What If We're Just Vulgar Brains?

Are we just vulgar brains? "Uh, um. Thanks for the donations. I appreciate them, but... not like this, donations exploding out of nowhere?"

What was I supposed to say? It felt like I'd been possessed by a ghost. Sure, I'd pulled it off myself, but even I was stunned by my own success. Had I always been this ridiculously talented at games? But what threw me even more was that something I'd thought utterly impossible had actually happened to me. Donations were flooding in like I was some big corporate streamer. And every single one was a hefty amount. They thought it was worth that much. The play I'd just shown was worth every penny in their eyes.

The moment that thought hit me—and my brain fully accepted the reality—goosebumps prickled across my skin. A chill raced through my whole body. Ecstasy. The thrill of people recognizing me was beyond anything I'd imagined. It was intoxicating.

I shifted my gaze to the chat window.

This was a sight you rarely saw in my usual streams. Chats praising and hyping me up were flying by at breakneck speed. The only time you'd see chats like that with this kind of firepower was maybe during a rare singing stream. But even then, it felt different. Was it because I wasn't fully serious about singing? Or because the donations were even bigger this time? Whatever. Didn't matter.

I'd found it. The reason to keep streaming.

"...Anyway, now I know what happens if I act out of line, so I'll play it straight from here."

I force my rising lips back down. If I looked too thrilled, viewers might not give me the reactions I wanted. Gotta play ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it cool and nonchalant.

I move the character while racking my brain on what to do next. How do I pull the reactions I want from the audience? Simple answer: Show off my skills in the most impactful way possible.

...Yeah, like that's easy.

While lost in those thoughts, I keep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the convo flowing so it doesn't feel like I've gone silent. "These trees are so realistic, feels like a python's about to burst through the screen. Dodging around here counts as my workout for the day. Graphics quality like this makes it hard to believe it's a 20-gig download." Just chit-chatting like that, and suddenly my character's steps halt forcibly.

"Ah, finally made it to the City. ...Huh?"

Beautiful soldier girls shove spears in my face and order me to follow. It looks forced at first glance, but the protagonist still responds to my pad inputs.

...Can I bell them? Only one way to find out.

{No. That goes against my creation purpose.}

"...Ah, can't kill humans, huh."

I voiced the protagonist's inner disappointment.

I follow the soldiers' lead, ignoring the chat reactions.

...Underground?

"This vibe is getting kinda weird."

"Nah, haven't been betrayed yet. ...And now I have."

The second I spot the princess knight locked in the underground prison, I say that and screenshot it.

"Alright, screenshot done. That's Raider for today."

"It's a CBT game. Who knows how much content there is for the CBT period? Can't burn through it all on day one or I'll run out later."

CBT playtime ain't generous enough for hours-long streams every day for a week. Zero info leaked, super polished new game. End it after a day or two on stream? No way.

"Save the good stuff for later. And I'm not ending the stream yet. Got something I wanna talk about."

With that, I switch the stream category to Just Chatting—JC for short.

"Today, I got shocked realizing you guys aren't really my 'nakama' after all."

I knew otaku culture going mainstream meant a ton of casuals claiming the label after watching a few animes. But my viewers? I thought we were the real ones. That belief made this hit hard.

"...I believed you all had it handled. Bingeing all the hyped anime this season, grabbing the original light novels, collecting figs and acrylic stands. That's what I thought. But streaming today shook that faith."

"Oh, that? Gave it to my editor as a gift. She crashed at my place once and hugged my dakimakura super tight while sleeping. Said she slept like a baby, so I bought her the same one. But weirdly, she said she couldn't sleep with it, so I just gave her mine."

A chat rubs me the wrong way. Gotta say something.

"Yo, cross the line on my editor even a little and it's a ban. She's my precious lil sis, so no trash ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talk."

I hand out 10-min chat bans to a couple as examples. That should do it.

"Anyway, time to check your current otaku status."

With that, I fire up CraftStar—off-screen, no broadcast. This'll carry the rest of the stream.

"What era's Marine lit is this...? Probably up the otaku talk ratio. To make you all real."

"Alright, anime OP guessing Uzumap. Confident folks only."

I switch the stream screen.

"If I lose? Hmm... maybe a light penalty?"

Gotta put some skin in the game to make it fun.

Horror game? Horror game, huh...

"PubG but a short one? What do you think?"

Viewers were already typing as if my horror game penalty was set in stone—before the match even ended.

I grin at the overexcited chats.

"Alright, looks like everyone's here. Let's start!"

Uzumap starts. First song plays. Smiling, no hesitation—I type and hit enter.

And———