Hangover Blues and the VDV High School Girl Concept
"Ughhh... my head..."
I winced at the goddamn sunlight pouring through the window.
The chirping birds felt like they were drilling right into my skull, and a groan slipped out before I could stop it.
Fucking birds.
"Haaah... What, is it morning already?"
Yesterday... how many bottles did I knock back? I remember ordering chicken with Tanya and cracking open some vodka, but after that, the film's cut.
No matter how much I drink, I've never blacked out before. So just how many did we polish off yesterday...?
"Ughhh... my head hurts so bad..."
Clutching my pounding skull, I dragged myself out of bed and looked around.
Surprisingly, the floor was spotless. The chicken boxes were sorted for recycling in the bin, and the empty vodka bottles were neatly lined up on the table.
"One, two, three, four, five... six... seven?"
Seven bottles of vodka? Between the two of us?
Way more than I thought. I figured maybe four or five at most.
"Tanya must've left already?"
I finished washing up in the bathroom, slung a towel over my shoulder, and headed to the living room.
Grabbed a bottle of spring water from the fridge and chugged it down.
The ice-cold water soothed my burning throat, and finally, my head started to feel a bit better.
"Guess she did."
I drained the bottle clean, crumpled the plastic, and tossed it into the recycling bin.
It arced perfectly right into the trash.
"Oh, goal."
-Sis, heading out first for work. When you wake up, pull yourself together and wash up. Made some borscht in the kitchen—eat that. I handled all the recycling except the vodka bottles, so just toss those.
"...That little shit."
Looks like I've got myself a damn good little sister.
Borscht, hell yeah, borscht.
"Urgh..."
Opened the pot lid, and the beet smell hit me like a punch.
Grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, ladled in some borscht, and downed the whole thing in one go.
"Kuhh... that's the stuff."
Sour and sweet broth—pure perfection.
A dollop of sour cream on top of the red soup, and the smooth, nutty flavor filled my mouth.
Honestly... nothing beats this for a hangover.
"Buuuurp, good eats."
Let out a satisfying belch, dumped the bowl in the sink, and washed it right away. Stacking dishes just makes it a pain later.
"Ugggghhh...!"
Stretched my back with a big arch, and my shirt rode up along my waistline.
It's been... day two since turning into a girl? Feels like I'm getting used to this body now.
The long hair makes mornings a bitch, but in exchange, I've got a pretty face and killer limbs. Win-win, right?
"But this... still throws me off."
A big tattoo peeked out from under my hiked-up shirt.
Nothing fancy. Just the phrase I'd inked back in my VDV days: Никто, кроме нас (No one but us).
"Oh?"
Come to think of it, I remember getting a bunch of tattoos back when I was a guy. Where'd they all go?
I bolted to the bathroom and yanked off my top.
"Oh... not bad, huh?"
Taegukgi and Russian tricolor on my forearm, dagger and pistol at my hip. Black sickle and hammer on my collarbone.
That's it.
"But on a girl's body... it looks kinda off."
Didn't feel weird when I was a dude. Back then, the muscles stole the show over the ink.
But on this body... hmm.
"Brothel whore?"
Yeah, that vibe.
"So this is what a tramp stamp feels like."
Those tattoos on a woman's lower back or hips (tramp stamps) usually scream sleazy or sexy.
But with a dagger and pistol there... it's something else.
"Patriotic whore. Kinda badass."
Exactly that.
Back when I was a guy, they felt like medals.
The tattoos haven't changed a millimeter, but swap the canvas, and the whole meaning twists 180 degrees. Damn.
"...Wait, sickle and hammer on the collarbone? More communist than patriotic?"
These tacky, degenerate tattoos... hilarious? Or just absurd?
"Communist, communist whore... ha... for real."
Or maybe mind-boggling.
"I was a bear of a VDV soldier yesterday, and today the mirror shows some decadent commie babe?"
Straight-up dizzying.
"Dizzying, so dizzy~"
Tossed out a lame joke, cackled to myself, and left the bathroom.
Here comes the communist whore~ Make way~
"Alright, self-roast over. Now what?"
Stepped out, glanced up at the ceiling. Stupidly high.
Like it was saying this is the wall between you and me.
What? What's that mean?
Obviously bullshit.
"Gonna stream, duh! Obviously!"
Tanya set everything up perfectly yesterday. Linked the 3D avatar to the stream deck, walked me through it all.
Crazy otaku bitch—how long has she been cosplaying as a normie?
"...Nah, can't say that."
Gotta cherish my little sis, yeah yeah.
"Chair, ready. Monitor, ready. Mic, ready. This one's primed for duty!"
Plopped into the chair in my room and yelled it out.
The beauty on the monitor yelled it right back, same lip sync, same expression, same eyes. Hilarious. Fun. Thrilling.
"Heh heh heh..."
Creepy grin to myself, fired up the internet, and started simple prep. Tanya handled most of it yesterday, so just a few touches.
Where to stream, what title, what to do—easy. And I've got it all sorted in my head already.
"Forest, obviously."
Only platform I watched back in Syria.
Title's set.
"Katyusha for the channel name. Kuhh... how clean is that?"
Katyusha—in Korea, folks might think KATUSA first.
Nope.
Katyusha: Russian folk song, but also the beast known as Stalin's Organ, that multiple rocket launcher.
"And my nickname to boot."
Ekaterina now that I'm a girl. Katyusha's the pet name.
Kuh, perfect. I'm a goddamn genius.
"So, how to kick off the stream..."
A VTuber's first broadcast is called a debut.
Like stepping out and declaring, "Debuting!" That vibe.
"Day one needs impact. Bam!"
That's the dilemma.
How to etch myself into people's minds?
Avatar modeling and tech are top-notch, so initial reactions will be good. But that's it.
To survive streaming, it's not the avatar—it's the banter and unique flavor.
Something standout, funny... yeah.
"And I've got a weapon Koreans don't."
Korea's got spec ops aplenty. UDT/SEAL, 707, whatever.
But that's Korean spec ops. Domain of badass dudes... right? Totally.
"Oh...?"
And I'm a girl.
Plus, great voice. Looks 20s, but I could pass for teens?
"This is it."
Like Archimedes yelling Eureka. Brain-zapping revelation!
"Grandfather a Great Patriotic War vet, insanely busty Korean-Russian halfie, ex-Russian VDV 18-year-old paratrooper high school girl!"
This. Perfect concept. Insane.
"Bam! Paratrooper drop from the sky—boom!"
I'm indie, not corporate. No dramatic viewer expectations from the jump.
Doesn't matter.
Not in it for cash—just 'cause I wanna.
"10 viewers. That's the goal."
First stream: nail exactly 10. No big dreams...
Just fun. Fun?
"Heh, heh heh heh..."
Fun idea hit me.
Fun, fun idea.
Fired up the PC, logged into the platform.
Not Forest. Another one.
"Heh, heh heh..."
They say broadcasting oversight's tight lately, censorship and all.
...Wanna test that?
My finger trembled over the start button.
Scared? Nah.
Pre-battle adrenaline rush, same shiver.