How Am I Supposed to Go to Work Like This?

I stared at the mirror, completely dumbfounded. If things kept going like this, how the hell was I supposed to show up for work? Maybe being a VTuber was an incredibly high-level profession that not just anyone could handle. Or maybe I was cursed with some kind of mechanical destruction aura.

“I’m thinking about quitting being a VTuber…”

“Hey, stop blocking the door and move aside. I’m here to fix it.”

“Okay…”

I knew my thoughts were pretty far removed from the general consensus. But given my position, I couldn’t help but think this way.

Power buttons that worked perfectly fine the night before but refused to turn on the next day. Personal DDoS attacks that only happened to me while everyone else enjoyed perfectly stable internet. Motion capture systems that ran flawlessly during my own tests but broke the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment they were in front of a VTuber.

If this wasn’t a one-time thing—if it kept happening in rotation for the entire six months since the first generation debuted—then it wasn’t mere suspicion. It was cold, hard confirmation.

“It’s done. Give it a try.”

I restored the dead audio system to working order and gestured toward Akari Dora, our agency’s first-generation member, who had been watching anxiously from behind me.

In truth, it wasn’t even that big of a problem. Sometimes she ate while streaming, and naturally she’d push the keyboard and mouse back across the desk. This time, she had accidentally bumped the power button on the audio interface that handled all the broadcast audio output. It was one of those models with the power switch right on the side.

That’s why I’d specifically told the previous team lead not to buy this one. The defect rate on the hardware itself was ridiculously high, and the placement of the buttons and dials practically guaranteed problems down the line. Plenty of people overseas at VchuVchu had already run into the exact same issue.

Meanwhile, Dora put the motion capture gear back on her head and muttered,

“It’ll work this time, right? Ha… I’m going crazy.”

“It’ll be fine. Go ahead and talk to the viewers right away.”

“Ah, ahem.”

The viewers who had been burning up the chat wondering when she’d return immediately reacted to Dora’s voice.

Thankfully, the moment Dora realized the audio was back, she immediately launched into a heartfelt string of apologies.

“Ah, aaaaah. Sorry, I’m so sorry! Ehehehe. I’m sorry for being such an idiot…”

“Heyyy. If I switch to different gear I’ll need forever to get used to it, so I’m just sticking with this. And you even came all the way here to fix it for me! Don’t flame them! Protect the manager!”

She really knew how to handle a broadcast. She could turn the mood around and even protect her own staff. Of course, I had rushed over in a taxi at 2 a.m. and it hadn’t even taken twenty minutes, but there was no stopping angry viewers in that window of time.

You couldn’t hit your oshi, so Parallel fans beating on Parallel fans had become a daily occurrence. I was used to it by now.

As the monitoring staff member, I couldn’t ignore the atmosphere, so while Dora streamed I quietly checked the public sentiment from behind her.

It was the usual stuff, but the fire wasn’t that strong. Since this wasn’t the first or second time—it kept happening over and over—the viewers seemed to have reached a state of resigned acceptance. Like, “Ugh, fine, another equipment issue. We’ll just lie down and hold our breath until the stream comes back.”

Some people, tired of the constant equipment-related flame wars, had started turning their criticism toward the fanbase itself, claiming the Dora-moms were the real problem.

Equipment issues. Were the fans really blameless?

…Of course they were. There was no way they weren’t. The blame lay entirely with our company for choosing the wrong equipment in the first place.

Maybe that was why I suddenly felt the urge to storm over to the previous team lead’s house—the one who had quit at the beginning of the year—while clutching this cursed audio interface.

I told you. I warned you. That picking this would cause problems.

As I raged at the former team lead in my imagination for not listening to me, Dora suddenly shouted.

“Hwaaaaa! What do I do! The sound’s gone again! I turned it off and on like you said but it’s still not working!”

I looked behind the frantic, foot-stomping Dora and saw that the keyboard had once again been pushed back. In the spot where the keyboard should have been sat two chewy, bouncy jellies she had prepared for today’s ASMR mukbang.

It wasn’t that the audio interface’s power had been cut off again. The stupid thing just had both its power button and main volume dial on the side panel.

Good thing I had waited. If I had left immediately, I would’ve gotten a call five minutes later and had to turn right back around.

“I got it, so calm down and drink some cola or something.”

“I can’t! I can’t be burping on stream!”

“You’ve already burped multiple times without muting the mic. There are already five clips—”

“Kyaaaak! That’s so mean!”

