Chapter 1 - Sir Baguette Has Entered the Dungeon
I didn't think anyone would actually watch.
In my defense, starting a stream at 2:47 a.m. felt like a guaranteed way to get zero viewers. I was using a webcam that barely manages 480p on a good day, paired with its default mic—the kind that sounds like it's recording from the bottom of a fish tank.
After getting laid off, I had to return all the decent gear my job had loaned me. This setup? Just the same outdated junk I used back in university. I never upgraded. Didn't have to. Until now.
That was the plan.
Zero viewers. Zero expectations. Zero shame.
But the internet has a talent for finding people at their worst.
[ExistentialPanda]: is your mic dead or are you just really soft-spoken?
I blinked.
One message. From a user whose name perfectly captured the kind of person who'd still be awake at this hour, watching some no-name streamer fumble through his setup.
I tapped the monitor. Nothing.
Tapped it again, harder. Still nothing.
Leaned in close and whispered, "Hello?"
Silence.
I stared at the screen for a second, mildly stunned—half expecting the mic to suddenly spring to life, half hoping the stream would implode out of pity.
[ExistentialPanda]: yo this is gold
[ToiletHero87]: is this 144p or a security cam?
Great. Not only was my mic not working, but now I had two viewers. Two more than I wanted.
I flopped back in my chair, which responded with a low, tortured creak—like it, too, regretted this life.
I rubbed my eyes. "Okay, Alex. This was a mistake."
Talking to myself. Out loud. Using my fake name.
Guess that's where I'm at in life.
Alex is what my foreign coworkers used to call me—back when I still had a job.
It stuck.
Real name? Haruki Sato.
Twenty-five. Still breathing.
Former data analyst, currently "between opportunities," recently ghosted by a startup that promised "flexible remote work" but turned out to be a pyramid scheme for essential oils.
Rent's due in nine days.
I've been out of work for four months, burned through my savings, and spent my severance package pretending everything was fine.
My job? Replaced by AI.
So yeah. Streaming.
Seemed like either a desperate cry for help or a deeply committed form of procrastination.
I booted up Dungeon Crawl X, a janky indie game I picked up during a $0.99 "Everything Must Go (Even Sanity)" sale.
Pixel art, randomized levels, no tutorial, and a reputation for being "equal parts brilliant and broken."
Perfect.
The title screen blared what could only be described as royalty-free circus music from a nightmare, as a bug-eyed goblin waved a sword like it wanted to fight me personally.
A message flashed:
Welcome, brave adventurer! Prepare to DIE… (just kidding… maybe).
I clicked New Game.
The class selection screen looked like it had been drawn in MS Paint during a fever dream. Options included:
Knight, Mime, Clerk, Intern, and Barista.
Each came with its own tooltip:
Mime: Can't attack directly, but sometimes wins arguments.
Intern: Starts weak. Becomes strong. Also cries a lot.
Barista: Deals bonus damage before 9 a.m.
I hovered over Clerk just long enough to see:
"Works 9 to 5. Dies inside by level 3."
I went with Knight—high defense, big sword, low expectations. The obvious only sane choice.
While the game loaded, a tooltip slid across the screen in Comic Sans:
TIP #42: The key to victory is remembering you don't have one.
TIP #61: The tutorial is gone. You're welcome.
My knight spawned in a mossy basement labeled The Tutorial You Skipped.
A blinking message popped up in the corner:
Narrative Memory: Your character knows you've never played before. They're judging you.
I was armed with a sword named Steel Loaf and wearing a wooden bucket for a helmet.
The bucket had a dent in it.
Another tooltip appeared:
Your bucket remembers a better life. Try not to embarrass it.
Five minutes in, I was already being chased by a Dust Bat through a corridor that may or may not have been on fire. It flapped directly into my face and then exploded into sparkles, doing 12 damage and dropping a soggy coupon.
My first treasure. A coupon.
