Mala Tang and the Basement Otaku Paradise
The first thing that hit me in the basement was the thick bone broth smell unique to Korean-style mala tang, mixed with that signature numbing spiciness. My nose tingled a bit from the mala tang aroma.
There were toppings like corn noodles and more, but in the guy's memories, mala tang was just spicy, greasy junk that wrecked your stomach, so my hand holding the chopsticks trembled instinctively.
Whoosh... I can do this.
Wasn't it just recently that I'd resolved not to wallow in past-life memories? I knew better than anyone that if I let them hold me back, I'd just fall behind.
"Haru, eat up already! First time ordering this, but the kung pao chicken's delicious too!"
Unlike my burning anxiety, Jisu was inhaling the corn noodles like a vacuum. I chuckled and picked up the most approachable-looking topping from the mala tang: a fried tofu pouch.
It looked appetizing enough, soaked in the broth, so I popped it boldly into my mouth. The instant I bit down, mala tang broth oozed out from inside the pouch.
"Ma... it's delicious."
"Pfft. What, like you've never had mala tang before."
Was that saying true—'You just haven't been to the good places'? Or maybe it was the chromosomes, but contrary to my memories, it was surprisingly tasty. The kung pao chicken had a tangy sweetness unlike sweet-and-sour pork, whetting my appetite instantly.
This spicy, nutty flavor unique to mala tang—the familiar taste etched in Lee Haru's memories felt so blissful it was almost addictive. Sure, it was spicy as hell, but it felt like all the built-up fatigue was sweating out of me.
Is this why people eat?
Until now, I'd never quite gotten the idea of relieving stress with spicy food, but this experience made me totally understand.
"Whoosh... seriously delicious."
"Right? Let's order it more often."
Jisu and I munched on some pickled radish to cool the spice a bit as we chatted. By the way, I never expected Jisu to check out my channel.
Honestly, after that public confession, who'd bother hunting down Vocaloid songs? It took some serious mental fortitude. At least she only mentioned the Chonghant upload, so she probably skipped the farewell declaration.
"Anyway, Haru. Why'd you freak out like that after seeing the stream yesterday?"
"Huh? What do you mean freak out?"
"Well... the more I think about it, that weirdo's confession wasn't even that bad. Honestly, no reason for you to overreact like that."
Jisu's sharp question had me scrambling for an answer. Admit I was the owner of the 'HALU' channel that uploaded Chonghant? Knowing her, she'd tease me nonstop and it'd spread to everyone.
But dodging it was tricky too—no good excuses came to mind. If word got out I'm the channel owner... people would start begging me for new songs. I pictured someone yelling "Encore!" like a fan.
Creators and consumers have that kind of relationship—purely business, like any trade. You can't go punching customers at their house just because they complain the food doesn't match the menu description.
Besides, in conservative Korea, where Vocaloid and subculture stuff is niche, a female creator? A total beauty? I could already hear the cheers. Objectively, being a cute girl made it a nightmare.
'Whoa, so kawaii!', 'Korean loli super kawaii!', 'Psycho path! Haru-chan!'—the hype was ringing in my ears. Then it hit me that most of those voices would belong to weirdos like Im Jungyeon, not girls like me or Jisu. Kinda depressing for a second.
Just a fleeting moment, but I got why some people stir up attention to get it.
"Mmmph..."
"Um... Haru?"
A barrage of imagined reactions cracked me up. I pictured myself smugly pulling a 'Ahh... signature trouble.' Jisu was staring at me like I'd lost it, snapping me back to what I should've done.
Oh right.
Lost in all those thoughts—er, delusions—I'd forgotten to answer her question. I'd even figured out my excuse ages ago.
"Oh! I watch Vocaloid stuff sometimes too, y'know? Seeing it blasted publicly like that gave me secondhand embarrassment."
"Oh... yeah, now that you mention it, you did the same at karaoke."
Jisu bought it instantly and dove into the egg fried rice we'd ordered on the side. I'd wondered if it was a pointless add-on, but it perfectly cleansed the palate after the intense mala tang and kung pao.
Two high school girls finishing mala tang plus egg fried rice and kung pao? Doubtful, but the formula "1 high school girl = 3 tanks" held true—we polished it off.
No way Jisu would secretly record my karaoke songs from last time, muttering "What kinda voice..." and use them as lullabies. Imagining her getting caught by her parents was hilarious, but it'd never happen. Logically, she wouldn't go all "Haru, wanna see me lose my mind?" and lock me in her house—that was pure fantasy.
After mala tang cleanup, Jisu and I just hung out. Neither of us was big on games, so chit-chat had its limits. We headed to the basement room that served as a storage for her parents' "hobby relics."
"Whoa... cool. But it's kinda dark down here, huh? Basement vibes."
"Yeah, Mom and Dad's hobby stuff. It'll get brighter deeper in."
The storage room was in the basement. Opening the door revealed everything from fancy-looking ceramics to dusty antiques—a mini museum.
The valuables were safely in glass cases, so Jisu and I poked around the rest.
"Gasp."
"Huh? What's up?"
Finally, I found it while exploring. Not like this was America or anything, so it couldn't be real, but it was thrilling. Amid the junk, I'd half-hoped, and there it was—cue the line.
"Gasp. Jisu, check out the glistening details on this Glock 19."
"Uh... isn't it just... a toy gun?"
Of course I knew it was a toy, but if it looked like a Glock 19, I had to say it. Even I had some pride, so no jumping around, but one wish-list item checked off.
I returned the beat-up toy gun to its spot and ventured deeper. Nearing the end, I saw it—the reason the room felt dim at first.
The darkness was so you'd focus on this in the basement. Not some grand "humanity hasn't fallen" world truth from fiction, of course.
"Uh... um... figures?"
It was paradise: countless bishoujo figures, fighter jets, and more. Even limited editions the original Haru might recognize. Cheap 10-20k won ones existed, but these screamed tens of thousands each at minimum.
Seeing this figure gallery explained Jisu's lifelong himecut. No matter how rich, collecting this many solo? Impossible. Force a fictional himecut on your kid? One side would've rebelled.
Both parents loved it, so their daughter Jisu had no hang-ups about Vocaloid-level subculture.
So that's why...
Finally, I understood why Jisu didn't react like a typical high school girl to Vocaloid—'Eww, otaku scum.' No need to hide my channel anymore? Nah, good things stay good.