Lee Joon-ho woke to the faint hum of his VR headset, its standby light blinking like a heartbeat in the dim apartment.
It was March 21, 2040, and the eviction notice on his desk loomed larger with each tick of the clock—two days left. His phone glowed beside it, StreamSphere notifications piling up: 450 followers now, 18,000 won in tips from yesterday's stream. Not enough to save him, but enough to keep going.
He rubbed his stiff neck, the wheelchair creaking as he shifted. Sleep had been a luxury he couldn't afford—not when Razor was starting to cut through the noise.
Creak. Clack.
He powered up the headset, Sword Realms loading with a familiar flicker. His avatar stood in the bandit camp clearing, iron sword in hand, the steel dagger from the chief strapped to his belt.
The viewer count jumped the moment he went live: 50, 80, 120. Chat erupted.
["Razor's on!"]
["Vortex called you out again—fight him!"]
["Show us that boss move, king!"]
Joon-ho's lip twitched. Vortex. That loudmouth was still at it, huh? He'd checked the guy's stream last night—dual axes spinning, goblin guts flying, and a smug grin as he racked up 12,000 viewers.
[Razor's a flash in the pan," Vortex had said, smirking. "One lucky swing doesn't make you a streamer."]
Joon-ho didn't bite—not yet. He'd answer with his blade when the time was right.
For now, he had work to do. He opened the quest log: "Hunt the Forest Stalker." A mid-tier wolf pack leader, level 8, lurking deeper in the woods. His own level was 5, gear still basic, but he'd faced worse odds in kendo sparring.
Chat egged him on as he trekked through the trees, the forest growing denser, shadows shifting.
["Bet he wipes."]
["Quiet, he's got this."]
The Stalker emerged—a hulking wolf with matted fur and glowing eyes, flanked by two smaller ones. It snarled, claws raking the dirt.
Snarl. Thump.
Joon-ho tightened his grip, sliding into a stance—jodan-no-kamae, high guard, blade raised. The smaller wolves lunged first.
Swish. Swoosh.
He sidestepped the left one, slashing downward to sever its spine, then pivoted, thrusting the iron sword into the right one's flank.
Slish. Thud.
Two down, six seconds.
Chat buzzed.
["So fast!"]
["He's reading them like a book!"]
The Stalker charged, jaws snapping.
Growl. Whump.
Joon-ho ducked, the beast's claws grazing his avatar's shoulder—10% health gone. He rolled forward, springing up behind it, and struck: a diagonal cut to its hind leg, then a thrust to its side as it turned.
Slish. Swoosh.
It howled, lunging again, but he was ready—blade flashing up in a perfect arc, slicing its throat.
Slish. Crack.
Blood sprayed, and it crumpled. Dead.
["Quest complete,"] the system chimed.
Loot: 150 coins, a wolf pelt, and a steel sword—sharper, heavier, a real step up.
Viewer count: 250. Tips: 3,000 won.
["That was insane!"]
["Clip that, NOW!"]
Joon-ho equipped the new blade, testing its weight. It wasn't a shinai, but it sang in his hands.
He kept grinding—wolves, bandits, a rogue bear that took four hits to drop. Each kill was a dance: parry, dodge, strike, repeat. His kendo roots bled through—every move deliberate, no wasted motion.
By mid-afternoon, his level hit 7, coins stacked at 400, and viewers climbed to 350. Tips ticked up to 25,000 won. Enough for rent? Not yet. Enough to breathe? Barely.
Then a message popped in chat, bolded by a 5,000-won tip:
["Vortex says he'll 1v1 you if you hit 1,000 followers. Step up, Razor!"]
Joon-ho paused, the forest quiet around him. Vortex's taunt from last night echoed—flash in the pan, huh?
He smirked, typing his first live reply:
["Tell him to sharpen his axes. I'll be there."]
Chat exploded.
["Oh shit, it's on!"]
["Razor vs. Vortex, let's go!"]
The follower count jumped—400, 450.
He pushed harder, taking on a chain quest: "Raid the Outlaw Hideout." Ten enemies, tighter coordination, better loot.
He crept to the hideout's edge—a cave mouth guarded by two archers. Risky with no ranged options, but he'd faced worse blind spots in tournaments.
He sprinted, zigzagging as arrows whizzed past.
Swish. Whizz.
He reached the first archer, slashing its bow in half before gutting it.
Slish. Thud.
The second nocked an arrow, but he threw the dagger—crude, off-balance, but it sank into the archer's chest.
Thwack. Gurgle.
Two down.
The cave erupted—eight outlaws, swords and spears. Joon-ho wove through them, blade a blur: a thrust to a spearman's throat, a parry into a counter-slash, a spinning cut that dropped two at once.
Clang. Swish. Thud.
His health dipped—30% gone—but he didn't falter. The last outlaw, a burly captain, swung a mace.
Whoosh. Thump.
Joon-ho dodged, feinted left, and drove his sword through the captain's heart.
Slish. Crack.
The cave fell silent, bodies strewn.
["Quest complete."]
Loot: 300 coins, a chain vest, and a skill scroll—"Quick Step," a dodge boost.
Viewer count: 600. Tips: 35,000 won.
["He's a demon!"]
["Vortex is sweating now!"]
Someone clipped the fight, and followers spiked—700, 800. The rush hit Joon-ho like a drug—eight years of nothing, and now this.
He leaned back, HUD glowing. Four hours in, his focus fraying.
["Break time,"] he typed.
["Don't leave us, Razor!"]
["Come back quick!"]
Chat pleaded, tips nudging 40,000 won.
He logged out, headset slipping off. The apartment's silence pressed in, but his pulse still raced.
Forty thousand won—halfway to rent, a real lifeline.
His phone buzzed. Soo-jin again:
["You're blowing up. Call me, idiot."]
He hesitated, thumb hovering. She'd seen the stream, knew it was him. Of course she did—she'd sparred him enough to recognize his style.
He texted back:
["Busy. Watch if you want."]
Let her stew. He wasn't ready for that talk.
The steel sword's weight lingered in his mind, a ghost of the shinai he'd lost.
Vortex wanted a fight? Fine. Joon-ho would grind until his blade was undeniable, until 1,000 followers was just the start.
He wheeled to the kitchenette, ramen packet in hand.
Rip. Sizzle.
It wasn't victory yet, but it tasted like a step.