Chapter 2 – Viewer Count: 3,000. Existential Thoughts: 3,001
The video had 3,012 views by the time I finished brushing my teeth.
Not viral. But for someone who expected zero, it might as well have been trending on MeTube's front page. I'd left the stream up—not out of strategy, but because some tiny, irrational part of me hoped. Just a little. That maybe someone would watch it. That maybe it meant something.
Apparently, it did.
I sat hunched over a bowl of instant miso soup, phone propped against my half-empty water bottle. Notifications trickled in, comments piling up faster than I could read them.
"Loaf Knight solo'd the cringe dungeon."
"Why is this actually hilarious?"
"I've never related to a dead mic and a bucket helmet so hard."
Someone had even uploaded a remix clip titled Sir Baguette: Hero We Knead.
I laughed harder than I should've.
It was surreal.
Around 3 p.m., I went outside to get food and pretend I had errands.
The sun was too bright. My hoodie was too warm. I squinted like I hadn't seen daylight in weeks—which, to be fair, was almost true. I passed a park full of kids yelling about trading cards and trying to outdo each other in dramatic attack names. One kid screamed "Shadow Tornado Phoenix Slash!" and faceplanted. He got up like nothing happened. Legendary recovery.
I ducked into the nearest convenience store. Cold air and fluorescent lighting. Sanctuary.
I stood in the onigiri aisle, debating flavors. Did I actually like ume, or had I just convinced myself it was healthy because of the fiber?
My phone buzzed again.
"Subscribed. Please do another one."
I didn't reply. Just stared at it until the screen dimmed, my thumb hovering like maybe I would answer, but knowing I wouldn't.
Back home, I ate standing up beside my desk, watching the MeTube analytics update in real time.
3,415 views.
91 subscribers.
It didn't make sense. Not in a way that changed anything—but in a way that made me pause. Just one stream, one broken mic, one knight with a loaf of bread—and people stayed to watch.
More importantly, they didn't click away.
The clip wasn't polished. The camera was crooked, the lighting uneven. I barely spoke—partly because of the mic, mostly because I didn't know what to say.
But it felt real.
Maybe that was enough.
I skimmed more comments. A few were just memes. One viewer said they laughed so hard they choked on their noodles. Another wrote that they'd had a miserable day, and the stream made it bearable.
That one stuck.
And then:
"Wait… are you the same guy who posted the bread knight screenshot on Twibber last night? I thought that was fake lmao."
I blinked.
Opened Twibber.
Sure enough, the blurry screenshot I'd tossed online—captioned #SirBaguette lives—had racked up a few dozen retweets. One person replied with "legend." Someone else photoshopped sparkles around the bread.
Minor traction. Barely anything.
But someone had connected the dots. From a dumb post to a dumb stream.
They found me.
That felt… strange. And strangely good.
It didn't feel like I had an audience. More like a weird little room full of strangers who happened to find the same thing funny at the same time. And somehow, I was the funny thing.
I hovered over the "Go Live" button on MeTube.
Just looking. Just seeing what it felt like.
The preview window blinked open.
There I was.
Hair messy, hoodie wrinkled, the kind of face that hadn't seen sunlight in a while. My old bookshelf stood behind me, packed with manga and light novels—most of them dog-eared, some stacked sideways. A box of laundry detergent sat on top like a forgotten crown. I should probably move that. Eventually.
I adjusted the camera. Natural light helped. Slightly.
Not bad.
Still not going live, though. I closed the window. Opened it again three minutes later. Reflex.
The truth?
I wanted to stream again.
Not because I thought I'd be good at it. Not because I had a plan.
But because, for a few hours last night, I didn't feel like a failure.
Just a guy in a dumb game doing dumb things.
And people liked that.
What got to me wasn't the attention.
It was the permission.
To be a mess.
To not be good.
To try anyway.
I opened a job board. Just to stay grounded.
Same listings as always:
"5+ years of experience in tools invented last month."
"Looking for a rockstar backend engineer who also does front-end, SEO, copywriting, and makes coffee."
"Must be fluent in C++, Python, and corporate gaslighting."
I closed the tab.
In the background, MeTube was still open.
3,621 views.
104 subscribers.
No money. No sponsors.
But someone had drawn fan art of Sir Baguette riding a toaster into battle.
It had two likes.
I saved it.
I went back to the job boards. Applied to a few listings I didn't believe in.
After what felt like forever and countless applications, I called it a night.
Brushed my teeth. Turned off the lights. Crawled into bed.
For once, I tried not to spiral into job listings or rehearse fake enthusiasm for imaginary interviews.
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the bread sword.
And the next dungeon.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then thirty.
Sleep didn't come.
Instead, my brain hosted a late-night highlight reel of every awkward thing I've ever said. Every blown interview. Every time I refreshed my inbox only to find spam and newsletters I never unsubscribed from.
I rolled over. Shut my eyes tighter. Like that ever works.
The MeTube numbers swirled behind my eyelids like falling Tetris blocks.
Three thousand views. One hundred subscribers. Someone called me funny.
My heart beat faster than it should've.
I sat up.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that made you feel like you weren't supposed to be there.
I checked the time.
11:37 p.m.
Still technically today.
I got up. Sat at my desk. The chair let out its usual groan.
The monitor flickered on.
I clicked Go Live.
No thumbnail. No tweet. No plan.
Just me.
The preview loaded.
I looked like I hadn't slept in years. Still wearing the same hoodie.
Didn't matter.
I launched Dungeon Crawl X. The title screen blared its familiar chaos. The bug-eyed goblin still looked like it wanted to fight me personally.
Chat was empty.
That was fine.
I picked a different class this time: Barista.
"Deals bonus damage before 9 a.m. and extra sarcasm always."
Felt right.
I started the run.
Just the hum of my fan and the game's cursed music in my ears.
Comforting.
Ten minutes later, a message popped up:
[ToiletHero87]: you're back???
I smiled. Typed:
"couldn't sleep. figured I'd die to poultry again."
A second message followed:
[ExistentialPanda]: bread knight returns. let's gooo
A beat later:
[PixelPigeon]: this is my roman empire
I laughed quietly.
There were only three of them. Maybe five. But they were here.
And somehow, that made the room feel a little less empty.
I raised my new starter mug—an actual in-game mug weapon—like a toast.
"Let's get this caffeine-fueled disaster started."
And just like that, we were back in the dungeon.
Together.