Looking for a Manager, Kidnapping an Editor

"Hwaaam..."

Cha Harin, who called herself an early bird, woke up with the sun already high overhead.

If there was one supreme advantage to this second life, it was sleeping as much as she wanted and getting up whenever she pleased.

People liked to claim lawyers had it easy. Truth was, she'd nearly worked herself into the grave just chasing money. And if you got unlucky, you ended up actually dying—like she had.

She watched sunlight spill through the gap in her one-room window.

"Hehe..."

Just seeing the sun was enough to make her happy. The sky in her memories had been almost entirely black.

Pwoooosh.

She flopped back into bed and rubbed her face into the pillow. How long had it been since she'd slept hard enough to make her head hurt? Even so, yesterday's fatigue hadn't fully worn off, and her body still felt heavy. Her throat was dry, her mind foggy.

Every time she hit the go-live button, time simply evaporated. If she wanted this lifestyle to last, she was going to have to build herself a proper routine.

Back when only a handful of people watched her, she used to check the clock constantly, looking for an excuse to end the stream—sorry, loyal seven of her earliest fans, but leaving the broadcast running just made her feel like she was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠playing alone. These past few days, though, with viewer counts hitting five digits, she hadn't so much as glanced at a clock.

Ha. She was a proper popular streamer now. Time to get used to it. She had to keep streaming with her audience for a long, long time if she wanted to keep buying rice.

But is now really the time to be lying here?

Her eyes snapped open.

"What am I streaming today?"

Emergency! Emergency! Content drought was already back after a single day. If she wanted to go live again tonight, she didn't have time for this. Sensing the abyss of a contentless stream, she bolted upright.

"Gyaaaaah... my head...!"

She'd seen the videos—those sites that collected every clip on earth. Jumping up too fast after lying down made the blood drain from your head and left the world spinning. Classic video-watching behavior: see it, then completely ignore the warning like an idiot.

Clutching her skull, she stared at her computer.

"This is hard work, too... but it's fun, you know?"

Making money and getting famous was never going to be easy. For a moment she wondered if being buried in work made this life the same as her last one—then she thought of her viewers' reactions, and decided this side was still better.

"Let's check the reaction first."

The Benzopyrene incident had introduced her to something new: communities. Roughly speaking, they were spaces where people with similar hobbies or mindsets gathered to talk freely. A little too freely, maybe—there barely seemed to be any limits on expression.

Let's be neighbors~

Borrowing this~

The vibe was nothing like those old blogs and cafés, where people still tried to be polite even online. Built on anonymity, these places overflowed with raw, unfiltered opinions, which turned out to be surprisingly useful for reading issues and gauging reactions.

"Is there a lawyer community?"

Oh. There was. Not exactly a practicing-lawyer community—more of a bar exam prep board—but that was interesting in its own way. If she'd known this existed in her past life, she might have had more fun.

"Alright, alright... shall I take a little peek at what my junior hopefuls are talking about?"

"...Sniff."

Memories of her own exam days rose up and made her chest tight. Your challenge is more beautiful than anything else. May you all achieve your dreams.

She felt a little ashamed for wandering in looking for entertainment.

Enough side quests. Time for the VTuber communities...

Even a quick search turned up a surprising number of posts about her across the major boards.

The general reaction seemed to be along the lines of who even is this person.

Views on the previous stream VODs she'd uploaded had climbed a lot, too. Overnight, her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠follower count had jumped by several thousand.

Ahh... this was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠genuine tearjerker of a success story.

In high spirits, she opened her business inbox.

"...!"

Jesus! An ad inquiry had come in!?

Some mobile game she'd never heard of... and health supplements? Why those? As for the sketchy free-charge playground ad request—deleted on sight.

Haa... maybe it was time to block this guy. Then again, sending that every single day took a certain kind of dedication. She would put his diligence to the test—see how long he could keep it up.

Then a familiar name caught her eye.

"Oh, Livepia!"

The platform she streamed on. Top-tier streamer-friendly god-tier platform. She would not entertain any nasty comments about her staying only because switching would be a hassle.

There had been talk that Livepia had been sleepwalking lately and that famous streamers were jumping ship in droves, but to her instincts, Livepia still felt like the best option. It was a proper major corporation, after all.

This was probably a reply about the report she'd filed yesterday. Please don't treat me like a malicious complainer! I want to maintain a good relationship with your company!

She carefully opened the mail—and then read it once, twice, over and over.

"Partner Streamer?"

Was this that thing!! The streamers officially recognized by the platform!! The ultimate endgame benefits a streamer could enjoy—lower withdrawal fees, lower withdrawal fees, and also lower withdrawal fees!

"Am I... Livepia's son...?"

Ah. She was a woman right now, so daughter.

Anyway, her chest swelled with grandeur. This body had been chosen by the platform. She had even secured the official certification mark of a major corporation. Nobody could stop her now.

She went so far as to imagine her character up on the giant billboard outside the headquarters building.

"Ha, damn... getting too famous would be a problem, though."

Partner. The word just hit different.

Effective today, she was withdrawing her prior support for Livepia. From now on, she and Livepia were one body... or whatever that long speech was!

Who knew being recognized for her talent could feel this good.

Except... at the same time, a problem had appeared.

We would like to coordinate a visit to headquarters or a meeting with a representative.

"Ah, this part's a little tricky..."

