It’s an easy fact to overlook because of his appearance, but Cheon Hwi is over three hundred years old.
Maybe it’s thanks to his overwhelmingly rich and varied life experiences compared to others, but the moment the Red Gate incident was resolved, Cheon Hwi instinctively understood one thing.
Ah, it’s best not to stream for a while.
As a streamer, attention is good—hot buzz means success.
But if the spotlight gets too hot, there’s a risk of burning up entirely.
Cheon Hwi trusted this gut feeling, one forged through countless experiences.
Back when he roamed the martial world with the title “Sword Sovereign of Chaos,” and during his time as the leader of the Martial Alliance solving endless crises—
each event had brought him some form of insight.
Rumors that spread without weight burn fiercely, but just as quickly as they boil over, they cool down.
And though they cool fast, the intensity in that moment is enough to scorch a person through.
Trying to react to that kind of situation carelessly could not only escalate things but also put you in a bind.
That was a truth Cheon Hwi had come to understand through years of entanglement with powerful figures, a deeply political lesson earned through experience.
So Cheon Hwi contacted Choa to give her advice.
Don’t stream for about a week, at least until public opinion stabilizes.
Choa may have more streaming experience, but when it comes to life experience, Cheon Hwi was a veteran.
And since Choa had always trusted Cheon Hwi almost completely, she didn’t ask many questions.
She simply nodded and accepted his advice.
She was someone who understood what kind of behavior was appropriate in situations like this.
And so, about a week later, when public opinion had largely settled thanks to the Association’s swift response.
[LIVE / Song Cheon Hwi: Post-Strategy Celebration Broadcast]
Finally, the long-awaited stream of Cheon Hwi went live.
Even the title made it clear: this was a “celebration broadcast.”
It was a full-on declaration that he was about to spill everything.
People flooded into the stream.
They had so many questions.
So much they wanted to hear.
Whether it was about Cheon Hwi himself, or about Choa, whom he had taught for a month, anything was fine, as long as he spoke.
And just as if he’d read the expectations of his viewers perfectly, the content of the stream was flawless.
A Q&A session.
Commonly referred to as “Q&A,” this format is well-known for letting viewers ask questions that the streamer answers.
As expected, both longtime fans and new viewers erupted in cheers at the familiar yet exciting format.
Cheon Hwi, now a full-fledged professional streamer, and Choa, a former corporate-level streamer, both smiled subtly at the corners of their lips.
There was a reason they’d chosen Q&A, of all things, as the main content of today’s stream.
“I’ll start taking questions now.”
By holding a Q&A while the mood was still in their favor, they could ensure the one answering the questions held the upper hand.
Cheon Hwi and Choa both knew how important it was to hold the upper hand in the flow of conversation, which is why they had agreed together to make the Q&A session the main content of the stream.
They would answer as many questions as they reasonably could, but if a question crossed the line or was something they didn’t want to answer, they would either pretend not to see it or simply state that they couldn’t respond.
With that agreement in place, the stream that went live had a very unique vibe.
“Let’s start by hearing what Miss Choa is curious about. As a student who showed such great results, she deserves at least this much consideration.”
“Ah, thank you!”
The chat window surged with comments, almost as if it was about to explode.
But the hosts—Cheon Hwi and Choa—remained completely calm, acting as if they couldn’t even see the chat at all.
That, however, was entirely part of Cheon Hwi’s strategy.
You can’t always give people everything they want.
Even kids turn spoiled if you say yes to everything—and viewers are no different.
‘When it comes to broadcasting, Miss Choa definitely has more experience.’
Choa had given Cheon Hwi plenty of advice.
She might not know martial arts or combat like he did, but when it came to streaming, she was far more knowledgeable.
And in this particular situation, there was one piece of advice that really stuck with him, one that Choa had strongly emphasized.
Not all new viewers are good for the stream.
Having taken that lesson to heart, Cheon Hwi made a point of running the stream slowly, carefully distinguishing between positive and negative newcomers.
A Q&A session that unfolds entirely on his terms.
Thus began an unprecedented format: the “Viewer Filter Q&A.”
Naturally, the first question of the Q&A went to Choa.
“U-um… is it okay to talk about things outside the stream?”
“No problem at all.”
And with that, Choa opened the Q&A with a question that immediately drew the viewers’ attention.
Bringing up something that happened off-stream was essentially a declaration—
a promise that this would be the first of many personal and revealing questions to come.
What would she ask?
But contrary to the viewers’ wild expectations, the question Choa asked Cheon Hwi was surprisingly odd—and a little pointless.
“Is there a reason you use formal speech outside of the broadcast?”
– Formal speech, huh?
– Kinda changes the vibe lol
– Wait, the Great Hero uses honorifics when not streaming?
– I can’t even imagine the Great Hero speaking politely lmaooo
Though the viewers had never seen it firsthand, it was something Choa had been curious about from the very first time they met.
