TGAT 03

Chapter 03

While Kim Geuntaek had declared a “no-break” session and was endlessly trying to beat the Forgotten King for over 20 hours, a flushed Song Jun was clinking glasses with Joo Youngseok.

“You did well to quit there. That guy’s a total nightmare. Our side even tried to recruit him but backed off.”

This drinking session was partly out of concern for Song Jun. Kim Gamepack, putting aside his gaming skills, was notorious in the industry for politicking, stirring conflicts, and freeloading.

It was amazing that he had managed to keep a low profile until he started getting a bit of attention. On top of that, rumors said he was even spreading bad stories about Song Jun.

Song Jun had wanted to ask if Kim was thinking of working at Starburst, but…

“So what? Looks like he joined Treasure Network.”
“He got in because he had connections to some channels with over a million subs. Even there, I heard he wasn’t exactly welcomed. Networking’s networking—you know, those YouTubers’ pride is on the line too.”

In South Korea, the most famous creator agencies were Starburst, which Joo Youngseok belonged to, and Treasure Network, which Kim Geuntaek had joined.

“By the way, is it okay to take on just one or two freelance jobs for now? They might give me more depending on the size of the project.”
“Where’s there to be picky? You gotta make money first, then gradually look for other work.”
“Exactly! Hey! These days, everywhere’s short on editors. Honestly, your diligence is top-notch. So many people just ghost without a word.”
“But I think I need to manage the workload a bit. Things have been hectic.”
“Ah… got it. Totally manageable. It’s freelance work, after all. I’m Joo Youngseok, Starburst ace! You’ll be fine!”

Right now, his head was spinning with the thought of how to leverage this vast talent-sharing network—a network brimming with limitless potential. The choices were so many, deciding felt almost impossible.

“Oh, did you see this?”

Joo Youngseok, mid-drink, suddenly chuckled and played a broadcast.

“Kim Gamepack? Why him?”
“Look.”

Kim Geuntaek’s expression was completely dead, watched by over 4,000 viewers—far exceeding his average. On one corner of the screen, a timer had passed 23 hours and 55 minutes.

“Do I really have to see his face?”
“You think I opened it without knowing? Check the title. You’re about to witness something hilarious.”

[Fallen Kingdom 24-Hour No-Break Challenge in Progress]

“Huh? Forgotten King? No-break?”

One improbable thought peeked through Song Jun’s mind.

<Hoo… last one. This is the last!>

His voice sounded exhausted from countless attempts.

“Some guy named SJ beat Forgotten King on hard mode with perfect potion play. Four minutes and thirty seconds.”

Song Jun couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Who falls for a donation bait? Shouts and chained missions… he took the bait immediately. And then…”

<Nooo!!! How is this even possible! Aaaaah!!!>

Finally, Kim Geuntaek hit the keyboard like a shotgun, sending keycaps flying across the screen.

<Haah…>

When the timer passed 24 hours, he hung his head. Over two million won in mission rewards vanished with a “Mission Failed” notice.

“Pff… serves him right. Kaboom~ total destruction. Even the chat reactions suck.”

<Ending the stream here for today.>

Kim Geuntaek quickly ended the stream, face blackened with despair.

• Hard-ended fail

• Ultimately failed

• LOL, all that physical skill…

• Didn’t even beat the third-place record, huh?

• Best time: 4:44. LOL

• LOL, tried Forgotten King for 24 hours straight?

• I gave up counting after 200 attempts

• Ah! Disappointing, Kim Gamepack! Bragged about your skills, but perfect potion play in 4:30 is that hard?

• Isn’t the real physical king supposed to be boss-beating?

• Yeah. Whenever he streams, I’ll definitely watch!

Even the chat reactions were perfect—exactly the response Song Jun had wanted.

“Puhuhu… he failed in the end. Would’ve been one thing if he got third, but this is a total fail.”

Song Jun took a satisfying gulp of soju, enjoying the sweetness of the alcohol.

While nearly 4,000 viewers watched, failing the mission completely undermined the so-called god-tier physical skills the guy claimed to have.

“The company’s in chaos because of Fallen Kingdom right now.”

Joo Youngseok shook his head, thinking of the company upheaval: inquiries about contacting the channel owner, requests to reschedule and play Fallen Kingdom themselves…

“A whole challenge atmosphere has formed now.”

The screen showed over forty streamers playing Fallen Kingdom.

“Ridiculous. Fallen Kingdom’s peak was over two years ago, yet now there’s a challenge boom again.”
“Puhuhu…”
“The company’s in trouble. Everyone’s just playing Fallen Kingdom.”
“Puhahaha—”

Song Jun couldn’t hold back laughter anymore.

“Are you crazy? Why are you laughing so much? Is Kim Geuntaek’s misery that funny?”
“Of course. I’m the one who caused it. How could I not enjoy it?”
“Huh?”
“What? Why?”

Joo Youngseok thought he misheard because of the alcohol, but he hadn’t.

“You were the one who sent the donation?”
“Donation? Are you crazy? I didn’t give him money. Not the donation. That video—the boss-beating one. That was me.”
“Huh? The boss-beating channel owner… was you?”

Still skeptical, Joo Youngseok watched as Song Jun opened the YouTube Studio page. He hadn’t expected that a video uploaded almost impulsively would generate such results in just one day.

“Yeah. Here… uh? One… thousand?”

Exactly one day after uploading the video.

