Never Love a VTuber Again

"I will never, ever love a VTuber again."

In front of the stark white monitor, staring at the blacked-out stream screen, I made my vow. I wept. I swore it to myself, over and over again.

My tears held the regrets of my past and the bitter remorse of a ruined life. They also held "her," the one who had left. No one would ever sympathize with the foolish grief of an idiot, but even so, I desperately needed someone to share this sorrow with.

A concentrated mix of betrayal, anger, and the agony of a forced breakup tore at my chest. The reality of being backstabbed made it hard to keep my sanity. Rubbing my blurry, tear-stained eyes, I logged onto the community where her fans gathered and scrolled through the posts flooding the board.

The community was a complete disaster. It was a massive **yeomsang**—an absolute dumpster fire of a controversy. From the toxic trolls who had always hated Miyo, to the solo stans of other members claiming Miyo was dragging the rest of the group down, to the packs of wild dogs who only sniffed around for a hit of drama-induced dopamine—everyone was tearing Miyo to shreds.

Normally, I would have been right there alongside that user 'MiyoOnly,' fighting back against the trolls and mounting a miraculous defense.

But I couldn't write a single word.

Because I had heard it too.

"That bitch."

An unidentified man had visited Miyo's apartment—the one she claimed to live in alone. And because her stream hadn't been fully shut down, the conversation between her and her "Oppa" had been broadcast live to the world.

And I had heard every single second of it.

When the stream notification popped up, I naturally assumed she was doing a surprise guerrilla stream. Thrilled that she was streaming even on her day off, I had even withdrawn cash to donate to her.

It was only after I sent her a 50,000 won donation that I realized this wasn't a surprise stream, but an accidental broadcast. And that on her days off, she was rolling around her apartment with her boyfriend.

I listened to the audio-boosted clips to confirm it again and again. While some fans were running their coping mechanisms on overdrive, insisting it was just a cough, to me, it was undeniably an expression of affection.

Just like she used to blow kisses directly into the microphone to milk her **yuksu**—us, the Miyo-tachi—she was doing it "in person" behind the scenes for that "Oppa" of hers.

"That rotten bitch..."

The curses spilled out of me again. And like the endless stream of profanity, the tears wouldn't stop flowing.

For the past two years, I had been completely devoted to Miyo. I truly believed she was just as devoted to us, her Miyo-tachi.

I had poured my life into her. I donated most of the money I saved up, finding my own happiness simply by watching her smile. Never realizing that my life was crumbling with every donation, I kept swallowing the blue pill called Miyo.

I lived in a dream.

Every time she released an original single, I acted like a big-shot VIP, donating thousands of dollars. There was even a month where I survived on nothing but instant ramen once a day. On her birthday, determined not to lose to the other VIP whales, I threw thousands more at her, gifting subscriptions just so she would remember my username.

I emptied my bank account. I took on more part-time shifts. I completely neglected myself. Like a fool, solely for Miyo, to protect my pride as a VIP in her chat, and to make sure she remembered my name, I had set my own life to hard mode.

And now, the backlash hit me.

My head spun, and my stomach churned.

I only wanted her to do well. I just wanted her to be happy.

Why did my effort and love have to be betrayed like this?

I didn't want her to find happiness with some random guy like this.

No one who watches VTubers is completely free of romantic feelings. Let me make one thing absolutely clear: VTubers aren't actually entertaining. To be precise, genuinely funny female streamers are rare. People don't watch female streamers, female BJs, female creators, or female VTubers for the entertainment value.

They watch because they love them. They watch because they are **yuksu**.

That's why they pay for subscriptions, join memberships, send gifts, buy virtual currency, donate, and say "I love you."

I was a **yuksu**. A pathetic, miserable fool.

Whenever Miyo would host a Space—a personal audio stream—and get deeply depressed over stream-related stress, I would write heartfelt letters of encouragement. Whenever she would suddenly turn on the charm, saying she missed the Miyo-tachi's love, I would write hand-written letters wishing for her happiness. I truly believed I would do anything for her.

Seeing Miyo 'like' my posts would leave me floating on cloud nine for the rest of the day. Seeing her occasionally reply to my comments gave me the strength to keep living.

