TGFTE 66

Chapter 66…

“…Oppa, this is amazing!”

“Are you sure this is properly translated?”

“I think it just needs a little touch-up on the nuance, but wow. Oppa, you’re really playing a horror game, huh?”

Zombreath.

It wasn’t just a game full of bizarre antics.
It was a horror game.
Yes, the true identity of Zombreath lay in horror.

“But… is it really okay to leave things hanging like this?”

Lee Ji-hye tilted her head, looking doubtful.

“Well, you know what they say—the most pointless worries are worrying about celebrities and worrying about game developers.”

He quoted something he’d once seen in chat.

Ji-hye blinked at him in surprise, then suddenly burst into laughter.

“Hahaha! Oppa, you’ve totally become a streamer!”

“I’ve always been a streamer, though?”

“No, no, I mean it in a good way. Haha. It’s just funny to see you finally comparing things to something other than sports.”

Ji-hye said it with a nostalgic smile.
Hearing that, Ji-han awkwardly turned his head away, his earlobes reddening.

“But you know, once you start this game, it feels like you’ll have to play it until the ending. What are you going to do, oppa?”

That was Ji-hye’s question.

Kim Su-ho had said the same thing.
The schedule conflict with Rhythm Potential.
In other words—deciding what game to play first and how to pace the stream.

“Aren’t you having a lot of fun with that idol game too?”

“Well, I do want to at least see their first performance….”

“Then isn’t that enough? Why worry?”

“But… I think a lot of people are waiting for Zombreath too.”

Ji-han scratched his head sheepishly.
For the first time, he was really troubled by this.

“Huh? You’re worried about something like that?”

“Something like that? Come on, Ji-hye, I’m telling you, it’s a huge deal to me!”

Being a streamer brought heavier worries than he’d expected.

As an athlete, things had been simpler.
Back then, it was just: How can I get better?
Now, it was still similar in a way, but not quite the same.
Training was a battle against himself.
But streaming… streaming felt like a battle against countless strangers.

“Oppa. It’s fine to worry. But in the end, there’s only one thing you really need to think about.”

Ji-hye’s words.

Ji-han tried to guess the answer.

“My fans? Or the game?”

But what came out of Ji-hye’s mouth was—

“No, oppa. You need to put yourself first.”

Her expression was serious.
Ji-han didn’t realize it yet, but Ji-hye was touching on the very essence of streaming.

“In the end, you need to play the game you enjoy most. If you’re having fun, your viewers will have fun too.”

When he heard that, Ji-han felt as if his perspective had suddenly widened.
His little sister was seeing things he couldn’t.
Maybe it was because she was looking at it from the outside, but either way, it felt like she had scratched exactly the itch he hadn’t even known was there.

Zero Ground, Project Zombreath, Kangho Sword Chronicles, and Rhythm Potential…
Ji-han had enjoyed them all.
He played what he wanted, how he wanted.

“And besides, if people don’t like it, won’t they just come back when you’re playing something they do?”

That was why his fans had come to love him in the first place.
And why he’d built such a solid, concrete fanbase.

“That’s what streaming is, right?”

What Ji-hye was really reminding him of was his original intent.
Ji-han’s beginnings.
Just the simple joy of games. The fun of discovering a new hobby.

“From the look on your face, I guess you’ve made up your mind?”

Ji-hye grinned teasingly.
She poked him in the side, clearly fishing for something.

“Thanks, Ji-hye.”

“Thanks? That’s not what I want, oppa. …If you’re thankful, you’re buying me fried chicken.”

“Haha, I’ll just send you some allowance money. Order it yourself.”

“Yesss! Then I’m ordering boneless, so send plenty!”

Ji-han smiled warmly at his overjoyed little sister.
At times like this, she was every bit the kid sister.
But sometimes, she really felt more like his older sister.

That was how much Ji-han still lacked, as just “human Ji-han.”
And how much room he had left to grow.

Even now, he was still growing—thanks to the help of others.
Which was why, to him, other people mattered even more than himself.

Let’s just play the game I want.

And so, Ji-han decided—for the first time—to follow his own heart.

For now… yeah, let’s do that first. That’s where my heart’s leading me.

With a faint smile, Ji-han started his stream.

[You’re here!]
[Ji-han’s here!]

“Hello, everyone.”

The waiting screen.
And then, Ji-han’s voice.
Right after—

[So what are we playing today?]
[Has to be Rhythm Potential, right?]
[But the title says there’s a big announcement?]
[Oooh? Going to play Kangho Sword Chronicles?]
[Nah, probably Zero Ground lol]
[Ugh, no more ZG! Enough already!]
[Ppongdda’s been lonely lately, go play with him lol]
[Mentioning other streamers = ban!]
[Ppongdda’s not a stranger though!!]

As always, chat was chaotic in its own familiar way.
At this point, seeing it had become a routine of its own.

