Too Much Money to Turn Down
It was simply too much money to refuse. [Yeah, but the donations are at 200—no, 210 now. You're seriously gonna throw away 210?] Exactly. The kind of mindset where you'd sacrifice your own body for money? That was the type of employee black companies loved. If Momo hadn't picked her up, Mazia probably would've gotten her paycheck skimmed by some shady convenience store owner too.
‘But… it feels weird to actively talk her out of doing something she wants to do, doesn't it?’
While Momo wrestled with indecision, the mission reward had already doubled from before.
Do a voice call with a Parallel staff member who's good at Rain impressions — 2,777,000 Clouds
It looked ready to blast straight into outer space. Had every worker in Korea gotten their payday moved to today or something? And the bigger the amount grew, the more her inner capitalist started going wild. Even Jia, who hadn't hung up the call, was relaying the donation count in real time to keep Momo reacting. Who did they think was the one obsessed with money here?
[2.77 million…… 2.79 million…… 2.82 million…… 2.88 million…….]
“Stop talking, it's distracting. I'm watching it too.”
[I'm almost at the company. Let's finish talking when I get there. 2.89 million.]
The reckless commentary that reminded one of a reporter dispatched into a blizzard didn't stop until the call finally ended. Anyway, they'd see each other at the office soon, so Momo set her phone down and asked Rain while keeping her eyes fixed on the broadcast screen.
The reason Jia had been steadily reciting the donation changes earlier was simple. The amount really was rising at regular intervals. And if you had to name the main contributor to that increase, the only person who came to mind was the Chairman, who had properly crashed and burned in yesterday's content. He felt genuinely sorry for failing to find the real Rain, so he was trying to earn forgiveness through money. It was also a fairly strategic move to summon a fake Rain and quell the public criticism directed at him—though calling it public criticism was a stretch; it was really just the usual back-and-forth banter (professionally known as WWE).
But it was also a protest aimed at the boss, Momo. That evil Demon King Momo. I'm going to keep raising the mission amount. Think carefully and decide whether to release the imprisoned Princess Mazia or not! ...Something like that. Come to think of it, it was starting to piss her off a little. Why had Momo suddenly been cast as the Demon King in this dilemma? She hadn't done anything wrong. All she'd done was suddenly unleash a talent that Mazia had been carefully hiding away. In other words, it was like some random girl had been protesting in front of the Demon King's castle, so they'd brought her inside, only to discover she was actually a princess—and now they were sending out a hero to rescue her.
Soon the office front door burst open with a bang, and a tiny figure whose head barely peeked above the partitions came scampering down the hallway and knocked on the CEO's office door.
“Come in.”
Height 140cm. At best the size of an upper elementary schooler, yet the formal suit she wore gave off a strangely professional aura. It was Mazia's entrance. Momo had considered asking her to dress more casually, but since this seemed to be what she pictured when she thought of a proper office worker, she'd left it alone until now.
The phone screen in her hand showed Rain's live broadcast in progress. She pulled out the earbud she'd been wearing, her jewel-like blue eyes sparkling as she spoke.
“Boss, it's three million.”
“Hey.”
“It's at 3.03 million now. Anyway. It's still climbing.”
“...I get it. That's not what's important right now.”
“3.06.”
Jia only stopped relaying the donation count after Momo narrowed her eyes. It really was an enormous sum. Three million won. When you considered that a special reaction from the first generation cost one million, it was at the point where Rain would practically have to hold a mini concert the moment the mission succeeded. But would the viewers really be satisfied with just Rain's singing? The mission itself was about dragging Jia onto the broadcast. Since she was already appearing, didn't that mean she had to do a special reaction too? At the very least, wouldn't the viewers want Jia to react along with her? Whether it was singing or doing impressions.
However, this channel belonged to Rain. There was a main character who was supposed to be in the spotlight, and as the boss, Momo wanted to avoid introducing Mazia in that spot.
“Alright. Since you offered, go on Rain's broadcast, wrap things up, and come back. But you know what I mean, right?”
Jia caught the hidden meaning behind those short words perfectly. After all, it was practically her creed. The belief that she shouldn't draw attention to herself as staff on a broadcast belonging to one of the company's VTubers. When Jia nodded to show she understood, Momo grabbed her shoulder just as she was about to turn and leave.