“Subscribers, one thousand?”

[Subscribers: 1,079]

And still rising in real time.

“What the…”

Joo Youngseok stared at the YouTube Studio page on Song Jun’s phone, dumbfounded.

“…Seriously? Weren’t you in the Legendary League Bronze…?”
“Exactly.”
“No way… you made me work overtime these past two days? You’re the cause of the Fallen Kingdom challenge craze?!”
“Unknown YouTube algorithm, man. Who could’ve predicted this?”

Song Jun smiled and shrugged. Even he could hardly believe it.

“Whoa… 1,000 subscribers in a day. This is insane.”
“Yeah, 1,000 is a bit tough.”

Joo Youngseok raised his eyebrows.

“Tough? A little tough? No one can reach 1,000 subscribers in a day without any background or fame.”

Even the 2-million-subscriber rooftop musician Song Jun liked took nearly a week to get 100 subscribers.

“Exactly. But I got 1,000 in a day.”

Song Jun didn’t want to lose this thousand subscribers.

“Should I… try YouTube?”
“Suddenly? Out of nowhere? YouTube?”
“You said gathering 1,000 subs is tough, right?”
“Uh… yeah.”

The first YouTube monetization threshold is 500 subs, then 1,000 for the next step.

“Watch time comes later. Subscribing is the biggest hurdle. I cleared it in a day.”
“True, but you know how saturated YouTube is, especially gaming.”

It was indeed a red ocean, but Joo Youngseok reminded him: one video could shake the company. Physical skill is still a blue ocean. Even Kim Gamepack rose purely on physical skill.

“This is the perfect chance to ride the trend while it lasts.”

“Let’s discuss more in the next room. Too noisy here to talk properly.”

In the next room, Song Jun read every comment:

• That’s real physical skill.

• Perfect play. So satisfying to watch.

• Who is this guy?

• Not edited or spliced, right?

• Editing? Impossible. Even timing and perfect potion play would need manipulation.

• Will he stream regularly?

• Channel seems empty. If he tried, it’d be insane.

• Heard rumors he’s a pro?

• Why would a pro do this secretly? He could just do it openly on his own channel for big donations.

80% of comments were praise or expressed curiosity. The rest were negligible trolls. Views continued climbing in real time.

“This is fascinating…”

Watching the attention his own video got made Song Jun feel something stir in his chest. Until now, he’d made content for others. This was entirely his creation—from recording to editing to uploading.

“Comments are increasing live. Hard to read them all.”
“Probably streamers are analyzing your video, and viewers watch along. But seriously, YouTube?”
“Seriously thinking. About 80–20.”

Neither felt the alcohol—too excited about this unforeseen opportunity.

“Absolutely no lies in that video?”
“None.”
“If you played again, could you do it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Huh… definitely the right chance. But YouTuber… live streaming… not easy.”

In the industry, if 100 people tried a challenge, the next day 110 would give up.

“Anyway, it’s a challenge. Freelance work stays freelance, my videos stay my videos.”
“True. Start part-time. Look at that—trying to persuade me.”

Joo Youngseok, despite himself, was half-convinced.

“You’re at the biggest company, so I’m asking your opinion. I’ve only edited before.”
“Man, I told others not to spout nonsense about YouTubing.”

A thousand subs in a day is abnormal, and discarding the results of two videos is too wasteful.

‘And I’m not just learning one talent.’

The YouTube option seemed overwhelmingly beneficial.

‘Plus, I could use YouTube as a massive portfolio.’

Some would say there’s not enough time to focus on one thing, but Song Jun knew the value of building a unique channel with diverse content.

“Is there room at Starburst?”
“Room? Of course…”

Joo Youngseok smiled but then frowned and shook his head.

“Actually… no. You shouldn’t join. Go solo.”
“Why? Being in an agency helps.”
“Some are good, not all. You can grow without it anyway.”

MCN membership has perks, but nothing’s free.

“Damn… I’ll help sometimes. Dammit. You convinced me.”
“Thanks! But you’re busy at work too?”
“10-year friendship. Use it now. Before you change your mind—cheers. You pay for the next round.”
“Absolutely.”

They clinked glasses.

“First, let’s prepare a stream to stop the rumor. Many comments questioning if it’s real.”
“True. Comments saying edited or foreign footage.”
“Will you show your face?”
“Not yet.”
“Then hand-cam it. Common. Buy a decent cam.”
“Fine. But main focus is YouTube. Stream only if necessary.”

He wanted to avoid reversing priorities. Streaming would get attention, but YouTube remained the main focus.

“Streaming? Game streams work best. But YouTube videos are enough for info delivery.”
“Two-track strategy. Start strong. Stream occasionally, mainly YouTube videos.”

Games were just the first skill learned.

“Hmm… not the best choice, but it’s your call. What about channel name?”
“Hmm… channel name.”

A name came to mind, fitting the current situation:

Creative Studio.

A gift from his grandfather, symbolizing creativity through diverse talents.

“Creative Studio? Not game-focused? Sounds like you’ll do various things.”
“Could be.”
“Worst title, but you own it. Goal? First goal as a YouTuber?”

Song Jun chuckled.

“First goal… hmm. Crush Kim Geuntaek properly. Then grow the channel.”

One game now, but future skills would broaden options infinitely.

‘Second skill should support YouTube.’

What to do, how to move forward, what to consider—now clear.