The greatest talent genius of all time

Episode 3: The Challenge (2)

While Kim Geun-ryeok was stubbornly trying to clear an incredibly difficult game for over 20 hours straight without stopping his stream, Song Jun was sitting with Joo Young-seok, drinking.

“You did well to stay away from him. That guy’s a total scammer. Even we considered recruiting him once, but we backed off.”

Song Jun was usually pretty direct, and this was no exception.

Kim Jin-baek was infamous in the industry—not for talent, but for stirring up drama, spreading rumors, and even getting into legal trouble. The fact that his reputation spread so fast whenever he pulled something made people wonder how he managed to keep anything hidden.

On top of that, he was currently spreading bad rumors about Song Jun.

That’s why they were going to ask Kim Geun-ryeok if he was interested in joining Starburst.

“But it’s too late. He already joined Pressure Network.”

Pressure Network was a major agency with over a million subscribers and strong ties with some of the biggest channels. They had pulled some strings to get him in. But even there, people seemed hesitant about him.

“That place basically runs on connections. Those YouTubers care about their image too much.”

In Korea, the biggest creator agencies were Starburst, where Joo Young-seok worked, and Pressure Network, where Kim Geun-ryeok had just joined.

“Anyway, how’s the freelance work going? You think you’ll manage?”

“I mean, it should be fine for now. Maybe I’ll get more jobs later.”

“Good. Honestly, editors are in high demand right now. And you’re one of the most reliable ones. So many people just disappear without a word.”

“But I need to be careful not to take on too much. Lately, I haven’t had much energy.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Just pace yourself. It’s freelance work, after all. Besides, I’m Joo Young-seok, the ace of Starburst! This kind of thing won’t be a problem for me.”

For now, his mind was filled with thoughts about how to use the endless potential of this talent-sharing network. There were so many opportunities that it was actually hard to choose.

“Oh yeah, did you see this?”

Joo Young-seok, slightly drunk, smirked and pulled up a live stream.

“Huh? What’s this?”

“Just watch.”

On the screen, Kim Geun-ryeok’s face looked completely dead inside. Over 4,000 people were watching, way more than his usual audience. A timer in the corner showed that the stream had been going for 23 hours and 55 minutes.

“Why do I feel like I don’t even need to watch to know what’s happening?”

“Look at the stream title. You’re gonna love it.”

[Fallen Kingdom: 24-Hour No-Stop Challenge]

“Huh? No breaks? No stopping?”

A crazy thought popped into his head.

(Huff… this is it. One last attempt!)

Kim Geun-ryeok’s voice sounded exhausted. He must’ve failed so many times that even his voice was worn out.

“This one guy, ‘S,’ already beat the game on the hardest mode, no damage, in 4 minutes and 30 seconds.”

Joo Young-seok couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“And then people started donating, egging him on, giving him mission challenges, and—”

“WHAT?! How is this even possible?! NOOOO—!”

A loud crash echoed as Kim Geun-ryeok slammed his keyboard in frustration. The keys scattered across the screen.

“You Died.”

It was over.

(Haah… )

As the timer passed 24 hours, Kim Geun-taek dropped his head in defeat.

At the same time, the words “Mission Failed” flashed on the screen.

The 2 million won mission reward? Gone.

The chat exploded.

– Boom. Crashed. Totally wrecked.

– LOL. Chat reaction is brutal.

– “Today’s stream ends here.”

With a face as lifeless as a ghost, Kim Geun-taek quickly ended the broadcast.

Game Over.

– In the end, he failed.

– LOL, he kept saying ‘physical king’ this, ‘physical god’ that.

– Third place, at least?

– Best record? 4 minutes 44 seconds, LMAO.

– How many times did he challenge the final boss in 24 hours?

– I stopped counting after 200 tries.

– Aww, disappointing, Kim Geun-taek! Bragged about his skills, but can’t do a 4-minute, no-heal, perfect run?

– A true ‘physical god’ should be able to do that challenge, right?

– If he streams again, I’m watching no matter what!

The chat was exactly how Song Jun predicted.

“Man, he totally failed. If he at least got third place, maybe, but this? Total disaster.”

Song Jun took a sip of soju, enjoying the moment.

Failing the mission in front of nearly 4,000 viewers had completely shattered Kim Geun-taek’s reputation as a gaming pro.

“You know, the whole company is going crazy over Fallen Kingdom now because of this.”

Joo Young-seok shook his head at the mess this had caused.

“Streamers are suddenly canceling their plans just to play Fallen Kingdom.”