Redeemable only at Shroomby's Discount Potions, which didn't appear to exist.
I had no idea how to block. I mashed every key.
"Is it… spacebar? Control? Q?"
Not that anyone could hear me.
My mic still didn't work, so all Chat saw was my in-game knight spinning in circles and ramming into walls.
At some point, I accidentally unequipped my sword and replaced it with a loaf of bread.
[ExistentialPanda]: BREAD BUILD LET'S GOOOO
[ToiletHero87]: i haven't laughed this hard since the rat boss incident
I typed into chat:
this game is rigged. also i can't unequip the bread. send help.
[CouchCactus]: Sir Baguette has entered the dungeon
I turned a corner and triggered a trap labeled Random Encounter (Definitely Fair).
A Sock Golem rose from a pile of laundry and slapped me with static cling. I took minor damage and—somehow—also lost my boots.
I should've been embarrassed. Really should've.
But instead, I felt… okay?
There was something freeing about being this bad at a game designed to be slightly cursed.
Even the patch notes were sarcastic.
The most recent one just said:
Fixed a bug where cows could open portals to alternate dimensions (probably). Also nerfed soup.
I kept going. Died six more times.
Got blindsided by a Pop Idol Slime that screamed auto-tuned lyrics while flinging glitter projectiles.
Found a secret room with golden armor, only to trigger a trap that turned me into a sheep.
My fluffy pixelated self bounced off a cliff with a sad little baaa.
Chat lost their minds.
[PixelPigeon]: HE'S A SHEEP. I CAN'T BREATHE
[ToiletHero87]: sheep.exe has crashed
[GravyTrainTV]: stream of the year tbh
I leaned into it.
Started roleplaying the world's worst knight. Raised my bread like it was Excalibur, the chosen weapon of a very confused legend, and then ran like a titan—yes, like the anime.
I posted a screenshot of the moment on Twibber with the caption:
#SirBaguette lives
Just for the gags. Maybe posterity. Who knows if I'll ever do this again.
I typed:
okay last run. if i die to poultry again i'm changing careers
They cheered me on.
We made it far. Cleared a dungeon.
Defeated a Tax Crab, which stole 10% of my gold mid-fight and then died apologizing.
Finally figured out how to unequip the bread. And my mic started working at some point. Don't ask me how that happened—it just did—magically...
Life was good. I was getting the hang of it—
And then I stepped on a pressure plate and triggered a barrel avalanche.
Instant death.
My knight flattened under a blinking red YOU DIED sign.
[ExistentialPanda]: perfection
[ToiletHero87]: 10/10 ending. will recommend to friends
I laughed.
Really laughed. The kind that sneaks up on you after a long, heavy week.
It didn't fix anything—but for the first time in a while, I didn't feel completely dead inside.
I typed:
aight that's it from me. thanks for the chaos, legends
Clicked End Stream.
Silence.
Just the whir of my desk fan and the low hum of my busted monitor.
I told myself it didn't matter.
Just a dumb stream. A dumb game. No one would remember it by tomorrow.
I didn't delete the video.
I left it up.
Just in case.
A few hours later, my phone buzzed like a swarm of angry bees.
I groaned and reached for it, fully prepared to hurl it across the room—
—until I remembered I hadn't finished paying it off.
That woke me up.
I blinked at the screen.
The curtains were still drawn. My room was dim, except for the faint glow of my monitor's standby light.
I checked the clock.
12:43 p.m.
Well past noon.
I'd fallen asleep sometime after the stream.
I squinted at the notifications.
For a second, I thought it was spam. Or worse, a rejection email from that essential oils startup somehow haunting me again.
But then I saw the title:
When You Stream with $0 Budget — 2,000+ views and rising.
Someone had clipped the part where my knight spun in circles with a bread sword and a dead mic.
And somehow, people found my stream.
I stared at the screen.
A weird, unfamiliar feeling stirred in my chest.
Hope.