I was sincere. And I'm sure the other VIPs were just as sincere.

To donate tens of thousands of dollars to a woman whose face you've never seen, whose real name you don't even know—that requires that level of absolute, raw sincerity.

But my sincerity never reached her.

How did she even view her fans in the first place?

"Parasocial."

The term suddenly came to mind.

I had felt a deep, personal intimacy and affection for her, but to her, we were probably just faceless, virtual entities that didn't truly exist.

Two years of effort, gone down the drain.

The money I spent on Miyo over the last two years easily exceeded tens of thousands of dollars. My desperate struggles to be remembered by her had turned to dust and vanished.

As of today, I am no longer a Miyo-tachi. I am not a Miyo-tachi who loves her.

I am... I am nothing.

The collapse of a relationship. A one-sided breakup. I had lost my very identity.

"Goodbye, Miyo-chan."

I shut down my computer.

The community was already flooded with posts cursing Miyo. Former Miyo-tachi who, like me, had been slapped with reality, were beginning to write. They accepted the horrific truth, turned their love into hatred, and poured out curses.

I didn't want to join their ranks. I didn't even want to look at their venomous posts.

Miyo was gone from my life forever, but I wanted to leave this pain and sorrow exactly as it was.

The moment I turned dark like them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and started blindly cursing her, the moment I unleashed hatred equal to the love ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I once felt... from that point on, my life would be driven solely by malice toward Miyo.

I didn't want to be consumed by hatred. I didn't want to drag my life any deeper into the gutter.

"You stupid girl. Why? Why did you do it?"

Staring up at the ceiling, I lay down on the cold floor.

A semi-basement apartment. In this damp room where sunlight never reached and mold bloomed in the corners, I blamed Miyo.

I knew she was in the prime of her youth. She was probably around twenty-three. I had already instinctively known she wasn't a virgin. But as long as Miyo remained "Miyo," I could still love her. As long as she didn't abandon us, I was fine with anything.

I just wished that while she was telling the Miyo-tachi she loved them on stream, she wouldn't date a guy behind our backs.

I remembered donating 100,000 won once, attached to a message saying, "You told us not to cheat on you, so don't you cheat on us either."

She averaged about five thousand viewers. Her income must have been insane. Whenever she talked about buying something, it was always high-end. I alone consistently donated over two million won a month.

Making that much money, why did she have to date?

Did she really think she wouldn't get caught?

When her weekend days off became more frequent. When she took Christmas Eve off. Most of the **unicorns** had already turned into antis back then.

Yet, I held on. I chose to believe it wasn't true.

I hate her.

Was her physical desire too hard to suppress? Maybe she was just starved for a man. Or maybe the love of her fans wasn't enough to satisfy her.

Whatever the case, if—just by some miracle—I ever got an opportunity like that, I would never, ever date a man.

If you play with fire, you get burned. Who needs a man anyway?

It's a dream job where you can make thousands of dollars a day just by singing a single song.

What was the point of thinking about it now?

With a hollow heart, I pulled the blanket over my head. My grief and resentment toward her gradually shifted into envy and admiration for her talent.

Perhaps I had simply been envious of her. Miyo, who sang so well, had such a beautiful voice, and was so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠good at games...

That was why I had dreamed. A dream called Miyo.

How long had I been asleep?

My body felt stiff. Because I hadn't turned on the heater to save on gas, the floor was freezing. I should have at least turned on the electric blanket before sleeping. My face hadn't frozen crooked, had it?

"Ugh... so cold."

Shivering, I sat up in bed.

"Huh? What's this?"

Why did the ceiling look so high?

For some reason, my line of sight felt strangely low.

And why did my voice sound so high-pitched and delicate?

"No way. It can't be. Right? No... no way..."

I looked at my hands.

They had shrunk. They were delicate.

There wasn't a single trace of the rough calluses built up from manual labor. They were pale, beautiful hands. My arms were slender, completely devoid of muscle.

A woman's hands. A woman's arms.

A woman?

"???"

I checked the mirror.

"Who... who are you?"

A beautiful girl was staring back at me.