It wasn’t light tapping. It was heavy thumping. The punches flying from 171cm-tall Dora packed serious weight and hurt like hell.

Yeah. This must be the punch that represents the weight and responsibility of adult life.

When I tried to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠catch a taxi home, my phone rang. It was my oshi—the third most-subscribed Korean VTuber. The one with bright beige hair, pink eyes, wolf ears and tail. The 1.6 million-subscriber wolf-girl VTuber. The CEO of the VTuber group I worked for, Parallel. It was Momo.

“Hello.”

[You worked hard again today.]

“Not at all. Dora’s audio should be fine now.”

[I’m sorry. When the second generation debuts, I’ll make sure to thoroughly train the kids on their equipment. I’ll be extra careful when choosing gear too.]

“Well, back then we were so short-staffed that we were too busy to check everything properly. And you hired me specifically to handle these kinds of things, right? I get to come in later than everyone else and don’t have that much to do at the office, so I should at least take care of stuff like this.”

A short sigh came through the receiver.

[There you go again. You always underestimate yourself. How many people would quietly solve every single issue that pops up without complaint?]

I fell into thought.

Someone who could see a VTuber’s real face and not bat an eye. Someone who would keep being a fan even while suffering from a VTuber’s endless demands. Someone willing to stay on five-minute standby until late at night even though they were a company employee. That person was me.

So, just like the boss said, my value was clear. But if I hadn’t gotten caught in real life while sniping at her five years ago when I had nothing to lose, I probably wouldn’t have become a corporate employee like this.

It wasn’t that my job satisfaction was low. It was just that compared to the other people working at Parallel, I felt incredibly inadequate.

If things had gone differently, I would’ve just done some part-time work and kept sniping at the boss while living a half-assed life. Instead, I ended up in a position where I could hear the boss’s voice every day, watch the first-generation streams, and get paid for leaving work late at night.

If anything, I should be the one thanking the boss, not the other way around.

…In short, I wasn’t all that great of a person.

Since the boss was my oshi, I just worked hard at whatever she asked. I pretty much thought of myself as a loyal puppy. And since the boss’s own fan name was Mongmong, whenever she gave me a tough task I would jokingly whine about it in a self-deprecating way.

“Anyway, I’m heading home now. You should get some sleep too, Boss.”

[Thank you. Get home safely. Don’t forget you’re filling in for Dora tomorrow evening at 8 for her content.]

“Yes, I know. I’ve already prepared everything.”

Of course, even someone like me—who was practically the boss’s personal secretary and could handle anything she asked—had things that made me nervous.

It was the content scheduled for that evening.

It was Find Rain, hosted by first-generation member Aoyagi Rain, who had studied abroad in America. The concept was to pick out the real Rain—who spoke with a unique accent and clumsy Korean—from among voice-modulated fakes.

Since Dora had to step down due to family reasons, I had been chosen as the substitute. I had silently supported the boss’s streams a few times before, but this would be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my first time actually using my voice on air.

I had never even pretended to be a net-kama before, so I was pretty nervous. Having to imitate an idol while surrounded by actual idols…

‘Corporate life really isn’t easy…’

Still, if you were an employee who had earned the boss’s trust, you were supposed to handle difficult tasks without complaint. Since the boss was convinced that my participation would make the show much more fun, there was no reason to back out.

I had watched every single one of Rain’s streams without missing a day. I had prepared thoroughly for a whole week. If I could just overcome the embarrassment, I would gladly sacrifice this body for our first-generation members.

“Hwaaaaam.”

When I finally got home, yawn after yawn escaped me. Half-asleep and unable to fight it anymore, I barely managed to collapse onto the bed before sleep claimed me completely.

As my consciousness faded, I mumbled quietly.

“The kids’ streams are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still a long way from ending…”

The next morning, I headed to the bathroom to wash my face and found myself in a staring contest with the full-length mirror.

“What the… what is this adorable creature?”

Under the warm morning sunlight, sleek black hair with a hint of blue sheen. Eyes of an alien blue that made me question whether this person was even Korean.

“Ah, aah. Ah. Aah! Aaaah?”

The sleepy eyes looked like those of a relaxed herbivore. My height had shrunk dramatically, perfectly matching the childlike voice.

In the mirror, an incredibly cute girl who could easily be mistaken for a child actress was touching her own face with a look of utter panic.

All sorts of thoughts flashed through my mind.

Did someone swap my soul while I was sleeping? Was I still stuck in some weird dream?

And then the very last thought that came to me was:

“Wait, how am I supposed to go to work like this?”