“During the stream, you speak like a martial arts master or something,
but outside the stream, you only use formal speech—it’s kind of fascinating, you know?”
“Mm, that’s true.”
He had the kind of power that made even the President of the Hunter Association lower his head, and his speech during broadcasts seemed completely natural in informal language.
So much so that him speaking politely actually felt strange.
Why, then, did he insist on using formal speech off-camera?
Cheon Hwi went silent, his mouth closed.
Choa started getting nervous, swallowing hard as she worried she might have asked something rude.
“Miss Choa, are you wondering why I go out of my way to use formal speech outside of the broadcast?”
“Y-yeah, I’ve been really curious about that… Was that maybe a bit rude to ask?”
Cheon Hwi hesitated for a moment, then smiled awkwardly as he spoke.
Just as Choa was about to use her reply to change the subject, Cheon Hwi shook his head and continued.
“There’s no big reason. In the end, speech patterns basically boil down to formal or informal, and I just found it annoying to keep deciding which to use and when.”
“R-really?”
– Whoa, formal speech lol
– Why does it sound so awkward tho haha
– He’s smooth but it feels off somehow
– Feels like watching a polite villain right before he snaps someone’s neck
– Bro that comparison lmaooo
Everyone, including Choa and the viewers, was surprised at Cheon Hwi’s sudden use of honorifics.
Still, even though it was surprising, many viewers couldn’t help but doubt his explanation.
Choa was no exception.
Tilting her head, she asked again on behalf of the audience.
“But what do you mean it’s annoying to decide when to use what?”
“Well, think about when people usually use formal speech. The answer’s pretty obvious.”
“You mean… when do people normally use formal speech?”
When do people use formal speech?
It’s a question so simple that even a child could answer it.
When someone is older than you, has a higher rank, or is someone you need to respect for one reason or another.
Cheon Hwi explained it plainly—this was exactly the part that had always been a bit tricky for him.
“There just aren’t many people who meet the usual criteria.”
・Cheon Hwi had fallen into the martial world back in 2028, before the Great Cataclysm.
So, while his official age in 2077 was listed as 73, in truth, due to the time difference between the two worlds, his actual age was over 300.
Even though awakened individuals born after the Cataclysm aged more slowly,
the Cataclysm only happened in 2031.
It had only been 46 years since then, so, by the limits of time itself, it was impossible for anyone in this world to be older than Cheon Hwi.
The same went for rank.
Even if he had been living like a jobless hermit since his return, he had enough power to make the Association President or masters of the Five Great Guilds follow his word with just a few sentences.
Sure, that power came from martial force, but it didn’t make the fact any less true.
So, the only remaining case—the most ambiguous one—was respect.
Respect as the sole remaining standard.
“The thing is, respect itself is a tricky concept,”
Cheon Hwi said with an awkward scratch of his cheek.
From the perspective of a martial artist raised on typical murim values,
there were only a handful of people in the world who could earn Cheon Hwi’s respect.
That’s because the “average personality” of a martial artist was… notoriously bad.
Unless it was a master who had done him a great favor or someone he was personally close to, the culture was to dismiss anyone weaker than oneself—it was deeply ingrained.
So after wrestling with it ever since his return.
Cheon Hwi finally came to a conclusion.
Everyone around me is younger and weaker, so to be considerate, I’ll just speak formally to everyone.
And the reason he chose formal speech wasn’t anything profound.
He could’ve just used informal speech instead, but from the listener’s point of view, formal speech sounded more respectful.
He couldn’t be bothered to get into unnecessary arguments or sword fights over his tone.
This wasn’t the martial world, where you could just cut someone down if you didn’t like them.
Sure, if it came to using force, he could deal with the consequences.
But that whole process was annoying.
If he had to compare it to something in modern life, it was like a kindergarten teacher speaking formally to the kids, a way to prevent unnecessary trouble by offering basic courtesy in advance.
After explaining all this, Cheon Hwi chuckled.
“Not much of a reason, right?”
“U-uh, right…”
But not only Choa, even the viewers who had been listening intently found themselves unable to react properly.
And the reason was obvious.
Cheon Hwi might have said it casually like it was no big deal, but the content of what he’d said?
Once you summarized it, stripped of all the polite phrasing, it came off as incredibly arrogant and downright offensive.
There’s no one in the world more capable than me, so it’s hard to respect others.
So instead of trying to judge when to use formal or informal speech, I just use honorifics all the time, so at least people won’t feel bad.
In other words—I alone stand above all others.
And judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t acting for the stream—he really believed it.
Faced with Cheon Hwi’s utterly baffling worldview, both longtime fans and new viewers alike were completely speechless, typing out responses in chat only to backspace them again.
Viewer filter: success.
From the very first question, Cheon Hwi had masterfully fulfilled the true purpose of this Q&A.
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