Crayon Shin-Chan
After receiving the message, I hesitated a little.
This audition was supposed to be fair. But if one of the contestants met privately with an official, wouldn't that be unfair in itself?
The message said that if it was difficult to meet in person, online was fine, and if I refused, there would be no disadvantage. Still… I was curious.
What did they want to say to me?
Advice about my streams? Or—what, like old school bribes?
After a day of stewing over it, I decided to go.
At least to hear them out.
The next day at noon, I stood in front of a building.
"They must be doing well."
The building gleamed. Even if the company only rented a single floor, it still spoke of real revenue.
As I stared at it absentmindedly, a woman came out.
Wearing horn-rimmed glasses, hair tied carelessly back, a plaid shirt—she glanced around before lifting her phone to make a call.
Bzz—
The vibration of my own phone made it obvious: she was the one.
"Hello?"
[This is Ha-yeon Lee, the project manager. Where are you right now?]
"Right in front."
[Huh? Oh… ah…]
At my answer, she looked up, spotted me, and widened her eyes before hurrying over.
"Miro-nim?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Ah, haha… of course. Please, come inside."
At my confirmation, she gave an awkward laugh and led me into the building.
"How did you get here?"
"Subway. About thirty minutes."
"Lucky you live in the metro area."
We chatted lightly as we rode the elevator, then stepped into the 6th floor office.
"This way, please."
The room she brought me to was clearly meant for one-on-one meetings—probably where creators met their managers.
"What would you like to drink?"
"Water's fine."
"Alright."
She left me seated in the consultation room and soon returned with bottled water and a tray of snacks.
'…Snacks? Are we really going to talk that long?'
Well, she wouldn't have called me out for small talk.
"Feel free to eat while we talk."
She poured the snacks onto the table, handed me the water, then sat across from me.
"You must be wondering why we called you."
"Of course. Have other contestants been called too?"
That was my first question.
If I was called, others could be too.
"Oh, no. If we called everyone, it would be chaos."
"Huh? Then why me…?"
At least she understood how problematic this looked. But still, why just me?
"Before we begin, could you keep this conversation confidential?"
"What kind of talk is it?"
"Nothing that would disadvantage you. But others could see it as unfair."
"Alright, I'll keep it secret. Should I sign something?"
"Haha, no. You'd only sign NDAs if you pass and we draw up a contract."
Contract. Already.
The way she said it—it sounded like my success was already assumed.
That special treatment felt good.
Sure, it was unfair. But if it was unfair in my favor, why complain?
"Understood. I'm curious what this is about."
At my nod, she hesitated, cleared her throat, and spoke.
"We see great potential in you, Miro-nim."
"Potential?"
What? So they could really recognize talent?
She already saw mine—that was impressive.
"Your streams are entertaining. You're a natural host. And your voice—very appealing."
She began to praise me.
Any other contestant would've grinned like an idiot.
"Your singing too—your tone and color make you unique."
But I knew she wasn't just flattering me.
Those were the exact things even male Kim Soo-hyun—watching female Kim Soo-hyun from the outside—had noticed.
After pausing, she finally got to the real point.
"But… the current direction of your streams diverges too much from what we're aiming for. To be frank, what we want is a virtual idol who receives unconditional support and love from fans."
I gave a small nod at the manager's words.
I knew what the problem was.
My stream atmosphere was definitely different from the other contestants'.
As soon as I nodded, even slightly, the manager—who'd been watching my reaction—continued.
"We'd like to make you a proposal, Miro-nim."
"A proposal?"
"Would you consider completely overhauling your stream atmosphere? Uproot it entirely and rebuild from scratch."
I frowned at that. Deliberately letting my displeasure show on my face.
The manager flinched, took a sip of water, then went on.
"O-of course, at first it would be difficult. But once you pass the audition and release music, you'll attract many new viewers. At that point, your current atmosphere could actually become an obstacle."
She didn't say it outright, but her tone carried the meaning.
If I promised to change my stream's vibe, gradually filter out my viewers, and reshape the atmosphere… I'd be guaranteed to pass.
I closed my eyes in thought.
Long-term profit-wise, a clean slate made sense.
But honestly, I didn't hate my current stream atmosphere.
Sure, it was rough. But was it really so bad I needed to tear it out by the roots?
I could probably tone things down just by pruning a few examples here and there.
Having all viewers fawn over me unconditionally sounded nice, but… I liked the push and pull.
What's fun about a chat that only agrees with me? The real spice came from people who twisted and pushed back.
Especially for a stream like mine, built on nothing but talking.
Should I just refuse?
If I did, I might fail the audition.
But even if I failed, I had confidence I could still grow—slower than the winners, sure, but steadily enough to become a proper streamer.
But… did it have to be one or the other?
Couldn't I have both?
Just like I had both the memories of male Kim Soo-hyun and female Kim Soo-hyun.
Wasn't there a way to take both the audition win and my current viewers?
Actually—yes.
I opened my eyes again and locked gaze with the manager.
The woman in plaid and horn-rimmed glasses faltered, lowering her eyes slightly under the weight of my stare.
'Oops. Guess I intimidated her without meaning to.'
Bad school memories, maybe? I didn't know.
Still, having the upper hand felt good.
"Could you tell me, even just as a personal opinion, how many total winners you're expecting?" I asked with a smile.
She hesitated, then slowly nodded and raised a hand.
"About five."
"Five, huh… Then wouldn't it be fine if one of them was a bit of a wildcard?"
"Excuse me? Wildcard?"
Of course, what I was about to suggest wasn't her decision to make. But maybe she'd at least pass the idea upward.
"Viral marketing."
I let the term hang in the air.
"Basically—making viewers do the promotion themselves. If one contestant occasionally stirs things up, wouldn't that grab attention? Not faking scandals, but just… with rowdy viewers, slip-ups are bound to happen sometimes."
Maybe I sounded cocky for a contestant talking to staff, but this wasn't a rehearsed line. Like on stream, I was speaking off the cuff.
"Hmm… but wouldn't that harm the other winners? It's still one group, and if one member's fandom is too… intense, it could affect everyone."
Her cautious reply was polite, but it cut deep with truth.
"Well… it could also mean that the more extreme fans end up sticking to my channel instead… right?"
Even as I said it, I realized I was stretching it.
My viewers, invading the other winners' chats the same way they swarmed mine?
Just picturing it made my head spin.
I lost some confidence mid-sentence, but my decision was firm.
"...Would it really be impossible?"
"Yes. I can tone down my stream a little, but uprooting everything is… difficult. Besides, I think it keeps the fun alive."
"I see… Understood. I'll bring it up to higher management."
"Thank you."
And with that, the meeting ended—short, and vaguely uncomfortable.
"Ha… Did I just blow it?"
Leaving the building, I tapped the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, wondering if I should light one.
I'd held myself with confidence, but in the end, wasn't I just being stubborn?
If I boiled it down, what I said was basically: I don't want to change my stream, but please let me pass anyway.
Like a child throwing a tantrum.
Would my viewers ever realize how hard I was working behind the scenes?
Of course, I couldn't say any of this on stream. But still… it'd be nice if they knew.
…Even if, once again, I hadn't prepared any content for tonight.