“The game’s been dead for over two years, but now? It’s having a comeback.”

Joo Young-seok scrolled through a streaming site, revealing dozens of streamers playing Fallen Kingdom.

“Ridiculous. Everyone’s playing it now, even though it’s an old game.”

“Haha, and our company’s struggling because of it. All the creators who were supposed to do other content are now stuck playing Fallen Kingdom.”

– Pffft!

Song Jun couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore.

“What’s so funny?” Joo Young-seok asked, confused. “Why are you so happy about Kim Geun-taek losing?”

“Of course I’m happy. I made him lose.”

“…What?”

For a second, Joo Young-seok thought he misheard.

“You were the one who donated the mission money?”

“What? Hell no. I’m not wasting money on that guy.”

“Then…?”

“I’m the one who started the challenge.”

Joo Young-seok’s eyes widened.

“You’re saying… you own that challenge channel?”

Instead of answering, Song Jun pulled up the YouTube management page on his phone.

He had uploaded that challenge video on a whim, never expecting it to blow up like this.

“Wha—Wait… 1,000 subscribers?!”

“You were the one who sent that donation?”

“What? Hell no. Why would I waste money on him? Not the donation—the challenge. Yeah, that was me.”

“…What? Are you saying you own that challenge channel?”

Joo Young-seok still couldn’t believe it.

Instead of answering, Song Jun pulled up his YouTube management page.

He had uploaded that challenge video on impulse, never expecting it to blow up like this.

“Look at this. Huh? 1,000 subscribers?”

Yesterday, when he uploaded the challenge, it had zero.

Now, the subscriber count reads: 1,079.

And it was still climbing in real-time.

“…What the hell?”

Joo Young-seok stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded.

“Wait—weren’t you stuck in Bronze rank in Legendary League?”

“Exactly.”

“No way. You’re telling me the one who made Kim Geun-taek pull an all-nighter was you?”

“Blame the YouTube algorithm. Even I didn’t expect this.”

Song Jun shrugged, smirking.

It was hard to believe. Even he was struggling to process it.

“A thousand subs in one night? That’s insane.”

“It’s… kinda hard to get, right?”

“Kinda hard? Kinda?”

Joo Young-seok gave him a sharp look.

“No beginner gets 1,000 subs in a day. Even that 2-million-subscriber YouTuber you admire took nearly a week to hit 100 subs.”

For top YouTubers, growth took time.

But Song Jun? He had cheated the system.

“So… I got 1,000 subs in just a few hours.”

A sudden thought hit him.

Wouldn’t it be a waste to let this go?

“…Should I try YouTube?”

“Wait, what? Just like that? YouTube?”

“You just said it yourself. Getting 1,000 subs is hard, right?”

“…True.”

“YouTube’s first monetization requirement is 500 subs. The second is 1,000. I’ve already passed that. Watch hours? That’ll come with time. The hardest part is getting subscribers, but I cleared that in one day.”

“That’s true, but… you do realize how oversaturated YouTube gaming is, right? It’s a red ocean. You know this better than anyone.”

Joo Young-seok had a point.

The gaming scene was brutally competitive.

But then again—

“You just told me Fallen Kingdom turned your whole company upside down. If one challenge video could do that… Then isn’t ‘physical skill’ a blue ocean? Even Kim Geun-taek built his whole career on it.”

Joo Young-seok went quiet.

He was right.

Fallen Kingdom was trending again. If Song Jun played his cards right, this was his only chance to ride the wave.

“…Alright. Let’s talk more somewhere quiet. It’s too loud here to think properly.”

As an industry insider, Joo Young-seok couldn’t ignore his friend’s potential.

He knew better than anyone—breaking into this field as a rookie was like a camel passing through the eye of a needle.

Now at the bar, Song Jun scrolled through the flood of comments on his video.

– This is real physical skill.

– Perfect play. Why does this feel so satisfying?

– Who the hell is this guy?

– This isn’t some edited clip, right?

– Edit? Are you dumb? You’d have to fake the timer, the perfect play, everything.

– Is he planning to stream?

– He should. If he takes this seriously, he’ll blow up.

– There’s even a rumor he’s a pro?

– If he were a pro, why do this in secret? He’d just stream on his main channel and rake in donations.

The majority of comments were praise or requests to see more.

The rest? Just trolls trying to stir things up.

The view count kept rising in real time.

“This is crazy…”

Watching his video gain so much attention filled Song Jun with an unfamiliar feeling.

Until now, he had only edited videos for others.

