I Quit, Don't Stop Me

I had to spend quite a while in front of the mirror. After muttering to myself in that childlike, cute voice for about thirty minutes, I grew somewhat accustomed to it. At first it felt like I was listening to someone else's voice from afar, but soon I could distinctly sense it vibrating through my own skull.

My face? My hands hadn't stopped prodding and poking at it like mochi since I started. The texture was simply too addictive. After all, how often does one get to touch a face like this in a lifetime? For a full hour I stood there in a daze, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠staring into the mirror and running my hands over my cheeks and every other part of my body, before I finally managed to turn my thoughts to other matters.

How on earth had I become a woman? Was it some kind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of disease that changed my gender while leaving my identity intact? Had I slipped into a parallel world where the entire planet perceived me as female? Or perhaps I'd been reincarnated into a new life, only to regain my past memories...? The possibilities were endless, but verifying the truth turned out to be surprisingly simple.

“My wallet looks... exactly the same.”

The card holder I'd used to pay for a taxi yesterday sat in the same spot in front of my keyboard. Inside were the credit card I'd opened upon entering the workforce and my national ID card. Checking my ID should clear things up—who I was, and exactly how I'd turned into a woman.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the ID photo, which somehow made even me look adorable, but eventually I shook my head vigorously and picked up my phone. The model, color, and cheap jelly case were all identical. I opened the contacts app.

“The boss, the first-gen kids, Mom, Dad...”

Everything was the same. It seemed I'd been dropped into a world line where only I had become a woman.

Only then did I notice the clothing rack in the corner of my studio apartment. Instead of the white dress shirt I usually wore to work, there hung a small women's blouse. In place of my gray slacks was a women's H-line skirt.

Deciding there was no need to investigate further, I returned to the mirror and pulled my eyelids up and down. The most unusual features were these eyes and my drastically reduced height.

“I can't believe eyes can be this clear.”

The eyes had startled me at first, but the moment I remembered that my great-grandfather was an American soldier who had settled in Korea after the Korean War, it all made sense. He'd been a black-haired soldier with blue eyes. Indeed, a very small number of my relatives had the same blue eyes as I did now. It didn't look entirely foreign, probably thanks to my relatively flat facial features and black hair color.

“Still... isn't this height a bit too short...?”

I felt at least a handspan shorter than before. It seemed even smaller than Midori Komari's character setting of 148cm. As I fiddled with my slender arms that looked like they might snap with a single tap, I wondered if I'd even be able to hold anything properly.

At the office I spent most of my time sitting in my chair until quitting time, but it wasn't as if I never had to exert any strength. I picked up an unopened box of instant rice that was sitting nearby.

It lifted easily.

“...This should be fine, right?”

Despite appearances suggesting I'd break easily, my frame was surprisingly solid. Things did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠feel a bit more difficult than before, but since I'd never been particularly athletic to begin with, the reduced range of motion aside, the difference wasn't that noticeable.

In the end, my identity was intact, daily life wasn't greatly inconvenienced, and both my personal connections and the company remained the same. There was no real problem with continuing to show up for work as usual. After all, everyone at the company already knew me as a woman.

So all I had to do was adapt, right? Sure, I'd suddenly become a woman, but since the streams I watched with the boss and the VTubers I took care of at the company were all unchanged, my responsibilities wouldn't be any different.

“I should head out a little earlier today.”

Even if there wasn't much of a mental shift, my body had changed significantly, so failing to adjust would inevitably lead to mistakes eventually. It didn't help that due to the nature of my job, I started seven hours later than everyone else, coming in at three in the afternoon. If I walked as I used to but ended up late because of my short legs, I'd feel terrible for the Parallel employees diligently working at their desks.

After all, I couldn't exactly say, “Sorry I'm late. My short legs wouldn't carry me as far as I wanted.”

So I immediately sent a DingTalk message to the boss asking if she needed anything. Since I was heading out early, I could stop by the discount mart if necessary.

Dinner? Why was she suddenly asking about dinner?

What was this about? When had I ever eaten with the boss? The last time we ate together was right after the first-gen debut earlier this year. And it wasn't just the two of us; all four first-gen members were there, plus the six of us who actually knew each other's faces, celebrating together.

With about ten thousand question marks floating above my head, I replied.

Using the classic memory-loss technique to subtly probe, the boss's replies came pouring in.

That was enough of an answer. So in this world, the female me ate dinner with the boss every evening.

The fact was both interesting and puzzling. As the boss said, I was her vicious anti-fan, a former sniper. In her favorite battle royale game—one she could never escape Bronze-Silver-Gold ranks—I would appear as a random teammate, drawing all the aggro possible, earning me the nickname Signal Flare. As a result, the boss would end up isolated by the enemies and forced to become the team's sacrificial equipment. There were several times she couldn't take it anymore and roared, “Signal Flare, you son of a bitch!”

Since she was someone with rich emotional expressions but rarely swore like that, those clips still circulated as part of the Ultimate Momo series.

However, there's that famous saying, isn't there? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. That's why the boss made the bold move of appointing me as her manager. It was basically, “Stop causing chaos with your anti-fan antics. I'll pay you, so use that talent to catch other antis like yourself.”

And she didn't suggest it online—she outright called me out for an offline meeting. That's how we met through that bad relationship. Somehow our intentions aligned and we ended up working at the same company, but we'd always maintained a certain distance. For her to suddenly treat me like an old friend was naturally bewildering.

The only difference was that I'd become a cute girl...

“...Could that be the reason?”

If she'd been monitoring and checking the former anti-fan me all this time, that made sense. But if my cuteness made even that wariness disappear?

Even when I sniped her and caused all sorts of trouble, I still carried the game. Since the boss hated losing, playing with me might not have been so bad. After playing together several times, laughing and chatting, perhaps that's how we became this close.

“We can play games together...”

Back when Momo only had thirty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thousand subscribers, I would fill in the numbers, but once she exceeded a hundred thousand, there was no place for me. But there were two reasons I became an anti-fan. I enjoyed it when Momo played with me, and I found joy in helping her win.

So even after Momo became a major player, I continued sniping by borrowing sub-accounts and friends' IDs. She just didn't know that the anti-fan activities had never stopped. The problem was that it was getting harder to snipe as the needle-thin chances of getting into her streams were difficult to secure, and I had to vary my patterns to avoid detection.

But if we were close enough friends to eat dinner together, was there any need to snipe? I could just openly ask to play together.

Evening. While waiting for Momo to come down to the first floor of the building where the office was located, I scrolled through the gallery and found people wondering about my whereabouts. I left a comment saying I was graduating from being a sniper. Since the boss and I were friends now, we could play games together anytime. There was no need to snipe just to tease and mess with her.

Bursting with anticipation, the moment the boss stepped out of the elevator I ran up and asked.

“Boss. Are we doing Battle Call after the content today?”

The boss answered indifferently, wearing the face of a worn-out member of society.

“Sorry. My schedule is completely full for the next two months.”

Aren't we friends? Or is work more important than friends? My expectations crumbled in an instant, and the shock was more than I could handle.

Eventually my instincts overrode my reason for a moment, and the inner troll inside me burst out on its own.

“Boss. I want to quit.”