“This probably won't be the end. You might have to appear on stream again.”
“Is that so?”
She spoke so casually because she had no idea what kind of character she came across as to other people. But when Momo let out a heavy sigh, Jia calmly served up a bowlful of heavy facts.
“If you're worried, you can just tell me not to go.”
“It's just... the situation...”
“But you're thinking the same thing, aren't you, Boss? If I don't go now, it'll be a total mess.”
Jia had struck right at the heart of it, leaving Momo speechless. Riding the momentum, Jia continued.
“I'm not sure I'm in any position to give advice. But from what I remember, most of the orders you gave in situations like this turned out to be right. Of course there were times when public sentiment completely tanked too.”
She could've left out that last part, but it was still just plain fact. As Jia said, Cheon Do-hee had stood at countless crossroads and always chosen the optimal move. In other words, what Jia wanted to tell Momo was: this time too, trust your gut and don't second-guess yourself.
...The biggest part of that worry was Mazia herself, but she didn't seem to realize it. Still, what could she do? Now that things had come to this, even if the snowball kept rolling and Jia ended up debuting, Momo would have to handle the aftermath herself. Just as Jia had said, Momo had already concluded that sending her out was the best option.
“Yeah. Go help Rain. If I see anything that doesn't look right, I'll tell you, so keep an eye on the chat.”
“Understood.”
Leaving behind that crisp reply, Mazia headed for the Motion Studio. Watching that small but dignified back, Momo could only let out a helpless laugh.
Not in any position to give advice? That was something she simply couldn't accept. These days Momo was so busy running the business that she barely managed to turn on her own streams—who did she get the latest industry insights from? It was the YouTube videos and community posts that Mazia regularly organized and sent over after watching more than twenty VTuber streams, both domestic and international. And who was it that had given her both the title “Streamer Suffering from Malicious Snipers” and the wings to fly back when Parallel was still a tiny company with only thirty thousand subscribers?
“...Seriously, she refuses to acknowledge her own abilities even if it kills her.”
In the Motion Studio's solo streaming booth, where tension hung thick in the air, I had Rain's broadcast open on one screen and the voice call interface on the other as I started talking with her.
I put on the headset, pulled the condenser mic stand closer, and sank back into the chair.
“It's already at 3.5 million.”
Even in that position, watching the stream, the mission amount showed no signs of slowing down. It was already racing toward one and a half times my monthly salary. So how could I possibly give this up? It wasn't my money, but since my appearance would make the mission succeed, wasn't it basically the same as me donating that money myself?
...Or maybe not. Anyway, while I was blankly entertaining all sorts of random thoughts, Rain—who had told the chat she was going to the bathroom—sent me a DM a little while later.
Up until now, none of the first generation had ever invited me on as a guest. The reason was that even if they called me, I wouldn't open my mic, so there wasn't much I could do. At best I could carry them in Battle Coliseum as a carry machine. But as everyone knew, carrying should be done by other VTubers. If someone who didn't stream did it, there wasn't much synergy.
However, ever since yesterday's Find Rain incident revealed my existence to the world, the situation seemed to have changed. I still didn't quite understand why they were suddenly latching onto me when I'd asked them to look after the first generation nicely, but if it would help Rain, then going on was fine. The boss had given permission too.
I might not have the overwhelming talent that our company's VTubers possessed, but I was confident I could keep up whether it was gaming or content. This was the dignity of Parallel's official supporter!
I thought the chat would end there, but Rain added a few more words. Her appearance had gotten cuter, so all sorts of things were happening. She'd always only received my help, kept hearing my sharp criticism, and yet still came running to ask for more—making me feel like a babysitter. Of course I wasn't entirely reassured. It was obvious she'd go right back to shielding that “foreigner” nonsense again. Still, gratitude was gratitude, so I had to show it properly.
Once the Chairman finally stopped throwing logs (donations) on the fire and the mission fever had calmed down...
Do a voice call with a Parallel staff member who's good at Rain impressions — 4,022,000 Clouds
The call began. The ringing tone sounded, and the viewers lost their minds.
I scrolled up and down through the chat that was coming in faster than I could follow, tapped the mic to check if it was working, and carefully opened my mouth.
“Hello.”