My First Live Broadcast

Ten minutes before the broadcast began, I clicked the link my little sister had sent me. A brief loading screen flashed by, and then an entirely different landscape opened up before my eyes.

"Oh."

It was an enormous studio. Directly ahead, a stage glittered with rainbow-colored lights, and behind it hung a massive electronic billboard listing the names of the VTubers participating in today's collab. A fair number of people had already gathered inside.

Or—should I even call them people?

A woman with long pink hair and cat ears. A woman with wings on her back. Even a woman wearing a tiny crown that floated above her head. There were colorful, one-of-a-kind characters everywhere I looked, each stranger than the last.

They're all real people in there... right?

It was fascinating. The characters moved far more naturally than I'd expected. Tilt your head, and the hair swayed along with it; waving or bowing came out just as smooth as a real person's movements. When they smiled, the corners of their mouths lifted; even wide-eyed surprise and scrunched-up frowns translated perfectly.

"Oppa! Over here!"

My sister was waving her hand at me furiously. I pressed the directional keys and walked over. The walking itself was fine. The problem was that walking was all I could do. My arms hung limply at my sides, and my head and torso barely moved at all. While the avatars around me waved and leaned and swayed with effortless ease, I stood out like a puppet—the only one who looked like I was steering a game character from the outside.

"Ah... seriously."

"What."

"Why are you the only one who looks so ridiculous?"

"I'm walking just fine."

"Walking isn't the problem!"

I glanced around. She had a point. Everyone else was moving; I was being operated.

This wasn't the plan, originally. Full-body tracking wasn't a requirement for guests, but my sister had insisted that if we were going to do this, we should do it right—and she'd scrounged up a VR headset and trackers from somewhere. The problem was that I couldn't last ten minutes in VR without wanting to die.

"It can't be helped. If I use that thing, I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"Just try adapting a little longer. Do you know how hard it was for me to get that stuff?"

"I can't exactly throw up on a live broadcast."

"That's why I told you to at least practice the PC controls beforehand!"

"I did."

"All you did was jump!"

Come to think of it, I could do that much. I pressed the spacebar.

Boing.

"Stop that!"

Several of the avatars nearby turned to look at us. One of them caught my eye: faint violet hair flowing down to her waist, soft purple eyes of the same shade. Overall, her avatar gave an impression less of flashiness than of gentleness and calm.

Above all, the quality was on another level. My sister's avatar was cute in its own way, but side by side, the difference was unmistakable. The way her hair and the hems of her clothes moved was far more natural, but what stood out most was her expression. The slight widening of her eyes, the small lift at the corner of her mouth, the tilt of her head—every little shift was as seamless as a real human face transplanted onto the model. Even to me, a complete outsider to this world, she was in a different league from my sister's avatar.

And something about her looked familiar. I puzzled over it for a moment, then checked her nameplate.

Esterina.

Ah. The singer.

It was a strange feeling, standing right in front of the voice behind a song I'd had on my playlist for months, listening to it every now and then.

"Hello."

Esterina approached first and bowed in greeting. I tried to return the bow, then stopped. My body refused to move freely. Out of options, I pressed one of the preset animations, and my avatar crouched down, bent at the waist, and stared up at her from underneath—a bizarre, contorted posture.

Esterina faltered for a beat.

"Oppa! Is that a greeting?!"

"It's the only one I have."

"No, no, I understood it. Nice to meet you."

"Yes, nice to meet you too."

"Oh, wait a second. Are you listening through speakers right now?"

"Yes."

"What I'm saying is coming back through your mic. Your voice is doubling."

Now that she mentioned it, there was a faint echo chasing after my sister's words too. Everything sounded strangely reverberant, like speaking inside a cave.

"What do I do about that?"

"Do you have headphones or earbuds?"

"I do."

"Just switch over to those."

I found the headphones sitting on one side of my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠desk and connected them.

"How's that?"

"Could you say something again?"

"Ah—ah. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, all good now."

"Thank you."

"No problem. It happens all the time with first-time live streamers."

She was kinder than I'd expected. Her voice felt familiar, too—slightly different from when she sang, but I'd heard it so many times that I recognized it right away.

Around us, the other participants were exchanging greetings one by one. Some were playing pranks with each other's avatars; some were placing bets, before the event had even started, on who would come in dead last at the games.

I was beginning to understand why my sister loved this kind of broadcast. I'd assumed it was just people plopping a character on screen and playing games, but actually stepping inside felt closer to wandering onto a well-built set for a variety show. The only difference was that every single performer looked like an anime character.

