7. YouTube
So... my nickname is "Roze the Wench" now, apparently.
Given everything I've done, I can't exactly deny it — which is the sad part...
Ah, but what am I going to do about the offline collab?
Should I at least put together a proper outfit? Do my makeup, maybe?
But the absolute alpha male inside me objects. Makeup? Sunscreen is where that conversation ends.
...I'm convinced!
Right, and besides, an outfit is only as good as the face wearing it — why would I agonize over clothes? With my face, I could rock pajamas and still look effortlessly atmospheric.
In fact, some mornings I still catch my reflection in the mirror and nearly jump out of my skin.
...Though that's more terror than amazement.
I visited the company for the first time in a while.
"So, this is about YouTube?"
They'd called me in to draft a contract covering the YouTube channel.
"Yes. The company will be managing the YouTube channel directly. Naturally, the editor will be provided on our end as well."
Ooh, big company things.
"Then... where do I sign?"
"Right here on this document."
I read it over, and it matched everything the Manager had explained. The company handles the channel and supplies an editor, and a portion of the revenue flows to me, naturally.
The catch: if I ever retire from VTubing, the channel shifts from joint ownership to full company ownership.
Eh, can't complain, right? The avatar was company property from the start anyway.
By the time anyone got around to taking my channel, my coins would have mooned hard enough to buy a luxury high-rise in Banpo and still leave pocket change.
VTubing was, at this point, half hobby to me — so I signed with a light heart.
The very next day after signing at the company, a video went up.
"Yes, the YouTube channel is officially up and running."
"They're planning at least two uploads a week, apparently."
Seemed reasonable to me. Keep the quality up, cherry-pick decently funny source material, and two a week is about right.
"Ah, the YouTube channel belongs to my agency. It's not mine, so there's no need to watch your language in the comments."
Jointly owned on paper, but effectively the company's.
Trash-talk freely, and you can schedule a sit-down with our legal team. Their treat.
"Anyway, a cut of the revenue comes to me too, so please do subscribe, hit the bell, and smash that like button."
These people were watching a live broadcast, so presumably about seventy percent of my fans did it on the spot.
Excuse me? These people?
A wave of righteous indignation washed over me — and right behind it, a genuinely fun idea.
"I just thought of today's content."
"I'm going to upload a one-second video as unlisted. When I flip it public, you'll all get the notification — and I'll pick one viewer at random. If they can't guess the video's title, instant purge. Oh, and the video goes back to unlisted right after the notification fires."
I hopped into YouTube, tapped record and immediately let go, cobbled together a sub-one-second clip, and uploaded it as unlisted. I closed out of the upload-complete window and checked chat.
"You get to keep living."
Ah, found one.
Chatting loudly enough to land directly in my line of sight — impressive. Truly impressive.
Looked at a certain way, this wasn't a punishment at all. It was an award. An official acknowledgment of talent.
"Alright, this viewer right here."
"Yes, you."
"Yes, hello. My, look at you — suddenly so disciplined about your anger management. By the way, the notification has already been sent. You have ten seconds to answer."
I'd fired it off before the poor soul even realized they'd been chosen. Should've had notifications on.
Yep, judging by that reaction — wrong.
Offering a brief prayer for the departed, I scanned the mood of the chat.
They were enjoying this far more than expected.
"Fine. Try typing 'Roze is so kind.' in chat."
I dangled a lifeline: type one simple sentence, and earn a second chance.
Ah — victim number two, located.
Like I said before: making yourself conspicuous enough to catch my eye is a genuine gift.
So be proud of it.
"Yes, this viewer. You're number two. Please stand by."
I sent the video to victim number two right that second.
Ah. Number one just blurted out number two's answer.
"Excuse me, that's number two's answer you just stole."
"No — I told you to type 'Roze is so kind,' didn't I?"
Was that really so hard? It was one line of chat. A throwaway lie, at that.
And this time number two typed that.
"Seriously, what is wrong with you both? Hijacking each other's questions."
What was with the two of them?
Hm. A deathmatch does sound tempting.
I pinned both of their chat windows side by side on screen.
"Make your opponent admit defeat. Fail, and you are both purged."
If this dragged on too long, I'd end it immediately. A sour broadcast mood served nobody — least of all me.
There it was — number two's opening strike.
And so the duel raged on, deadlier even than I'd expected.
After a while the audience started getting bored — the chat filled up with calls to purge them both. I'd waited until people were literally asking how long this would go on, which meant I'd tolerated it to the absolute limit of mercy.
"Alright, time's up."
"I'll at least grant you time for last words."
No idea what they'd say, but it couldn't be worse than anything else today.
...And what exactly is this.
...And what on earth is this one on.
Anyway — thank goodness the ending of today's hastily improvised content turned out better than expected.
This would make a great YouTube clip.
"So! If you don't want to end up like that, subscribe to Roze's YouTube channel."
Couldn't forget the sponsorship plug either.
Today's stream had been fun, I'll admit it. The community reaction was glowing, and I felt a quiet swell of pride.
Tomorrow was the offline collab, so tonight I'd browse for a reasonable while and then actually sleep.
I turned off my phone screen and closed my eyes.
...Maybe just a little more?
And so, after about an hour of fiddling with my phone, I finally drifted off to sleep.