I Have a Reason to Hate Streamers Chapter 3

It was a terrible misfortune. There was no other way to describe it.

What was the exact dical term again…? Ah, yes. People generally call it the TS Disease. An unexplained phenonon that suddenly changes the entire human body. In fact, calling it a disease is questionable—it's more like a devil’s prank that strikes without warning.

“You’re flying out tomorrow, right? I ca to give you a little change of pace.” “Do you think Dad just said that casually? The director and coaches didn’t let you off the hook easily. The coach even said it’d be good for you to take a short break from practicing so hard.”

Would things have been okay if I hadn’t gotten into my parents' car that day? No. It wouldn’t have made a difference.

The drive from my parents’ place to the training center wasn’t short. They had taken ti out of their busy schedule to co and see , even if only for an hour. I couldn’t betray their devotion, coming all that way just for .

My tragedy was no one’s fault.

How could anyone bla my father for contracting TS Disease while driving? It was the agony of staying conscious while his body transford. There was no way he could control the steering wheel.

So, my father did his best. The fact that I ended up like this was due to a natural disaster. At least, that’s what I believed.

“Da-hoon’s dad! What’s wrong?” “Ugh, my body... suddenly... Ahhhh, grrrrrgh!”

We were descending a mountain road at the ti.

My father desperately gripped the steering wheel, moving his foot toward the brake. But it was futile—our car began to shake violently. We had no ti to think. While I hesitated in panic, my mother threw her body over mine, shielding .

Why did she do that? How did she summon the courage to act like that? I still don’t understand a parent’s heart.

As the car flew off the cliff and hung suspended in the air, as if the world had frozen, my mother chose her last words carefully from all the ones she could have said.

“I love you, my son.”

Boom—!

I don’t rember much after that. It felt like the world flipped dozens of tis as the car rolled over again and again. Amid the darkness, a deafening roar surrounded . I was hit by dizzying impacts from every direction.

I rember the taste of dirt in my mouth, maybe the tallic tang of blood, too. One thing was certain—my mother’s sacrifice had saved . When the wreck was found after my coach filed a missing persons report, the car was practically a heap of scrap tal.

They said it was a miracle I had survived at all.

So, I never saw my parents' bodies. My coach had begged in tears, pleading that I shouldn’t go to see them. How could I not understand? If such a kind person made such a request, it could only an my parents were in an unspeakable state.

Their faces were probably unrecognizable. There would be no way to properly dress them up for a final farewell. If I saw their faces, the image of my mother and father I knew would be overwritten with sothing horrible. That’s what my coach was worried about.

But there was sothing my coach didn’t know. I had a faint, lingering mory—of a mangled hand gripping the steering wheel to the very end. Even death couldn’t pry my father’s hand from the wheel.

Maybe that’s why they had to sever his arm entirely. Naturally, I was the only survivor.

My parents' bodies couldn’t even be identified. There was just one blood-covered girl barely breathing in the wreckage—no one thought it was . The only clue was that the clothes I wore looked much too large for .

They said TS Disease wasn’t contagious. Yet that cruel devil seed to mock by cursing with the sa fate.

When I woke up, I had beco a teenage girl.

“So, as you requested, we won’t proceed with amputation. But your quality of life might be severely impacted. Are you sure about this?” “You said there’s not a 0% chance it could recover, right? I want to try walking again, even if it’s just a little.” “Understood. An agent handling your new identity will visit you later today.”

My mother had nearly succeeded in protecting my body, but not entirely. Everything below my left knee was damaged during the transformation. It looked like a grotesque burn scar and no longer functioned properly.

If weight shifted the wrong way or any pressure was applied, the pain was like my body being ripped apart. The doctor recomnded amputation. He said it was practically dead already. But I stubbornly decided to keep the corpse of my left leg.

And so, Han Da-hoon, the national kendo champion, died, and Han Da-eun was born. The kid who lived for kendo had lost her body. There was nothing left. Well, not quite nothing.

What I had left were a mountain of dical bills for my leg’s treatnt, a small studio apartnt paid for with my parents’ inheritance and insurance money, and an outdated brainwave VR connection device my parents had used for experints.