But this time, he had done everything himself—from recording to editing and uploading.

And now, the comment section was so active, he couldn’t even keep up.

“I can’t read them all. It’s too much.”

“They’re probably analyzing your play right now. Viewers are watching together, discussing it… But seriously, are you actually considering YouTube?”

“Yeah. Not 100% sure yet, but I’m thinking about it.”

Despite all the alcohol, neither of them felt drunk.

Joo Young-seok was shocked by his friend’s hidden talent.

And Song Jun? He was intrigued by this completely unexpected opportunity.

“You swear that video is 100% real?”

“Absolutely.”

“If you played again, could you do it?”

“Of course.”

“…Damn. This really is an opportunity. But still, YouTube is brutal.”

For every 100 people who start, at least 90 quit within a month.

“This is just another challenge. I can still take editing commissions on the side and make my own videos too.”

“…That does make sense. Start as a side gig, huh? Wow, look at you, sneaking in a sales pitch.”

Despite his words, Joo Young-seok was already half-convinced.

“You’re in the biggest company in the industry. Your advice would help. I’ve only worked as an editor before.”

“…Damn it. Every other friend who tried YouTube was just messing around, so I always told them to quit.”

But 1,000 subscribers in a single day? That was not normal.

With only two videos, he had already achieved something most beginners never could.

It felt wasteful to throw that away.

Besides, this wasn’t just about one skill.

If he planned it right, YouTube could become his portfolio, helping him learn new things and expand his reach.

“…And if I use YouTube as a platform, it could be a stepping stone for something bigger.”

Song Jun had no intention of mastering just one skill.

The more he thought about it, the more YouTube seemed like the best option.

Instead of limiting himself, why not use the platform as a massive portfolio?

Not just for gaming, but for learning new skills and expanding his reach.

Some might say there wasn’t enough time to master even one thing.

But Song Jun knew better—his strength was versatility.

His goal?

To fill his channel with unique content that no one else could replicate.

That was something only he could do.

“Does StarVerse have a spot?”

StarVerse—one of the biggest creator networks.

“A spot? Of course.”

Joo Young-seok grinned, but then his expression hardened.

“Wait. No. You can’t join yet. You need to go solo.”

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better to have a network backing me?”

“There are good ones, but not all of them. And let’s be real—you don’t need their help to grow.”

Joo Young-seok leaned back, deep in thought.

Joining an MCN (Multi-Channel Network) had its benefits, but nothing came for free.

“Tch. Fine. I’ll just help you myself. Better that than some contract screwing you over.”

“Oh? That’s generous of you. But aren’t you busy with your job?”

“Ten years of friendship, man. This is when it counts. Now shut up and buy the next round!”

“You got it.”

With a clink of their soju glasses, they sealed the deal.

“First things first, you need to prepare a stream. People are arguing whether your video is real or fake.”

“Yeah, I saw. Some say it’s edited. Some think I stole footage from a foreign player.”

“Are you gonna show your face?”

“Nah.”

“Then at least use a hand cam. That’s enough proof. Get a decent camera.”

“Fair enough. But my main focus isn’t streaming. It’s YouTube.”

If he wanted to be a full-time streamer, he’d put all his energy into that.

But that wasn’t his plan.

Streaming would only be occasional.

His main focus was still YouTube videos.

“Streaming? Why not go all in? Gaming does best with live interaction.”

“Which is why I’ll do both—but streaming only when necessary. YouTube comes first.”

Gaming was just one of many talents he planned to showcase.

“Fair enough. So, what’s your channel name?”

A name, huh?

He had never thought about it seriously, but one idea came to mind.

Something that represented his current situation and future plans.

“Creative Studio.”

It was the name of the gift his grandfather gave him.

And it reflected his goal—to create something new with multiple skills.

“Creative Studio? Sounds like a channel that does a bit of everything.”

“Exactly.”

“Honestly, the name sucks. But hey, it’s your channel.”

“Haha, fair enough.”

“So, what’s your first goal as a YouTuber?”

Song Jun smirked.

“My first goal?”

“Yeah. What’s the first thing you wanna achieve?”

He chuckled.

“Revenge.”

“Huh?”

“There’s this streamer. He embarrassed me before. I’m gonna destroy him.”

“Oh, I like that. Payback, huh?”

“Exactly. And, of course, growing the channel.”

Right now, gaming was just the beginning.

But with time, new skills would expand his possibilities endlessly.

The second skill he mastered would have to support his YouTube journey.

He knew exactly what to do next.