The red light blinked on.
"Alright… let's get started."
He leaned forward slightly, adjusting the mic until the faint buzz faded. The camera light reflected in his eyes, casting a dull glow across the quiet room.
"Today's challenge is quite simple," he said in a steady and practiced voice. "We only have five dollars. But we're making something simple, filling, and actually worth eating."
He tapped the counter beside him, where a small spread of ingredients sat under the light.
"As you can see, there are eggs, instant noodles, half a tomato, and… whatever this spice is supposed to be."
He picked up a small packet, squinting at the label.
"I'm pretty sure this is expired, but we're going to risk it only for today." He paused slightly as a faint smile outlined his face. "Don't try this at home. Seriously. Use fresh ingredients."
His setup wasn't impressive, but it was adequate. Among other things, there was a cheap camera angled slightly too low, a secondhand hot plate, and a cutting board that had seen better days.
Everything was arranged carefully and intentionally because that part mattered. It could make or break his streaming. Though right now, there was nothing left to break.
Sighing, he habitually glanced at the monitor.
Viewer count: 0
Of course, it was as it had always been, and he had gotten used to it. So, he didn't react.
"Alright, first step," he continued, already moving. "We're going to boil the noodles, but not the usual way. If you just follow the instructions, it's boring. We're trying to make something simple… but actually good."
His hands, already in practiced motion, poured water into the pot before turning on the hotplate.
After that, he didn't rush.
That was one thing he had learned early. Rushing killed interest. Silence had to feel intentional. Otherwise, people clicked away.
"So here's the idea," he went on, cracking an egg into a bowl. "If you cook the noodles separately and control the seasoning yourself, you can stretch cheap ingredients a lot further."
"Most people mess this part up. They dump everything in at once and hope for the best." He whisked the egg lightly with a fork as he shook his head slightly.
"But actually, it doesn't work like that."
The water began to simmer as he continued his monologue. He adjusted the heat, then reached for the tomato, slicing it slowly, cleanly.
Each movement was measured, controlled, and had rhythm.
It was like he'd done this hundreds of times.
Because he had.
Despite his efforts, the chat box stayed empty, and the silence lingered. But he kept going.
"You don't need expensive ingredients to make something decent," he said, glancing briefly at the camera. "You just need to know what you're doing."
With a soft click, he set the knife down.
Then, the noodles went into the pot.
Steam rose, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet bubbling of water.
Once again, his eyes drifted to the corner of the screen.
Viewer count: 0
The number hadn't changed. His hand paused slightly over the counter.
A second later, he moved again.
"Timing always matters when cooking," he said, tone unchanged. "Too long, the noodles will go soft. Too short, they're useless."
He stirred the contents of the pot once, then stepped back.
"While that's going, we'll be prepping the rest." The egg hit the pan with a soft hiss. He tilted it, letting it spread thin, almost like a crepe.
"Low heat," he added. "Always low heat for this part."
A minute or two later, he folded the fried egg carefully, then set it aside.
There was no rush in his movements. No hesitation either.
Just smooth motions he had perfected over years of practice… when no one was watching.
And just like that, minutes passed.
Then more.
But his voice never broke, and his pacing never slipped.
Only his eyes betrayed him… drifting once again to the corner of the screen. And just like before, just like always…
Viewer count: 0
Sighing again, he exhaled quietly and muted the mic.
The room went still, with no voice and no movement. What remained was just the faint hum of electricity and the soft simmer of the pot.
He leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his face.
"…Will this ever work out?" A quiet breath escaped him. "How many times has it been now…"
He didn't finish the thought as he didn't need to.
The answer sat in the silence around him.
Blinking, he lowered his hand and stared at the screen, taking in his own frozen frame in the corner. No surprises. There never were.
It had been five years. He had tried different ideas, different formats, and different approaches.
But the result had always been the same.
Zero viewers. Zero engagement.
A small laugh slipped out, sounding dry and tired. "Guess I'm just not cut out for it."
He shook his head as his hand moved and hovered over the "End Stream" button.
His finger rested there for a few moments longer as various thoughts spun in his mind.
It would be easy to just click that button, shut everything down, and walk away.
And then, he wouldn't need to pretend anymore.
He wouldn't have to continue talking to no one.
But just like hundreds of times before, he hated the thought of giving up.
And although his viewer count was still the same as before, at zero, there was still that tiny hope at the back of his mind.
What if today was the day when I finally made a break?
He stared at the viewer count for a second longer… then his eyes gained a bit of luster.
"I can't just give up. Not yet."
He unmuted the mic.
"Alright," he said, voice steady again. "Let's finish this properly."
He leaned forward, picking up the noodles and draining the water from them.
"I will give this a few more weeks, and if even one person joins… I'll keep going."
The words came out simple. They sounded honest.
He served the food carefully, with the noodles going down on the plate first. The eggs were then layered on top and the tomatoes added for color.
It didn't look like a meal at a five-star restaurant.
But it looked delicious. Something someone might actually want to try.
"Final result," he said, angling the plate toward the camera. "Five dollars. Twenty minutes. Not bad."
He held it there for a second longer than necessary, letting the camera catch the details. The steam rising faintly. The slightly uneven cut of the tomato. Nothing fancy, but honest.
He picked up a fork and paused for a moment before taking a bite.
For a split second, he just sat there, like he was letting the moment settle.
Then he took it.
Chewing slowly and thoughtfully, he nodded to himself. "Yeah… that works. It actually tastes quite—"
It was then that the screen flickered.
It was so quick it could have been nothing. But he caught it and his words cut off mid-sentence.
His heart skipped a beat, and he frowned slightly, eyes shifting toward the monitor.
"…Did you see that?"
Of course, no one answered.
The silence made it worse.
A second passed.
Then another flicker happened. This time, it lingered just a fraction longer.
The image warped. Colors stretched unnaturally across the screen before snapping back into place like a rubber band.
His grip on the fork tightened.
He set it down slowly.
"…Okay." His eyes narrowed as he leaned in a little closer to the monitor.
"Could be the connection," he muttered, more to himself than anything else. But it didn't feel like a connection issue.
Then the lights dimmed slightly. Not enough to darken the room. Just enough to feel wrong.
The steady hum of the room shifted, dipping for a moment before rising again in an uneven rhythm.
The air felt heavier and still. Like something was pressing down on the space without being seen.
He straightened in his chair as a faint tension crept up his spine.
"Alright, that's—"
Static exploded through his headset. It was sharp, sudden, and violent.
He flinched, one hand instinctively reaching up as if to pull the headset off.
The camera feed glitched hard and his image on screen dragged behind his movements, stretching and distorting, like it was struggling to keep up with reality.
"Okay, that's not normal—"
The lights flickered again. Faster this time.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
A flash of blinding white.
It swallowed everything in an instant, erasing the room, the screen, the world itself.
The sound came a fraction later.
A crack tore through the air like something had split open above him.
It wasn't thunder. It was something closer.
Everything stopped, sound vanished, light disappeared, and darkness took its place.
For a moment, there was nothing. No pain. No thought. No sense of self.
There was only silence.
Then…
A screen flickered in the emptiness. It was faint, distorted, and barely holding together.
And the stream was still running even after all that had happened.
The viewer count flickered in the corner, numbers breaking apart, reforming, and struggling to stay stable.
Viewer count: 0
Then, the screen trembled.
Glitched.
Shifted—
Viewer count: 1
And everything went black.