ll probably watch the replays again.
ᄂLucy really has the potential, but her usual broadcasts… (hint)
ᄂHer highs are high, but her lows are pretty bad, haha.

At important stages, like singing competitions, she unexpectedly wins first place or becomes the center of attention.

It’s as if the ‘God of Broadcasting’ is pushing her.

Then, viewers and even the community go wild, praising Lucy like crazy.

The dopamine surges all the way up.

It’s on a different level from nationalistic pride.

Once you taste that, you become addicted.

And that’s when the hope torture begins.

Even when Lucy’s regular broadcast data is buried, I believe she will prove herself again.

It’s like, in common terms, going back to the past.

Damn. If she’s going to do this, she should do it well.

Newbies who join after watching competitions or great stages quickly drop off when faced with the boring broadcasts.

In the end, only the elite like me are left.

“Damn. Thinking like this makes it frustrating.”

Thinking about the heartache when Lucy was struggling at her lowest points, my mouth tastes bitter.

This time, she needs to fix those flaws.

But for now, it seems there’s no way to make contact.

‘I was wrong. It’s 3 years ago now. We’re complete strangers.’

The 3 years that existed between us have vanished.

Overnight, I became just another floating viewer in the broadcast chat.

Thus, even if I send a message or email, Lucy is unlikely to take my advice.

‘If I joined a bit earlier, I would’ve had a bigger first-mover advantage. I’d get more attention. Plus, virtual debut.’

I know the future of internet broadcasting.

Virtual will replace Dullahan, and there will be a massive virtual pie on PangeaTV.

Unlike the already saturated LevitTV ecosystem, this is a blue ocean.

It would be great if I could make Lucy understand this clearly.

‘Is there only one way?’

In the end, it’s a matter of positioning.

A casual comment from a floating viewer carries no weight.

It’s hard to trust it.

But if it’s a fellow broadcaster in the same position as me?

And if I can show evidence that supports my claim?

She’ll have no choice but to listen.

‘Right. I’ll debut first, show it, and earn trust. This is the only way.’

There are only two months left until the PangeaTV virtual idol audition application.

There’s no time to hesitate.

Two months until the audition application.

The first audition date is two weeks after that.

At first glance, it seems there’s plenty of time.

But as a non-established broadcaster, I have to start everything from zero.

Broadcast equipment, sound settings, virtual avatar preparation, and so on.

There will be many other things to consider as well.

There are hardships that viewers don’t understand, unique to broadcasters.

Moreover, my target goal is high.

Choosing a free avatar or just picking something from the virtual market booth.

Opening a memo pad to scribble a profile.

Starting the first broadcast with equipment errors and repeating mistakes throughout the show – this kind of newbie behavior.

I can’t accept that.

Some viewers may support this as the newbie vibe, but that’s just a brief, early public opinion.

As a broadcaster, you must pay attention to your ‘image.’

Once you’re branded, it’s hard to erase that mark, like a slave’s mark.

Frequent lateness, missed content, and slacking off, etc.

That kind of image piles up like karma and will catch up with the broadcaster later on.

“The last interviewee will be Meru. I saw them last time, they have a good voice and seem to work hard.”

• Meru? Hmm.
• What about Marzen? They’re diligent and broadcast for long hours.
• Didn’t that person once oversleep and miss content?

Meru is…

• Ringcha is pretty reliable, though.
• Meru cut Meru cut Meru cut Meru cut Meru cut Meru cut
  [The user, “악질갤러,” has been forcibly removed.]

“You’re the one getting cut. Hmm, let me check the public opinion more.”

This is a scene I’ve seen countless times over the past 3 years.

That’s why I want to build something from the start.

An image of ‘me’ as a broadcaster who is sincere and professional.

At first, it might feel like just a concept, but when you add the weight of ‘time’ to it, it will become an undeniable and solid image.

“If it’s for that big picture, then I have to be fully prepared from the very first broadcast.”
I haven’t done a broadcast myself, but when it comes to internet streaming, I’ve dug deep into it for three years.

That means even if I’m not a seller, I fully understand the consumer’s ‘needs.’

From now on, I’ll plan to satisfy those needs.

The information about the future that I know.

A solid plan built upon that.

“But one more thing. There’s still something I need to check.”
There’s a famous quote by Tyson.

—Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.

It’s a quote with a meaningful lesson.

Even if you have a plan, it’s useless without the ability to back it up.

In the end, self-awareness is key.

Before debuting and setting goals as a streamer, do I really have what it takes?

If it were the past, I would’ve shaken my head immediately.

I’m decent at talking since I worked in sales, but I wasn’t particularly good-looking, and my voice or singing skills were completely average.

The only thing I could somewhat boast about was my gaming skills, which are decent for a regular person, but in the streaming world full of ex-pro gamers, I can’t even hand out my business card.

“But now?”
Now, I’m not Seo Min-jun but Seo Min-a, a returnee who came back after three years.

Just the information from those three years alone gives me a huge advantage.

I know the content that succeeded and the trends that exploded in the internet broadcasting scene during that time.

That was my own powerful weapon, incomparable to anything else.

But future knowledge doesn’t guarantee unconditional success.

It was quite common for streamers who got lucky with hit content to do well for a while, only to collapse later and become obscure ‘named nobodies.’

The key was to turn incoming viewers during your rise into loyal regulars using your own unique charm.

That’s what I’m about to verify.

“First, my appearance…”
Glance-

My eyes unintentionally drift downward.

A bold piece of flesh flaunts its presence just barely above the instep.

“Ha, haaaap– no, no. Ahem.”
I calm my excitement and carefully examine things one by one.

Height: about 163 or 164 cm? That’s roughly the average height of adult women in Korea.

Around there?

But with such good proportions, I didn’t look short at all.

My skin was so clear, like a cosmetics commercial model.

My delicate facial features looked like an anime character had popped out of a screen—just looking at them made me keep admiring.

“Is this really 23 years old?”
With a baby face that could pass for a high school student and slightly upturned eyes giving a mischievous impression…

And that figure at the end… fourth? Fifth letter of the alphabet?

Outrageously bold.

A baby face with that kind of body.

“Honestly, maybe face camming would be better.”
That was my honest thought after taking a good look.

But I couldn’t.

The bet I made with the community leader was to succeed as a “virtual” streamer.

The path of a female face-cam streamer was completely different.

“Still… for an event stream, it wouldn’t be bad.”
In virtual streaming culture, revealing the real person (known as taking the “red pill”) is a bit taboo, yet half-camming is surprisingly common—it’s a contradictory scene.

With this appearance, I’d be given a free pass, of course.

Even if it’s not for streaming, there were plenty of other ways to make use of it.

In Korea, appearance is a competitive edge—a weapon.

At the very least, it’d help create a better impression when networking with other streamers.

“Okay, appearance is settled. Next…”
Next was the voice.

In fact, if you’re thinking about debuting as a virtual streamer, voice is even more important than looks.

The appearance in virtual streaming is the ‘avatar,’ not the ‘red pill.’

But voice? That’s irreplaceable.

“Ah, ahhhh!”
I wish I had a proper mic, but all I had in my room was a headset.

Can’t be helped.

I recorded a quick audio clip with the cheap headset mic and played it back to hear my voice.

A few moments later…

“This is… mediocre.”
A cold assessment based on three years of accumulated streaming experience.

Seo Min-a’s voice attractiveness score was 70 points.

Just barely average.

It was the moment a dark cloud loomed over my first step toward becoming a top virtual streamer.