Never, Ever Pick the Micro Bikini

An all-time legendary avatar had appeared. It was the one opinion the entire chat window agreed on unanimously.

Every time I changed expressions, positive reactions came flooding back.

My feelings were complicated. Maybe because I'd been streaming with no camera ever since the Powerball win, but this was the first time chat had ever called me cute or pretty.

"Thirty-second ban for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anyone spamming 'female.' And to the gentleman who proposed—I must respectfully decline."

"Pow, tsk."

I swung a fist at the camera. The viewers loved it, saying it wasn't the least bit threatening.

"Tch."

It felt like my masculinity had been thoroughly castrated. Not that I'd had any to speak of from the moment I chose the VTuber path to put food on the table.

If I put down a strict warning not to pull this stuff, they'd stop even now. But still. They were viewers who'd come to see me — there was no reason to get angry over it.

"Anyway, folks, on such a joyous day as this, wouldn't it be a shame to just let it slide?"

"I've prepared a little event for everyone who came out today."

I pulled out the content we'd planned through meetings. A notice appeared on the stream screen.

"The three winning outfits will be custom-made, and I'll wear them for you all to see!"

The chat window erupted in cheers.

If things went like this, of course, the winning outfits were already a foregone conclusion. To make it fun, I had to twist things a little.

"But if we do it this way, you can already see how the results will turn out, can't you?"

"For my dopamine-loving viewers, I've prepared a roulette."

The chat window descended into confusion.

I began explaining, ever so kindly.

"We'll spin this roulette three times before the vote. Say it lands on 1, 3, and 5? Then whatever outfits come in 1st, 3rd, and 5th in the voting are the ones we produce. That's how it'll work."

Mixed and grumbling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reactions, sure — but this was exactly broadcast gold. Everything gets fun the moment you twist one variable.

"This is content where you look at the roulette results, rack your brains, and vote strategically so the outfits you want land in the right ranks."

I placed my hand on the lever.

"Then, the momentous roulette begins! The first number is..."

The wheel spun furiously.

And the number stopped at—

"Six! Our first number is six!"

An extremely hard-to-hit zone. Bad news for the viewers — great news for me.

"Now, the next number will be..."

I spun the next roulette immediately.

This time it stopped at—

"Fourth place it is!"

The chat window let out a collective sigh of relief. Now came the momentous final number.

"Can one of your coveted ranks — 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or 10th — possibly come up? The odds are a full one in two!"

With everyone's hopes riding on it, the final wheel spun — and the number that appeared was—

"It's this one!"

I shouted "nice" at the top of my lungs.

The chat's mood, meanwhile, was one step away from open rioting.

"Oh, come on. All you have to do is match the ranks properly yourselves."

Well, this level of atmosphere was straight out of the WWE.

"Hmm, and what exactly can you do about it by getting mad at me?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

After all, who would dare try to strong-arm a trillionaire VTuber? Apparently everyone had concluded that my stubbornness could not be broken, because they began carefully deliberating to land the swimsuit in 4th, 6th, and 8th place.

For all their grumbling, seeing them enjoy my content more enthusiastically than anyone was a good sight.

Finally, the momentous voting time arrived.

After heated debate among a combined sixty thousand viewers, the final rankings were at last settled.

"Without further ado, the momentous voting results...!"

The results slowly climbed onto the screen.

A brief silence.

"...Huh."

4th: Swimsuit. 6th: Business Suit. 8th: Wedding Dress.

The instant the three syllables of "swim-suit" registered in fourth place, the chat window erupted in cheers.

"Don't bullshit me — this was rigged!"

The chat window poked fun at me relentlessly. I took a deep breath for a moment and steadied myself. It was fine. I had a last-resort contingency prepared for the possibility of actually landing on a swimsuit.

"...But folks, you do know that not every swimsuit is the same swimsuit, right?"

The roulette suddenly flashed with light and transformed.

"What's the matter, everyone? You just have to vote as skillfully as you did a moment ago, that's all."

"What's that? I simply can't hear the voices of children with less money than me~"

I spun the wheel with a sneering expression.

And the number that came up was—

"..."

"Guys... can't we just talk this out?"

Well. I was fucked.