Sob Sob, Black Company (1): The Eve of Parallel's 1st Anniversary Online Concert

The broadcast time for Another 1 Year, the eve event of Parallel's first anniversary online concert, was set for 6 PM. Still, because of equipment setup and all the various tests that had to be run, most streams started a little earlier than their regular slot. That was why the pre-show went live around 5:45.

It was the weekend. Anticipation had been stacked sky-high by the relay 3D showcases. First-gen fans had turned into refugees with no streams while the online concert was being prepared. On top of that, people flooded in out of sheer curiosity because Mazia—who was good at games but had always avoided long conversations—was participating in a four-hour broadcast. Others came to see what the skeleton-knight smoke weirdo would look like as an actual host. Viewer traffic kept climbing. Then the rumor that the rigging for the staff member appearing on stream was finally complete spread like wildfire, and minutes before the scheduled start time the concurrent viewers had already smashed straight past the expected peak.

Momo ran her mic test first.

“Ah ah. Mic check, one two three. Mic check, one two three.”

The moment Momo’s voice cut through the stream that had only been playing soft background music, the chat caught fire.

Then it was my turn.

“One, two, three.”

That was it. Short. Way too short. Even though the actual broadcast would begin soon anyway, the viewers couldn’t stand even that tiny wait and exploded.

Even though the real VTuber was clearly Momo, somehow the reaction when Momo spoke and when I spoke ended up about the same.

“If any of you Mongmongis get caught acting like that, I’ll ban every last one of you on my own stream.”

Time ticked by. At 5:59, with her mic muted, Momo spoke to me.

“From here on I won’t be giving you many separate directions. Everything outside the script until the broadcast ends should be treated as pure ad-lib.”

“Understood. I’ll trust only in you, President.”

Incidentally, Momo had decided to trust me. It was the perfect loop—Momo trusting me, who trusted Momo—so the broadcast itself should be fine. The real issue was how I was going to redirect all the attention currently laser-focused on me over to the first generation.

Replicating the miracle I’d shown during the MoovGun civil war was the difficult assignment I’d been given today.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. Tell me the moment it gets tough.”

“Yes.”

It might have looked like Momo and I were co-leading the show, but today the one running wild was me. Momo was in the support role—stopping my broadcast accidents and smoothly steering the stream. A stage designed to fool every single viewer was about to begin.

Ten seconds. Five. Two. One.

The instant the clock hit the hour, Momo switched to the first screen she had prepared in advance. Before the main presentation started, this was the segment where the two people running the show would introduce themselves and chat for a bit.

Momo sat at a news-desk-style table, positioned slightly off-center.

“Hello, everyone in the Wol-dung world. I am Shirahoshi Momo, the star floating in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sky of the Parallel World! I’m honored to be hosting the pre-show today and get to greet you all like this. Nice to meet you!”

“The weather’s been getting colder and colder lately, hasn’t it? It’s only mid-November, yet it’s already the kind of season where you can’t step outside without a thick coat, right?”

“Thank you. I feel less cold because all of you are here too. Ah, but it’s still cold today, isn’t it? Doing a broadcast alone feels a little lonely… So I brought someone to co-host with me. Shall we call them together? Employee D, please come out!”

A girl with dark blue-tinted black hair and bright blue eyes rose smoothly into the frame from below. It was the same model that had appeared during the MoovGun civil war and the joint stream with Komari. But today was different. The moment I moved even slightly, the avatar responded and moved with me. A living avatar—Mazia Proxy.

Right on cue, Momo placed pastel-toned nameplates in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠front of us. One pink panel that read Shirahoshi Momo, and one navy panel that read Mazia Proxy.

“Hello. Allow me to greet you properly. I’m Mazia, the Parallel operations team member who will be co-hosting with the President today. I used to be called Employee D. Please treat me well.”

The model ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠behind the navy nameplate—which had been completely stiff only two weeks ago—now moved. The gently swaying eyes and shy smile mirrored the real person like a reflection in a mirror. It struck the viewers—especially those who had only ever watched for Employee D—straight in the heart.

The chat was so flooded that the stream started lagging, messages scrolling up in bursts before stuttering. Right in the middle of the chaos—

“Miss Jia. You have to react to the donation.”

Reacting to donations was basic manners. It didn’t matter whether you were a streamer or not. Friends, mothers, younger siblings, acquaintances—everyone was equal in front of a donation alert.

“I don’t have anything prepared, though.”

“Shall we decide on one right now?”

“Hmm.”

Anything over ten thousand was a big donation. Once it hit a hundred thousand, it entered the realm of massive donations. In other words, a simple “thank you” wasn’t going to cut it. I’d thought about it in my own way. Since I wasn’t actually a VTuber, role-play felt pointless. The original character sheet had been written with a witch concept, but without the robe and hat the office-worker vibe was stronger, so there was no need to worry about magic spells or anything. For now, I could just be an ordinary employee. A worker. Plain old laborer D.

“Thank you, Pino. Of the 300,000 Clouds you donated, a portion will be taken as commission by the streaming platform Pazizik. The remainder is scheduled to be used diligently for production costs—including the first generation’s new costumes, new songs, group songs, and various other contents. In other words, it will become Parallel’s operating funds. Thank you so much for supporting the settlement and activities of the first-generation members who crossed over from another dimension.”

A nearly motionless, extremely static reaction. Even veterans of this scene had never seen anything quite like it.

Still, the gratitude had been properly conveyed, and the worldview had been maintained. Since the setting was that the first generation Another were travelers from another Earth full of mana and mystery, saying the donation would support their settlement fit perfectly. So instead of telling me to react properly, Momo slyly started steering the back-and-forth.

“Miss Jia, isn’t that a little too business-like?”

“I work in administration, so I can’t help but be business-like.”

Because the business-like attitude kept going, the viewers began rolling the setting around themselves and turning it into proper lore.

People who had dropped by from MoovGun’s stream and still didn’t really understand the VTuber world looked confused, but this was essentially the national rule of VTuber broadcasting. If someone seemed to be floating outside the lore, the community would tie them into it one way or another. I knew that, so I didn’t say much in response. I believed my character would be decided by how the viewers accepted and acknowledged it. It was my own adaptation method—minimizing my ego and riding the wave.

And so I naturally became the administrative staff member of the special agency (Parallel) that managed the four people who had transitioned from another world. In a way, it wasn’t all that different from the real me.

Just like how a writer’s pen goes completely feral the moment they turn personal experience into story. Because reality and role-play had aligned, the answer flowed out of me like water.

“Thank you for the ten thousand clouds. I’m not sure whether it’s a black company or not, but I did use my annual leave last week and still came into the office.”

The chat window that had been cheerfully laughing froze for a second. Then hooks exploded upward from the bottom of the screen.