She understood. The basics of business started with let's meet face to face once. That was common sense.

But the world had changed, okay! She was a VTuber? Walking into headquarters could get the person inside exposed!

You're interested in me? Truly, thank you so much. Partner Streamer? I swear my undying loyalty to Livepia. So... can we just keep things like this and get along...?

If circumstances had allowed her to show her face, she would have been shouting hell yes and buzzing with excitement to tour a major corporate office. Wasn't the personal information she gave at sign-up enough for this...!?

"Haa..."

She'd seen this coming. It was a process you eventually had to go through if you wanted to make money streaming. But... not right now.

It wasn't for nothing that she'd been so obsessive about protecting her personal information. Even now, rainy days made her side throb. Her body was different, yes—but she could never forget the sensation of cold steel forcing its way in.

And going outside itself still... required more mental preparation than she had.

But... if she dragged this out, Livepia might change its mind...!

The partner offer that would become her future money vault—ah, no—the turning point of her life.

After a long stretch of agonizing, she drafted a reply.

"Ha, damn. This is the best I can do."

What wasn't possible just wasn't possible. On this point, she couldn't yield. Praying they wouldn't take offense, she hit send with all the earnestness she had.

"How does someone write this prettily?"

Yoon Ok-hee read Cha Jinyeong's reply. Bottom line: the meeting had been declined. But she would happily take the Partner Streamer registration.

Bold. And yet somehow not annoying. She hadn't given a reason, which was a shame, but communication through other channels was still possible. And she seemed quite pleased with their offer.

"There's wariness in this. I wonder why..."

Unless there was a truly unavoidable circumstance, most rookies wouldn't turn something like this down.

"What if she's secretly an idol or something? I hear the people doing VTubing these days have absurd specs."

"That is possible, but the probability seems low."

"Then why hide this hard... I don't get it, Minseok."

"Perhaps she has had related negative experiences?"

"Hmm..."

She'd wanted to see the face at least once and put a stamp of recognition on her... But forcing a meeting could sour the relationship, and it wasn't that urgent.

"We'll proceed non-face-to-face, the way Cha Jinyeong requested."

"Shall we handle the documents required for Partner registration via electronic signature as well?"

"Yeah, of course."

"..."

"Hm? Why are you looking at me like that."

"I am by no means saying this with any other intent, but Director, you seem completely captivated by Cha Jinyeong."

"Haha. Maybe so."

He might have a point. She just had a feeling she'd regret it a lot if she let this one go.

She left preparing the documents for Cha Jinyeong and the reply accepting a remote meeting to Minseok.

"Ah, make sure you include this line."

"Yes, go ahead."

"We hope that positive discussions can take place in the near future."

I've already claimed you.

"Uuugh..."

Livepia Partner Streamer, this very body—crisis imminent.

"Should I have asked them to find me a manager?"

A company on Livepia's level could probably set her up with someone easily enough... No. A professional streamer couldn't just shove her own work onto other people. And a manager would be her closest business partner—the person she'd communicate with most. She wanted to choose carefully.

She started drafting a job posting.

Simple is best. She'd covered everything that needed covering, right?

"How do I set the pay?"

She needed to know the going rate if she wanted to treat someone properly... But she hadn't even received her first settlement yet, so she wasn't in a position to offer a generous package. She decided to fall back on the magic phrase: to be discussed later.

For reference, she started looking up where people usually posted these kinds of openings—and the recommendation algorithm served up a familiar character.

That was her character.

The video title read:

"That's my stream footage?"

Views... eighty thousand. Overwhelmingly more than the full VODs she'd uploaded herself. Fair enough—at a glance, it was a well-made edit.

In the section where she poured out her remarks about Crasher, the frame zoomed in hard on her character's face.

...How long was this zoom going to last!

The whole video was more or less like that. Every time she opened her mouth, another stretch of absurd comedy direction followed.

...She liked it, actually? Apparently she was into this kind of thing.

The editing style was really distinctive without being unpleasant. Even without relying on conventional techniques, it somehow still grabbed the eye.

And the real surprise was the game-explanation segment. The footage had been boiled down cleanly so a casual viewer could understand it at a glance. And... what was this cute little drawing? Had the editor drawn it themselves?

Every so often a little character popped onto the screen and stole her attention.

"I gathered the opponents into one place."

The next second the music's beat hit, and Eternal Fox warped in with a spatial leap.

"Oh!!"

This edit was good. Even with the unnecessary parts cut, the video still flowed naturally, without overdone effects—and it still hit every fun beat.

Then, in a scene where the sound of her drinking water came through, that adorable little drawing appeared again.

"Is that my character?"

Checking the features, it seemed so. The drawing then transitioned into a scene of it thrashing around underwater.

"Hoo..."

She checked the video description.

She checked the channel's other videos. There weren't many uploads, but every single one was of her streams. What a considerate person. They'd even put up yesterday's broadcast already. The turnaround speed was incredible.

She looked at the manager recruitment post she'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been writing. Then back at the videos this channeler had uploaded.

A manager? Not urgent.

But right now, her streamer channel had no proper official videos—just full VODs of past streams and some half-heartedly chopped highlights. An editor was also someone she needed to hire. And she liked this person?

She checked the video creator's channel info. The profile intro was short, but thankfully an email contact was listed.

Somehow she'd ended up recruiting an editor before a manager... Well, she could always get both. For now—kidnap the editor first.