"Alright, everyone! Ready to go?"

It was Kang Segu—the VTuber hosting today's collab. I'd learned about her while digging into Esterina: a fellow member of the same VTuber idol group, apparently quite famous for her talent at planning unusual content. Was this event her brainchild too?

A moment later, the countdown began.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

A chat window opened up on one side of the screen.

"Now, today is a special occasion—we've invited not just the VTubers, but their family members as well! Let's start with introductions, one at a time, shall we?"

Thankfully, I wasn't first. The man who'd come with Esterina stepped forward.

"Hello. I'm Esterina's older brother."

"May I ask what you do for a living?"

"I develop games at a game company. It's a small studio, so I do the programming and pitch in with whatever else needs doing."

"Ooh, a game developer! Could you tell us the name of the game?"

"It's called Starlight Pioneer."

The chat reacted instantly.

Something about the game's name warmed me a little, too. Starlight Pioneer—a roguelike survival game for PC. I'd started it once on a trip to kill some time, gotten hooked on how much fun it was, and played it for quite a while. The core loop of fending off waves of enemies while combining abilities into builds was simple, but different combinations changed the playstyle considerably—and, more than anything, the story was surprisingly good for the genre.

If I remembered right, the developer also had a good reputation among users for being quite player-friendly.

Next came a middle-aged man accompanying a VTuber named Sama Chunja. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chunja's character made an impression with deep crimson hair, golden eyes, and an outfit that emphasized her figure—everything about the avatar screamed flashy and provocative, the polar opposite of the composed Esterina.

"And what do you do, sir?"

"I run my own business."

"What kind of business?"

"Ah, machine parts... you probably wouldn't understand even if I explained. Just think of it as making and selling various things."

"That's not exactly 'various things,' is it."

Chunja cut in from the side.

"Keep it down, you."

Several more introductions followed. There was an office worker, a student, a freelancer. Most of them were ordinary people living ordinary lives with ordinary jobs.

Then it was the turn of Yuuna Sera, the fairy-concept VTuber with green hair and long pointed ears. Beside her, a man in a crisp, well-tailored suit avatar stepped forward.

"Hello. I'm Yuuna Sera's older brother."

"May I ask your profession?"

"I'm a doctor."

The chat shot upward.

"Wow, you must be incredibly busy—how did you manage to make time today?"

"Honestly, I don't have much. I had to rearrange my whole clinic schedule to be here." The man smiled as he spoke. "I got dragged here against my will, all to save one unemployed little sister."

"Hey! I am NOT unemployed!"

Yuuna Sera bristled.

"Streaming from home—how's that different from being unemployed?"

"I make money!"

"Who knows how long that'll last."

He was smiling as he said it, at least. Siblings did trade that kind of joke all the time. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But the chat's reaction was a touch more delicate.

"Haha, you know, when people ask me what I do, I always tell them I'm unemployed too."

Kang Segu smoothed the mood over with practiced ease.

"Alright then, next up is... Hanabyul-nim and her brother!"

Finally, my turn.

"Hello. I'm Hanabyul's older brother."

I hesitated for a moment, wondering how to put it.

"I run a travel channel on YouTube."

"Oh, a YouTuber!" Kang Segu latched on immediately. "What kind of travel videos do you post?"

"I just go wherever I feel like going."

"Where have you traveled recently?"

"Papua New Guinea."

"...Papua New Guinea, you say?"

The reaction was bigger than I'd anticipated. Hanabyul, waiting beside me, pounced like she'd been holding it in.

"If you say it like that, you sound like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠normal travel YouTuber! My brother only picks the weirdest places on earth—dangerous, middle-of-nowhere places!"

"Weird places, huh."

"Did you forget you almost died in Venezuela and South Africa?"

"What's wrong with Venezuela and South Africa?"

"Venezuela?"

Kang Segu's eyes went wide.

"How was it?"

"It was nice. Friendly people, beautiful scenery."

It wasn't a place I only had bad memories of. In fact, there were plenty of spots I'd love to see again.

"Would've been nicer if I hadn't gotten robbed, though."

A beat of silence fell.

"...Robbed?"

"Yes."

In that instant, the pace of messages scrolling up the chat quickened.

Kang Segu, scanning the chat herself, started typing something into a search bar.

"Could it be... is this your channel?"

A familiar video thumbnail appeared on one side of the screen. The footage shot in Venezuela. The view count had quietly climbed past the six-million mark.

"Yes. That's mine."

And then, apparently, somebody dug up his channel page.

Kang Segu fell silent for a moment.

"...You have more than a million subscribers?"