Proof (Part 1)
[Come on, don't be like that. Help me out a bit. Yeah? Yeah?]
"Ugh, gross. Cut the cutesy act."
The psycho was throwing a tantrum like he was trying to sweet-talk an angry girlfriend, and it made the chocolate and jam I'd just scarfed down threaten to come back up. And apparently, I wasn't the only one feeling it—everyone watching the stream was too, judging by the flood of harsh curses filtered into hearts and likes pouring into the chat.
[Eee~ Eee~ I'll handle everything, so you just show up...]
"Aaaah! Fine, shut up!"
[Oh? Didn't you say you'd come?]
"I said fine. Hanging up."
I cut the call on his nauseating display, now shimmying his shoulders back and forth like some desperate flirt. The chat exploded into a mess: complaints about how gross he was, excitement about my next appearance, and the trolls still hanging around, all tangled up in chaos.
After that, the madman—who'd only turned on the stream for a quick explanation and a "see you next time"—immediately called me back.
"Yeah."
[So? How was my buildup?]
"You psycho, what buildup? If I hadn't dipped into your stream for a quick chat and bounce, that would've been it, right?"
[Tsk tsk. You watched it, so you know. Right now, people care less about whether your girlfriend exists and more about if you're really a girl and if that skill's legit.]
"Is that so?"
[Is that so, my ass. Listen, if you prove your skills once, my claim about your girlfriend becomes truth by default, and it'll be a huge boost for your streaming career. You really don't get it?]
"What? Streaming career?"
[You gonna keep slaving away at that part-time gig? With that psycho owner? You nuts? Didn't you say you wanted an easy ride through life? Streaming's the lowest risk if you leverage that face. Oh, there's one other option.]
"What's that?"
[Snag a rich guy and be his sugar baby.]
"You fucking psycho?"
[I'm not the psycho—you are. Drop-dead gorgeous looks, unlimited mukbang potential. Plus, that insane shop where you can buy any skill once you start raking in cash. Perfect streamer material, I'm telling you.]
"Hmm..."
[Dude, no need to think. With your personality, showbiz is a hard no. Leaves you with streaming or sugar baby. Streaming's the better pick, obviously?]
"Ugh, shut up about the sugar baby shit, you moron."
[So get your streaming ass in gear. Anyway, you're off the day after tomorrow, right? We'll stream then.]
"What? That soon? Next week would've been fine."
[Duh, you strike while the iron's hot. If we wait till next week, I'll be drowning in agro chats and can't even stream.]
"Don't you love the agro?"
[Troll hell is no fun for me either. Today's a no-brainer win once you prove it. But pre-proof, the idiots swarm, and my viewers hate watching that torture. Gotta squash it quick.]
Oh. So he does care about his audience? But then...
"If that's the case, why not just skip the fake girlfriend bullshit?"
[Ahem. You being a chick, you wouldn't get it, but sometimes guys need those white lies.]
"This fucker's a total nutjob, huh?"
[Anyway, meet me the day after tomorrow at 10 a.m.]
"What? 10 a.m.?"
[Gotta shop for clothes before streaming. Got a coord in mind. Oh, you have that baseball uniform, right?]
"Why that?"
[Wear it when you come out. I've got it all planned.]
I had no idea what was cooking in his head, but this guy—if he wasn't streaming, what would he even do? Everything screams "content" to him.
"Got it."
[See you then. I'm crashing.]
"Yeah. Night."
[Cool. Start planning your streaming arc too. Can't part-time forever. Think positive.]
"Sure."
The call ended, leaving the room dead silent. Exhaustion hit me like a truck. The day had been a whirlwind: suddenly turning into a girl, heading to work and dealing with the insane crowd after ages, then coming home to bail out my dumbass friend with his mess. Not real hard work, but still. God, I'm beat.
Everything wrapped up, and fatigue crashed in hard. Needed a shower and bed, but even that felt like too much hassle. Brushed my teeth? Nah, too much sugar today anyway. Screw it—just crash hard for once.
That thought knocked me out cold.
