I Became a Malicious Streamer

As I mentioned before, having a routine is a good thing.

When I don’t know what to do and nothing specific comes to mind, I just move according to the routine my body remembers; it’s simple.

Today, I was following one of those routines and running a broadcast. I turn on the stream and have about an hour for the now-familiar communication time.

What I once thought was difficult communication became no big deal as it grew familiar. After all, how could it be hard to chat with people who always respond positively, no matter what I say?

Sometimes, light-hearted rebuttals come back, but they aren’t filled with real criticism; it’s just playful banter, a typical back-and-forth in conversation.

It’s like the relationship where a handsome guy can make a girl burst out laughing with anything he says. This must be the effect of my own looks, too. Still, my audience doesn’t seem to laugh easily at just any old joke.

Or maybe our humor codes just don’t match. Looking at the lukewarm reactions to my killer punchlines seems to support that guess.

The communication itself led to rather trivial subjects. Today, I shared stories about a mishap from a recent outdoor broadcast. Questions flew about whether I’d do outdoor broadcasts again, if I’d film a vlog, and how beautiful the park was — urging everyone to step outside, etc.

All the talks revolved around me, which makes sense since it’s my show, but the audience listened attentively to these modest anecdotes. Viewership often spikes during the communication time, only to drop when I switch to gameplay.

People enjoyed anything I said and responded well, so I felt no pressure to tell stories, but it did make me think. Should I remember and share some amusing episode from my daily life on the broadcast?

No matter how I thought about it, I just didn’t have any special stories worth sharing, so my communication broadcasts flowed quietly as always.

When it reached the end, all my material had run out, which was why my communication broadcasts never lasted beyond an hour.

Once the primary communication routine wrapped up, I’d browse the fan cafe. This could also be seen as an extension of communication, but the real reason for checking the cafe was to hunt for a suitable game to play.

I’d scroll through games suggested by people asking me to play this or that, pick one, and that was how I typically ran my broadcasts.

Unlike those broadcasters who post ahead of time about what game they’ll play or fill a weekly schedule to the brim, I’m the complete opposite.

But it’s not because I’m lazy or find it bothersome. I was once a very organized person, but I could easily plan if I wanted to. My actions have valid reasons behind them.

What even is a comprehensive game, and what does it mean to be a comprehensive game broadcaster?

This was a surprisingly important question for someone like me, who somewhat claims to be a comprehensive game broadcaster.

Comprehensive games encompass a vast and diverse range of types that seem limitless. The goal is to play them in a fun way — that’s the conclusion I came to.

The issue here is what it means to “play fun.” What are the criteria for this fun?

There are multiple aspects to consider: the number of live viewers, the rate at which viewers drop off, and the speed of incoming chats. Anyone who’s done streaming a bit can usually gauge whether viewers are enjoying the broadcast or not.

I had already planned out what game I’d play next. With my own thoughts, I’d even splurged on a game from an overpriced shop. Besides that, I prepared a lot for broadcasting this game too.

But what if the reactions during the broadcast weren’t good? What if I enjoyed the game while the viewers showed they were bored? If people started dropping out one after another, what then?

Is it okay to continue playing a game that viewers aren’t reacting well to?

Some would stick firmly to the task regardless, while others might quickly switch to another game based on reactions.

In the first scenario, if someone has a dedicated fan base, they might find it easier to make such a decision.

But for smaller streamers or in situations where even dedicated viewers start to leave due to the game’s flaws, that decision becomes much harder.

There’s no clear right or wrong here. Is it better to steadfastly push your own opinions, or to adapt and play something else based on viewer feedback? The former may lead to an isolating experience, while the latter can give the impression that one is being swayed by viewers. Plus, there’s the added sting of feeling that all the effort put into that game has gone to waste.

In that light, making a plan can feel quite ambiguous. I’m more inclined toward the latter tendency; if viewers seem unimpressed by a game, I can simply bring out a new one.

Games are just games, after all; I didn’t put deep thought into choosing them, just picked one at random.

That’s why I don’t lay out a broadcast plan ahead of time. If need be, I can quickly change gears and create a new broadcast.

So far, that’s never happened, thankfully. Maybe I’ve got good taste in selecting games, or my loyal viewers have piled in so thickly that it’s probably a bit of both.

*

The game I chose today with my keen eye is titled ‘Please Hold for Inspection.’

It’s about working at a border checkpoint and inspecting people trying to cross into the country.

The gameplay time isn’t too long, and viewers seem divided but generally okay with it, so I decided to give it a shot.

“Hey there, nice to meet ya, buddy. Is this your first time at the checkpoint?”

With a hearty laugh, a middle-aged man with a uniform that remotely resembles a police outfit starts thumping my character’s back.

“Don’t worry, the job isn’t too hard. I’ll gradually walk you through what you need to know, just follow the manual.”

I’m the officer at the border checkpoint, and this boisterous guy is my superior. I mean, they wouldn’t just give such an important task to anyone. Only official authority could handle this, right?

A quick tutorial kicked off with his words.

Sound of a barrier going up — Raise the barrier to let the car in. Then, check the cargo inside for any suspicious items, like drugs, explosives, or weapons.

“Hey, just a minute while I take a look… I’m not suspicious.”

“Sure, sure! I’ll take a quick look and send you on your way!”

Sound of a stamp

Shadow of the always-returning Morianjin appears…

Poor bald friend got caught in a mix-up

Then I’d take the driver’s passport, compare it against their face and entry date, and ask about their reason for entering the country.

After reviewing that info, I’d make the final call. In this checkpoint, the final decision-making authority is me.

If there’s anything off, I deny entry; if I feel it’s fine, I let them through. If I’ve done a proper inspection, money comes in; if I mess up, money gets deducted.

I can upgrade facilities, including accommodation, with the money earned.

Alright, simple rules; the game doesn’t seem too difficult. After finishing the tutorial, I began playing the game.

“Going to sell camels in the desert over there? The camel looks healthy. Okay, pass!”

“Thanks, take care!”

I let through people due to various reasons, feeling more like I was just doing my job.

As I calmly went about my duties, I heard,

“Passport? Hurry up and show it back.”

The driver had a strangely rude tone, refusing to get out of the car. Though the cargo looked standard, I felt a sense of suspicion.

“Hey, buddy, you need to step out, I’m doing my job! Show me the goods!”

Just in case, I had to check the driver’s seat for smuggled goods.

But the guy wouldn’t listen and simply shoved the passport at me. As I tried to hop into the passenger seat, he sped away!

“What the!? Where do you think you’re going?!”

With the driver’s door left wide open, the dude took off in a flurry with the truck!

Not long after, the system chimed in.

“A criminal is escaping! Pursue immediately!”

Wait, this isn’t just a simple inspection game after all?

Following the on-screen prompts, I hopped in the police car and began the chase after the criminal!

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