“I should’ve thrown this thing away. It takes up so much space.”

I knew nothing about VR, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw the device away. It was the last trace of my parents. But my curiosity about the machine’s purpose led to try it out—and that was the beginning of my life as a gaming recluse.

You could call it a twist of fate.

The device my parents were developing was originally intended for severely disabled or paralyzed patients. Unlike the latest models that scanned both brainwaves and motion, this device operated solely by brainwaves—an extre approach. It seed they had created it to gift people not with gas, but with normal life experiences. Yet I had fallen into gaming instead.

Now, the machine was practically mine alone. Since I wasn’t using it for its intended purpose, it had its drawbacks.

Most gars can only set their sensory synchronization rate at 30%. But my device wouldn’t go below 70%. It didn’t help my gaming performance and only made the pain more intense.

Since it was a prototype, I couldn’t use any broadcasting or replay features. On the other hand, I couldn’t control “Gawol” properly without it.

That was why I could never beco a strear or pro gar. I had tried everything, but both paths were closed to .

"A completely useless body."

Still, I couldn’t give up on gaming. Inside the ga, I could be like my old self again—sensitive, sharp, like when I was preparing for kendo tournants. While I was playing, reality didn’t exist.

I couldn’t let go of that feeling. For two years now, Gawol, the black sheep of Infinity Black, the nightmare of strears and pro gars, had built a notorious reputation as a paid assassin who killed for money.

I woke up in the middle of the day.

What was the last thing I did? I went to the convenience store for ran. But I felt sick, so I ca ho. I must have fallen asleep as soon as I arrived, too tired to even think.

Now that I think about it, it’s a waste. I should’ve eaten it. Even a single drop of ran broth costs money. What does my mood matter anyway?

Still, my body was pretty fuel-efficient. I’ve never tested it, but with proper care, my physical stats might have been quite good. Even living like this, I hadn’t gotten sick, and in-ga, I perford no worse than during my athlete days.

If it weren’t for my wrecked leg, you could say I was blessed with a perfect body. Proof? I wasn’t even particularly hungry right now. I just needed to focus and jump back into the ga.

On my monitor, a strear nad Soolbbang was enthusiastically streaming. I sipped so cola and unmuted the sound.

“Not much progress today. Why isn’t that accessory dropping?” – If Gawol hadn’t grabbed your hair, you would’ve had it by now. Wait, does he even have hair to grab? “Thank you for the donation, Sulbbang’s Roots… Nooo! It’s not that bad! My hair is still thick! And about Gawol, well, you just have to live with it. What can you do? He wouldn’t co again, would he?”

Hmm. Sorry, but I’ll be visiting again.

When I hunt strears for fun, I avoid killing them repeatedly. But when I’m on a job, like now, it’s different. If I only killed the target, it would raise suspicion. To cover up the real target, I had to kill a few other random strears along with them.

Not that I was obligated to... but it’s fun, right? Anyway, the first victim today was Soolbbang.

I’d been watching him for a while. His basic skills were decent, he had a large fan base, and if he made a big fuss, it would create good gossip. He had so enemies too, thanks to his ti in siege guilds. Plus, his reactions when he died were always amusing.

I picked out three strears as my sacrificial lambs.

Alright, I had a rough idea of where they were. Since Soolbbang had logged out nearby, I’d take him down first. The others would follow in order. A simple route mapped itself in my head.

These strears had done nothing wrong, but I wasn’t guilty either.

The difference is that you guys shine. I’m stuck in the depths of this pit, but you get to show off on a grand stage. You get to do what I can’t.

The only difference between us is that I have a useless left foot. Is that so wrong? I could’ve done it too. Even if I failed, it should’ve been my failure.

So... it’s okay to vent a little, right? It’s not like they’re really dying.

I—

I have a reason to hate strears.

I lay back into the connection device, and the system ssages appeared.

[Launching Infinity Black.] [Welco back, Gawol. Thank you for returning.]

I already felt at ease. The leftover cola was in the fridge, and I was in the connection device. As my body transford into Gawol’s, I slowly gripped my weapon.