The next day, differences from before: the owner showed up on a weekday (usually off weekends) and gave me the biggest grin ever. Crowd was lighter 'cause Monday. And thug-boy wasn't late—showed up 30 minutes early, shocking even the boss.
But honestly, his tardiness would've been preferable. What the hell did he have to yap about? Mumbling through checkout while nonstop chattering... I tried brushing it off as a fluke early shift, but nah—he was clearly fishing for my attention.
I'd already said I had a boyfriend, truth be damned, but he goes, "You're taller than me, but your hands are smaller?" or "No cap, you're the prettiest in person out of anyone I've seen." Staring right at my face with that smile—who wouldn't read it as "I'm into you"?
Only funny part: he eyed my shoes, said my feet looked big unlike my hands, so I slipped one off like "My sneakers ripped, so I borrowed my boyfriend's for now," flashing a grin. His smile froze solid—hilarious.
Anyway, he "tested" by ordering pizza, chicken, all high-cal stuff to refill mana, nuking my bank balance. Tears flowed—tasty food or shattered savings? Who knows.
And today: the big off-day from work, streaming day. In a women's clothing store at the mall, eyeing these pants in my hand with a weird look.
"You want me to wear these?"
"Yeah. Hurry up and change. We gotta get shoes too."
His eyes screamed "what's the problem?" as he urged me on. I whispered low.
"Dude, even so, skinny jeans? Kinda much."
"Why? Guys wear 'em too."
True, but I'd never cared about fashion, always loose stuff. Skinny jeans clinging like that? Nah. And guys messing it up call 'em "dick-skinny" for a reason...
Of course, on this body? Probably cute... but...
"...Still, as an ex-guy, it's a bit..."
"Only I know you were a guy. What's the issue?"
"Would you wear 'em?"
"Hell yeah, if I were you. Still jealous."
"..."
"Time's ticking. Change. Worth ten mil at least."
No comeback for that. Small sigh, ducked into the fitting room, peeled off my pants.
Unlike before, the round, flared hips and soft-yet-firm thighs stretched sleek under the uniform hem—still not used to it. Day three, and adapting would be weirder. My own body, yet my face heats up every time.
Resisting the pull of my gaze, I tried on the offending white skinny jeans.
"Tight..."
Legs slid in fine—good pick on looseness—but hips fought back a bit. Waist comfy, stretchy enough for leg movement. Not bad wear-wise. Just... full-body onesie vibe. Awkward.
"Yo, good?"
I peeked out sheepishly from the fitting room.
"Spin for me."
"..."
"Hm... Tuck the uniform top in and try."
"Huh."
Stroking his chin, back in I went, stuffing the top into the pants, mirror check.
"Uh... top and bottom too emphasized now..."
Loose, it hid the upper bulk fine. Tucked? Cinched waist popped the chest. And white jeans vs. black uniform? Ass line screaming...
Honestly, way hotter coord than loose. True, but... ugh.
"Dude, can't I just wear the uniform untucked?"
"Why? Come out first, lemme judge."
Poking my face out didn't fly.
"Ahem."
More hesitant slink-out, and his stern face broke into thumbs-up.
"Perfect. Grab similar in other colors preemptively. Check other stuff too."
"Eh? Ain't this enough clothes?"
"Think about your room. All dude rags."
"Got tracksuits."
"Tracksuits all week? Shut up and wear what I buy. Last gift before army."
"If you're gifting, make it chill stuff to save my sanity..."
"Keep yapping, I'll buy skirts only."
"No sir! Whatever you give, sir!"
Fine. Army-bound, splurging on his whim—fair trade.
"Shoes next."
"Yessir."
Bought plenty clothes, two shoe pairs—bags stuffed. Couldn't stream loaded, so annoying trek home. Sorted bags rough, finally headed to Money Lord's place for the stream...
"Wait, outdoor stream?"
"Yeah. Got the plan locked. Just follow."
Oh shit. Wanted to smack his smug back, but held. Just survive today.
"Why outdoor all sudden?"
"Thought it over yesterday, y'know?"