This is What a Pro Feels Like
"Yui?"
I jolted awake as if I'd been struck by lightning, the bell-like ringtone booming right in my ear. Still half-asleep, I desperately shook my foggy head and slowly scanned my surroundings to get my bearings.
...Looks like I'd fallen asleep while watching YouTube on my phone late into the night. Thank goodness I hadn't dropped it on my face and hurt myself—that would've been a ridiculous way to start the day. What began as an excuse to "study up on the industry now that I'm a broadcaster too" had turned into days of endless binge-watching. Old habits die hard; I'd always been a night owl in my previous life, staying up until the wee hours, so nodding off like this wasn't exactly new for me.
Oh right, the phone.
I finally noticed the still-ringing tone and snatched up my phone in a panic. The name on the screen: HR Manager Yagami Reiko. Why would she be calling at this hour...? But before the question could fully form, I glanced at the time in the status bar: 2:32 a.m. Not exactly morning, then.
"Y-yes, ahem, this is Yui..."
"This is HR Manager Yagami. Are you available to talk right now?"
"Yes. What is it...?"
"Before we begin your various trainings and lessons, we need to do some simple checkups first. The sooner the better, so if your schedule allows, we could do it today."
"Uh... my time's free, but is that possible? Don't those kinds of checkups usually require fasting the day before...?"
"It's not that intensive, so no need to worry."
Was it nothing like an MRI or something serious? I'd never been to one, so I wasn't sure, but I recalled hearing about places like InBody scans at decent gyms...
As I mulled it over, Reiko continued with more details. Beyond a basic physical, they'd start throat health checks and management right away for long-term broadcasting. I didn't need to do much—just leave it to the pros, she advised.
"—May I ask an unrelated question, Ms. Ito?"
"Huh? Sure... if I can answer it."
"You're not stuttering now... Is there a reason for that?"
"Uh..."
The question caught me completely off guard, freezing my brain for a second. But it wasn't hard to answer, so I replied quickly.
"W-well... it's nothing big. I can speak normally when it's broadcasting or calls where no one can see my face..."
"Ah."
"Kinda weird, right?"
"...No, not at all. It's good to know it won't be an issue for streams. I'll contact you later about visiting your place."
"Y-yes... thank you..."
Click.
After the somewhat lengthy call, my phone felt a bit warm. I plugged it into the charger and only then replayed Reiko's last words in my head.
...Did she say she was coming to my house again? Why...?
No idea. Better get ready to head out. I'd think about the complicated stuff later. I tossed aside my sleep clothes and headed straight to the bathroom.
⋯
"Thank you for visiting. May I ask who referred you?"
"Y-Yagami Reiko from HR... I'm Ito Yui."
"Ms. Ito Yui... Yes, confirmed. Please wait a moment."
As Reiko had said, the hospital checkups were quick and painless. Less "exams" and more "measurements," really—testing overall athletic ability, stamina, lung capacity, flexibility, muscle strength, that sort of thing. Nothing time-consuming, so we moved right on to the next stop.
The building's sleek, pristine exterior made my steps hesitate, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. The pretty receptionist at the counter greeted me with ultra-professional courtesy, hinting this was no ordinary place. Not that I wanted it, but with my appearance, people here would probably baby me—softening their voices, bending down to eye level...
Like that time at the convenience store near home, pausing in the feminine hygiene aisle, when a middle-aged clerk swooped in with overly sweet explanations. The humiliation, despair, frustration, sadness... and a sense of righteous indignation...
...A memory I'd rather not revisit flashed back unbidden.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Ito Yui."
"Ah, n-no, it's f-fine."
"Please head to the 11th floor. Elevator's that way."
"Th-thank you..."
I bowed deeply to the impeccably professional receptionist and shuffled carefully toward the elevators, hyper-aware of prying eyes.
She had that real adult vibe—cool and composed. The suit fit her perfectly. An image of proper office life, far from my current self... or my past one. If only I could be a glamorous adult woman like that...
I was an adult woman now, sure, but... well...
Lost in such thoughts, phone screen in hand, the elevator arrived silently at the 11th floor. In pricey Tokyo real estate, how much did a shiny new building like this cost...?
"Ex-excuse me..."
Stepping into what screamed "successful executives' office"—the whole floor, apparently—had me on eggshells. It felt like being summoned to the principal's office for no reason, or spotting police when you're innocent and suddenly acting suspicious, quickening your pace needlessly. Come to think of it, I'd been like this ever since getting this body... Were all introverts the same?
"Welcome! Have a seat right here."
Greyting my pathetic, hesitant entrance was a guy who looked every bit the "music professional." Not some grungy visual kei rocker, but sharp in an expensive suit, always sporting sunglasses for some reason, accessorized with flashy jewelry. Slicked-back hair, confident smile. No condescension—just businesslike respect, like the receptionist downstairs.
This is pro.
A transparent-walled recording booth like in anime or dramas, pro-grade equipment peeking from the work area, and a swanky lounge with plush sofas, tables, and snacks for clients like me. The space intimidated me no matter how I tried to ignore it. I walked slowly to the indicated sofa, where he handed me his business card with a greeting.
I stood in a fluster, patting my pockets pointlessly, but he laughed and waved it off.
"It's just for your contact info—no need to reciprocate. We know the situation for talents like you. You're here for broadcasting, right?"
"Uh..."
"Haha, don't worry. As contractors for your company, we're discreet."
He grinned amiably, pouring tea from an ornate pot. Tea in this ultra-modern Western-style space felt oddly anachronistic—was it just me?
I slipped the card into my wallet, noting the name: Tanaka Kiyohiko. Tanaka-san. Easy surname to remember. Good.
"I do all sorts of things, but for you and your colleagues, it's mainly vocal training and throat care. I'd love to help more, but I'm swamped."
"I see..."
If you're so busy, why take the gig?
The thought crossed my mind, but renting out an entire floor in a building like this and contracting exclusively with a small agency like ours suggested some backstory. Probing would be rude.
"You probably know the basics of vocal training, but throat management is vague. For starters: the voice you're using right now is really straining your throat."
"Ah, you knew...?"
"It's my job. I can tell how someone's producing sound easily—especially with broadcasters."
More than the lavish office or his flashy vibe, that line screamed pro. Made sense if he'd been handling VTubers via the company for a while.
Everyone knows teachers and broadcasters wreck their throats from overuse—nodules and such. Especially VTubers: some are born with cute voices, but many alter theirs for appeal, character, or anonymity. That strains the vocal cords, leading to issues. Common in the industry.
Today was just intros, so no actual training—just chats about schedules and such before I left.
Heading to the exit on the first floor, the receptionist gave a little wave goodbye.
What a surreal day...
Checkups at some mystery clinic, business talk with an obviously loaded guy in a ritzy office. None of it felt real—things I'd never experienced. Even now, mid-shower at home.
Hmm... This is just the beginning. If I'm committing to VTubing, I have to get used to it.
I sighed into the rising steam.
Oh yeah, Tanaka-san said not to use my usual voice until proper care. I knew it was for my throat's sake, but... it felt off. Guess I'd minimize talking for a while.