Just Once, Please Come Meet Me Again
"Yes. If you prepare it like that, it should be fine. Yes. Thank you."
After hanging up the phone, she stretched languidly in her chair.
"Euuung~!"
After a full-body stretch, her tension finally eased a bit. In just a few days, her solo concert as RenaPpi would take place.
It was solo in name only—members of Infinite Noir and a few virtual streamers from other companies would join as guests to perform together. The call just now had been from her manager, who worked under her.
She'd hired the woman through a job posting around the time she'd been streaming for about a year. Despite being an older sister figure, she was incredibly quick-witted and efficient. Right now, the manager was in Japan for one purpose: inviting a famous Japanese virtual streamer as a concert guest.
Even real idol stages that ran alongside live broadcasts featured only avatars on stage. That made it easy to invite streamers from far away like this. Infinite Noir already had Japanese members, so negotiations went smoothly.
Korea's virtual streaming scene used to lag behind Japan, its origin point, in every way. But now, they were equals as business partners, with active crossovers between the two countries. And the one who'd elevated Korea's virtual streaming industry to this level was none other than—
"Hua."
—this one incredibly slender woman right here. The legend of Korea's virtual streaming scene, RenaPpi. At this point, her every step was becoming history in the industry.
Whatever she tried sparked buzz. Whatever topic she touched on became a trend among streamers. Even her latest song, Just Tell Me, Sir, had blown up on short-form video platforms, leading to the viral RenaPpi Challenge—a dance mimicking her music video.
Famous celebrities and influencers jumped on the RenaPpi Challenge, copying her moves. That alone generated more hype, spreading the fire to everyday people.
She was the first to create this kind of popularity momentum in the modern era. Fans would tease her in jest:
But no matter the praise, her focus remained on one person.
"……"
During her debut anniversary stream, she'd hit a staggering 80,000 concurrent viewers. But even among those 80,000, he wasn't there.
The same held true now. Even as her music video surpassed 30 million views in three weeks. Even as celebrities buzzed about her, declaring a new era. Even as her colleagues and the virtual streamers who'd debuted idolizing her carved out their own niches.
That man. Jit-leus, aka Subway-Old-Man-Denture-Stealer, still hadn't shown himself.
'Jit-leus... have you stopped watching my streams?'
The drive that had propelled RenaPpi this far nonstop was singular. Not fame or success. Sure, at first she'd aimed for success to give hope to others like her. But her goal had shifted long ago, on that 100th-day stream only she remembered.
It was to meet Subway-Old-Man-Denture-Stealer—Jit-leus—just one more time.
He'd told her to do song streams, and word-of-mouth had made her explode in popularity. Not just popular—she'd achieved overwhelming success beyond her wildest dreams from her early days.
The timing was uncanny: right after she'd changed her name from RenaP to RenaPpi at his suggestion. Becoming RenaPpi and doing song streams had made her blow up. Her RenaP days with zero viewers felt like a lie.
Overwhelming success. People she'd admired begging for autographs as fans. Invites to high-view influencers' streams. Even landing her first TV ad model gig—RenaPpi was the first Korean virtual streamer to do so.
And that was just the start. Everything he'd taught her worked perfectly.
At this point, Jit-leus was like the sun to RenaPpi. Fitting her avatar's concept of descending from the sun, with solar irises always in her eyes—deep in her heart, she carried that man eternally.
She'd never forgotten him, not for a second. Not even during that 80,000-viewer anniversary stream.
How could she forget those 100 days of streaming to empty rooms? Or the one who first reached out to her in that void?
The one who'd donated 1.65 million KRW, asking nothing in return, just cheering her on.
The kind soul who'd said her unseen struggles would pay off.
Who, for some reason, with a slightly sad voice, said, [I couldn't do it, but you can], wishing her success.
How could she forget him?
'I miss you.'
'I just want to meet you once.'
'I want to repay that donation somehow.'
'I miss you so much... Jit-leus, I really, really miss you.'
To current RenaPpi, 1.65 million KRW was less than a day's pay. But that wasn't the point. It was her first cheer—the spark that got her here.
She wanted to meet him. The one who'd reached out. She missed him so much.
And the longer she went without seeing him, the more that longing grew.
'...Will you come to the concert...? Or maybe something happened, so you can't watch...'
But she never lost hope. Compared to those 100 solo days, waiting for Jit-leus while streaming was nothing.
Plus, he'd told her: Never forget the hard times, even after success.
So if she streamed diligently every day, they'd meet again someday. That had to be right.
She vowed it once more in her heart.
'I'll work so hard. I won't forget the tough times. And... that warm kindness you gave me back then, I'll cherish forever.'
'So...'
'Just once, please come meet me again...'
She sent that unreachable wish into the wind.
*
That day was like any other. Waking groggily, she checked her phone. A message from teammate Ayaka:
'Huh...?'
From what she heard, during yesterday's advice session for Sena's troubles, Sena had taken "go rest" literally, ended the stream abruptly without warning.
'Oh, so that's what happened...'
Sena was prickly in real life but followed RenaPpi's words blindly, like gospel from an idol. This seemed like another case.
If I'd phrased it better, this wouldn't have happened, she self-blamed. But what was done was done—fixing it mattered more.
Sena had turned her stream back on to salvage things, but fans seemed uneasy...
'I need to handle this.'
Ignoring fan dissatisfaction went against Jit-leus's teaching: always prioritize fans.
She fired up her stream quickly and smoothed things over slowly.
"I'm sooo sorryyy♡ Please forgiiive meeeowww...♡"
"I'll do anything... forgive me! Specially today, we'll have an hour of free praise time!! So, please forgive meeeowww...♡♡"
Her ace-in-the-hole apology: dogeza. The praise hour stemmed from Jit-leus's wisdom—controlling yuksu is paramount.
If viewers project their dreams onto streamers, play into it somewhat, right?
That's what Jit-leus would say.
Thinking of him brought a natural smile. And with it, memories of those hard old days resurfaced.
Yeah. She was loved now, but back then... it was brutal.
The thought slipped out naturally.
"I had really tough times too... so every day now feels like a dream."
"Thank you for giving me this dream, everyone...!"
And thank you for creating the chance for me to receive that dream, Jit-leus.
Then, a Jit-leus-like quip popped into her head.
'He'd tell me not to sell sentimentality here. Hehe.'
That's who he was. She still remembered that first donation vividly. To her sobbing self, infusing strength with genuine warmth.
Yeah. Enough reminiscing—time to deliver fun content for her viewers. A streamer's duty was entertaining guests, not emotional sales.
She was just thinking that.
---------------------------
Before that donation appeared.
"...Huh?"
She let out a stunned voice, forgetting the mic was even on. What... was this? Was she seeing wrong?
The chat exploded with hooks, but it didn't register.
She pieced it together slowly.
The nickname Subway-Old-Man-Denture-Stealer.
The exact same message as back then.
It could only mean one thing—
"...Wha... Wh-what?"
In that instant, a single tear trickled from her eye.
And then—like a faucet turned on—tears poured uncontrollably.
Jit-leus? Is that you, Jit-leus? You've been watching?
You came back to me? Same donation as before... sharing our memory alone?
Only after repeating the question endlessly did she realize.
The man she'd longed for throughout her stream—the very Subway-Old-Man-Denture-Stealer—was watching her right now.
In that realization—forgetting what she was doing, what she should do.
Like a girl finally reuniting with the one she'd yearned for her whole life, fallen deeply in love.
"Ah... Aah, aaah... AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH...!!!!!!"
Her always-professional emotional control on stream burst like a dam.