Twishy Korea hosts more official broadcasts than you might think.
From the Ring Fit competition that took place not long ago to the cultural programs that most people don’t even know exist, along with various seasonal contents.
Some might ask, “Isn’t it enough for an internet broadcast platform to just support streamers in broadcasting well? Why bother with all these official broadcasts?”
That’s a classic case of knowing one thing and missing out on everything else.
Great content is difficult for even the most prominent broadcasters to create alone. It takes support from the platform, starting from financial aspects to venue rentals and personnel reinforcement to produce content.
These well-crafted contents then serve as a gateway for lesser-known streamers, or what we lovingly call hako broadcasters, struggling to attract viewers despite their hard work. There have always been viewers who only care about the big official broadcasts or major events.
Thus, the existence of platform content ensures that not just the same handful of people dominate the scene. At least it prevents hard-working streamers from drying up due to lack of new viewers, allowing for fresh blood in the streaming pool.
The ‘Abyss Streamer Battle,’ held every season, serves that very purpose as one of the key official broadcasts.
The first edition, in collaboration with Taker, became such a massive hit that it turned into a regular quarterly content instead of a one-off.
As a result, the second and third broadcasts achieved decent success, though nothing compared to the first one where Kayak participated and won.
Having moved to a seasonal format, it has almost turned into something as familiar as a bowl of soup. With a precedent set, it’s like everyone now knows our competition without needing to explain to new participants or viewers—“You know our tournament, right?”
But if life was always this easy, wouldn’t that be wonderful? The tournament that seemed steadfast, the Abyss Streamer Battle, faced an unexpected crisis.
“Not getting any responses for invites…?”
Now in its 11th round, the illustrious Abyss Streamer Battle had never encountered such difficulties in securing streamers.
33-year-old Kim Woo-jin, a member of Twishy Korea staff, frowned deeply as he came out to assess the situation following a distressed SOS from a junior.
Wrinkles formed.
“Hmm…”
The cause was simple. It stemmed from the incident that occurred during the last round.
Unlike the first and second rounds, the Abyss Streamer Tournament introduced an auction system starting from the third round. Along with this, the position of the director who selects players also emerged.
The third round didn’t do as well at the box office as the first, but it received evaluations that the system wasn’t bad and was stable. From then on, the tournament continued with directors selecting players through auctions.
In a way, it was an unstable system. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that the role of directors in constructing and commanding a team was larger than that of the players.
It frequently happened that upon being called by the director, one would find themselves headed to a team where winning was just a dream.
However, that randomness and the director’s discretion led to elements of fun in the tournament, so it wasn’t a major issue.
Until the last round, that is.
“Hmm…”
In the tenth round, Kim Woo-jin reviewed the outline of the incident that had just occurred.
The director of the problematic team NFT, Il-soon, auctioned off a player for 300 points due to his personal interests.
The tier of the player in question was gold, making 300 points an absurd amount to invest. With the remaining points, they couldn’t acquire high-tier resources, and naturally, the auction failed miserably.
After that, the story was predictable. The game didn’t go well, leaving the remaining players to struggle against each other, resulting in continuous losses compared to other teams.
With losses piling up, the team atmosphere couldn’t have been good. Amidst this, the director subtly favored the player, giving ammunition to dissatisfied viewers.
Later, due to a massive investigation by a suspicious viewer regarding Il-soon’s actions, it was revealed that the director was in a relationship with the player.
An unprecedented situation occurred as the entire team imploded during the tournament.
The remaining players who had joined the NFT team for practice had no opportunity to showcase their skills and the tournament ended just like that. The opposing team against the NFT team won by default.
As a result, the NFTs monopolized the tournament’s issues, leading to the winning team not receiving proper recognition. It turned into a complete disaster, an event that must never occur again in the history of the Abyss Streamer Tournament.
It resulted in a disaster. Truly, the tournament itself collapsed, a never-before-seen event in the history of the Abyss Streamer Battle.
“Wow, this is…”
While reading the records, Woojin let out an involuntary exclamation. He had only received a rough summary but as he dug deeper, it was more and more astonishing.
It was at a level where only creepy stories seemed to emerge. Along with that, the current situation naturally became clear to him.
‘At least it should show a proper operation for 2 or 3 rounds for people to participate.’
The last tournament had been nothing but poison for the participants. They practiced hard but ended up wasting their time with nothing to show for it.
It was probably the aftereffect of this that led to such low applicants for this tournament.
“What to do…”
Woojin thought there was only one answer.
To make this tournament a hit and show everyone that the Abyss Streamer Battle was still alive and kicking. That was it.
“No, without participants, how do we make the tournament a hit?”
“Well, you better do your best.”
That was a problem Woojin couldn’t solve.
*
“Enjoy your meal, Mila.”
Woof—!
Despite being fed, the little creature stared at me longingly, and as soon as I finished speaking, it stuck its nose right into the bowl.
It’s smart, for sure. When I say “eat,” it eats; when I say “don’t eat,” it doesn’t. Maybe it’s smarter than most people.
I’m resting comfortably. A peaceful life of taking walks with Mila and exercising occasionally.
Should I call it tranquility? Thankfully, the chaos that arrived right after winning the tournament has somewhat subsided.
The Taker turned out to be surprisingly good at, well, counseling. I had received help from them a few times before but never expected it again this time; after all, the issue wasn’t external but rather a psychological one.
Yet, the Taker provided surprisingly clear answers to the wandering lamb.
“Spend money on good deeds if you’re feeling uneasy,” the Taker’s words made my heart feel eerily at ease.
Right, that’s the solution. Whenever I feel guilty for taking shortcuts, I should donate. That way, I can help someone and not feel guilty about my conscience.
“Well, since it helps someone and I won’t feel guilty, why not?”
“Ugh…”
Thinking about that time made my face flush without me realizing it. Why on earth did I bring that up with the Taker? The embarrassment still haunted me as I recalled my behavior back then.
On the other hand, a question nagged at me: why does the Taker not have a lover?
Here he is, handing out bouquets and listening to problems so thoughtfully, showing both intellect and decisiveness. The flowers he gave me were right in front of my eyes, carefully placed in a pot I had gotten just for them, watered daily to keep them alive. I even got a new pot for this opportunity!
– “Donating as a broadcast host is great, but turn on the stream first.”
– “Is Kayak really an angel?”
– “Donating the entire prize money?! Just pure good vibes, she’s the GOAT!”
“Hmm…”
I quickly checked the café on my phone and logged out just as fast. All the posts there were about stuff like this. Most of them were praises directed at me.
I didn’t want it to be known, but somehow the news that I was donating all my prize money had spread like wildfire, starting from that community.
And the goodwill that came with it was just another burden. The reason I ended up donating wasn’t exactly noble to begin with.
I am neither a saint nor a good person; just a regular citizen. Without any remarkable talents, I had been handed something far beyond my capabilities.
It felt like I had received something for free without putting in any effort, making it easier to let go. Being called an angel and praised for this just made me feel embarrassed.
It was a peaceful afternoon, watching Mila eat while sipping on some coffee.
Then, an urgent message popped up on my phone. It was from one of the employees of Twishee Korea, someone I had saved contact for when I participated in the Abyss Streamer Tournament.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kayak. Do you have a moment to talk…?”
“Yes, yes.”
The employee expressed his greetings in a somewhat downcast voice before getting to the point.
“Would you mind coming to our tournament just once? Please we need you…!”
That was a request filled with desperation and yet so pitiful.
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