Chapter Four

Chapter 3: Zero Viewers Still Count

The number mattered more than Alex wanted to admit.

Not because it was high. Because it wasn’t.

Zero had a way of sitting there longer than it should. Mocking, almost. A quiet reminder that effort doesn’t always attract witnesses.

Early on, Alex checked the viewer count too often. Every few minutes. Every death. Every pause. Like it might change just because he looked at it again.

It rarely did.

He learned to stop reacting to it. Or at least pretend to. He’d glance, register the number, and keep talking like nothing changed.

Because stopping meant acknowledging it had power.

Some nights, zero stayed zero for hours.

He still explained his decisions. Still reacted to moments. Still played like someone was watching. Not because it was smart, but because it felt honest.

There was a shift that happened quietly.

He stopped streaming for viewers and started streaming as himself.

The pressure eased once he accepted that zero didn’t mean failure. It meant potential. An empty room isn’t a rejection. It’s a blank page.

“Zero viewers still count,” he said once, almost offhand, mid-stream. “Because I’m still here.”

That line stuck.

Not every stream needed to grow. Some just needed to exist.

There were nights where he could’ve ended early. Nights where fatigue crept in and motivation disappeared entirely. Nights where the idea of consistency felt heavier than the work itself.

He stayed live anyway.

Not out of discipline. Out of respect for the version of himself that started this without guarantees.

Streaming stopped being about proving something. It became about practice. About repetition. About learning how to show up even when nothing was returned immediately.

Eventually, the silence didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt neutral.

And neutral was survivable.

That’s when growth actually started.

Not when people arrived.
When quitting stopped feeling like an option.