Why Me? Becoming Ito Yui
Why on earth was this happening to me, Ito Yui. A common surname, a common name. Hell, an utterly generic one. That was how everyone around her saw it, and even I, the owner of this body, had thought the same. I'd always thought so. Sure, surnames are whatever, but in this era where the younger generation has all sorts of weird names, it was even more commonplace. Names that make you think, "Totally MZ generation, right?;;" just from hearing them—I have no idea if people still use the term DQN name these days, but anyway, there are tons of kids with those "anime-like" names. Names aren't that important, though... or are they? Whatever, it's already set in stone, so moving on.
Next up, her age: a whopping 21 years old! The moment I recalled that, I wondered, "Was there something wrong with her head?" It was that unbelievable. Twenty-one... twenty-one? Twenty-one... I mumbled in slightly awkward Korean, and out came a voice so cute it could knock you out. With this voice, this appearance, and she's 21? I'd heard Japan has plenty of short idols and TV personalities, but come on, there's a limit, right?
I couldn't remember her exact measurements no matter how hard I racked my brain, but glaring at the full-length mirror and comparing to nearby objects, I guessed her height at around 140cm. 140cm... Even though I'd come up with the number myself, it was impossible to accept. I'd always been taller than average since I was a kid, so this hit even harder. Back in elementary school, I was probably over 160cm. And now an adult at 140cm? My vision went dark.
I had no clue what had caused me to turn into a woman, but I'd resolved to make it work somehow. That's why I'd been digging through memories to live as this "Ito Yui" I'd uncovered. But to think this twig-like body wasn't even a student—she was a full adult. Wait, maybe that's a blessing? If she were a student and had to go to school today or tomorrow, that'd be a nightmare. Especially if it was an all-girls school, surrounded by normal girls trying to make friends... No way I could handle that.
Part of it was not knowing enough about Ito Yui yet, but more than that, I didn't know enough about Japan. Sure, it's right next door to Korea, sharing tons of cultural overlaps and similarities, but that doesn't mean everything's identical. Those tiny real-life differences, the subtle cultural gaps that create unease—if someone picked up on that, they'd ostracize you over nothing. Especially someone with such a frail, easy-target appearance like this. The fear that I might not survive in this body welled up inside me.
"Haa..."
I let out a deep sigh from my tiny mouth. Only then did I snap out of it and look around the room—or rather, the apartment. Even though time had passed since I came to, I'd only just noticed: this wasn't a typical family home. It was one of those tiny one-room apartments they call one-rooms. (Random trivia from late-night Wikipedia binges: the concept actually originated in Japan!) Ito Yui—that's me—was living alone. And had been for quite a while.
Once I focused on that info, related memories came flooding in. Memories have that associative, chain-reaction quality, after all. (Okay, I just made that sound profound.) Anyway, Ito Yui apparently had a stubborn streak. The moment she turned adult, she left her parents' house. Of course, they didn't just say, "Great idea, off you go!" No parent could let a kid with this appearance live alone without worry, adult age or not. They opposed it fiercely, but sensing her unyielding resolve, they finally agreed to at least cover rent financially for the time being.
I walked to the closet, pulled out the hidden bankbook from one corner, and sure enough, it showed monthly deposits from her parents. In her memories, she'd stubbornly insisted, "Rent support is enough," and rarely touched that money, scraping by on living expenses herself. A lone woman, frugal to boot, with a body that didn't eat much—she could cover it with occasional part-time gigs, aka arubaito.
What had driven a young girl to leave home so early? As I scanned the room, my eyes stopped on one spot: a small bookshelf. It was packed with books, and one title in bold kanji caught my eye: What Is an Interpreter? Or something like that.
Interpreter... interpreter. Was that it? I mumbled in Korean again. Objectively, it wasn't super natural—there was an awkward edge—but it wasn't easy either. It wasn't just Korean being tough; pronouncing any foreign language is hard. Every language has its own phonetics, and your mouth and tongue, trained from birth, move accordingly. So unfamiliar languages are a struggle. Yet she could speak Korean pretty cleanly, so she must've been studying it already.
Looking at the other books—Korean, English, Chinese, and more language references—they confirmed it. I picked one at random; it was filled with cute handwriting and diligent study marks. Some pages were worn and creased from flipping. For some reason, my chest tightened, and I slid it back in.
She'd worked hard, but could just learning multiple languages make you an interpreter? In my mind, interpreters were "impressive people," but I had zero clue how to become one. University? Some exam? Nothing concrete came to mind. If it were diplomat, I'd get it, but interpreter... Anyway, whatever.
Feeling stuffy, I turned from the shelf to the neatly organized desk. Bought to match her tiny height, it was adorably child-sized, with a clean desktop PC on top. I'd heard young Japanese folks were shifting from consoles to PCs for games, but intriguing for a girl who seemed far from that crowd. Then again, maybe PC equals games only in Korea; here it could be for office work or whatever.
I plopped into the small chair, staring blankly as it booted up. The negative emotions clogging my chest—the shock of waking in an unfamiliar girl's body, the disbelief—eased a bit. Sitting at a computer provided a momentary escape from this insane reality. Pathetic, sure, but whatever.
"Oh, right."
The boot finished, showing a cutesy deformed cat wallpaper. Dazed, I moved the mouse like I was compelled and clicked the browser. Wait, why's the mouse so huge? First-time shock in this absurd situation: it wasn't the mouse; my hands were tiny. Gripping it with my stubby fingers felt alien; I fumbled but managed to search my target site.
With the browser loaded, my hand froze. Should I really? Hesitation and worry hit. What if...? I had to check. I swallowed hard and typed.
> Account does not exist.
My lips stammered, reading the screen. I'd switched to the Korean server homepage properly, so no procedural error. My vague premonition was confirmed.
Of course. "I" didn't exist in this world. Or rather, the old me. No philosophy here—just semantics that feel lame. But the LoL-obsessed guy who'd played for over a decade? Gone. I wasn't pro-aiming or grinding 24/7, but I'd played steadily, had decent skill—not brag-worthy, but solid.
Facing the reality that thousands of hours vanished... It wasn't rage so much as hitting home how real this was. Someone with my old name and body might exist here, but not me. No proof I ever did. Laughable to feel this over a game account, but it'd been most of my life.
I checked other game sites—same result. Deflated, I leaned back, staring blankly. Confusion, daze, frustration—all unresolved. But... I'd make it somehow. As Ito Yui now.
The thought drew a wry chuckle. What an absurd situation.
Something caught my eye. Next to the small monitor, demurely placed: something I rarely used, so it took time to recognize. I sat up, picked it up. A rectangular box with a tiny lens in the center. My sluggish brain clicked: not camera-like—a webcam. For PC use, aka "cam." A mic behind the monitor too. Both dusty from disuse.
Cam, mic. And me, a girl now.
I had my answer.
"...Time to stream."
Maybe I could game life on easy mode too.