[So what’s the big announcement?!]
[Hurry up and tell us, I’m dying of curiosity!]
[Lololol come on, quick!]
[Waiting till more people join, huh?]
[Too bad for latecomers! Should’ve been here on time!]

“Ah, well, it’s nothing much.”

Ji-han glanced at the chat with a faint smile.

“A password has arrived.”

[Huh?]
[LMAOOOO]
[So it really IS a big announcement!]
[No way, no way!]
[You’re seriously dropping that right now?!]
[So are we doing Zombreath tonight?]
[Finishing it? Wasn’t it basically the final chapter?]

At his single comment, chat went completely wild.
Even though fewer people had tuned in than usual, the hype was stronger than ever.

“No, today we’re sticking with Rhythm Potential.”

[Lolol so he really liked dancing, huh]
[Singing’s fun too]
[But that one map was actually terrifying though]
[Wait, you’re not playing RP just because you’re scared, right?]
[Lololol he’s not scared of ghosts!]
[(Actually terrified of them)]
[Should’ve clipped him screaming during his first Zombreath run lol]

But despite those jokes, chat welcomed his choice.
Sure enough, Ji-hye had been right.

When I play what I want, people are happy. If it’s not their taste, they leave—then come back when it is. That’s the flow.
That was how Pretzel’s population worked.

“It’s not because I’m scared.”

[Lies lol]
[It’s written all over your face~]

“Haha… well, okay, maybe a little because I’m scared. But really, I want to get to the first concert with Heart Boys.”

[Fair enough]
[Yeah, you gotta see their debut through, right?]
[With those stats, you dare talk about responsibility? Lol]
[Overhaul (Responsibility)]
[Lolol aren’t the Heart Boys suffering enough already?]

Some cheeky comments popped up.
But Ji-han could just laugh them off now.

He was becoming a real streamer.
Step by step, moving forward.

Soon, Ji-han’s routine became clear.

Even though clips about the “password arrival” spread, and Pretzel buzzed again with Zombreath hype, Ji-han quietly stuck with Rhythm Potential.

Every time he trained and spent points to grow the Heart Boys, they changed visibly.
Watching them grow filled him with pride and satisfaction, as if reflecting his own growth.

[Lolol isn’t this too much of a double-edged sword?]
[I’ve never seen such shocking stats before]
[He actually pulled it off;;;]
[Reminds me of that streamer who dumped all points into variety instead of idols lol]
[Lolol that was a thing?]
[Concept play was common, yeah]
[But those were veterans lol, Ji-han’s a newbie]
[Does that physicality, dancing, and singing look like a newbie to you?]
[He’s a hardworking genius lol]

As playtime went on, Heart Boys morphed into something absurd.
As chat said, a double-edged sword.
A gamble, really.

And then, three days later—
At last, Ji-han unlocked their first performance.

By then, he had practically experienced all the content RP had to offer.

Not just training, but busking.
Posting challenges on “Photalk.”
Truly living the idol life.

And today—
With the fully trained Heart Boys gathered—

The Performance button lit up.

“…Will this really be okay?”
“Can we actually pull it off?”
“We’re just a bunch of nobodies….”
“Haha, mortals, do you tremble? Feel this delightful heartbeat, proof that I yet live!”

Backstage of the venue.
A stage modeled after a real music program.
Before pressing the Start Performance button, the concept was waiting in line—
With background songs of senior idols playing faintly, adding realism.

“You guys that worried?”

Ji-han smiled at them.

“Easy for a monster like you to say!”
“As long as we’re not laughed off stage, it’ll be a miracle…”
“What if our popularity drops?”
“Mortals, why do you worry so much?”

The Heart Boys, dressed in pastel denim jackets.
Their outfits matched the fresh, upbeat concept song.
But their mood was anything but bright.

“Guys, think of it this way.”

Ji-han needed to lift their spirits somehow.
Searching for the right words, he remembered what he used to tell nervous teammates back at the athlete’s village before record trials—half joking, half serious.

“Just assume it’s already a failure.”

“Huh?”
“What?”

The Heart Boys looked at him like he was insane, ready to blow up at him for pouring oil on a funeral pyre.

But Ji-han calmly continued.

“If you think that way, then if it really does go badly, it won’t hurt as much. It was already a failure. But if it actually goes well…?”

Ji-han flashed a mischievous smile.
A pure, boyish smile.
Heart Boys were captivated, waiting for the punchline.

“Then it’s even better. We thought it was doomed, but it went great—so it just means we did awesome.”

It was simple.
It was clear.
And it was enough to lift everyone’s spirits.

“Pff—haha!”
“Bwahaha!”
“Ahahaha!”
“O fated rival, what a delightful jest you speak!”

The Heart Boys burst into laughter, their tension finally broken.

“So yeah. Let’s just assume it’s already ruined—and go have fun out there, all of us.”

Ji-han held out his hand.
The members stacked theirs on top.