The Power of Story

The first-round Wooga-dol audition stage that would one day spawn the catchphrase, "There's emotion in Park Na-na's singing."

I hadn't watched it live, but I'd seen the recording more than a few times. When Lucy transferred platforms, the unwritten rule of the day was to run a "Pangea TV Virtual Streamer Song Ideal Type World Cup" — and under the silent pressure of the VTuber fans flooding in, Lucy had no choice but to play along.

And so the Song Ideal Type World Cup began. That was the first time I ever saw Park Na-na's stage performance.

A flood of TMI poured through the chat:

Back then, the anonymous chatters' garbage atmosphere had already soured my mood, so the performance left me feeling nothing in particular. I rewatched the video a few more times after that, and I still couldn't understand why the veteran VTuber fans strutted around bragging that they'd watched it live. If anything, my only thought was, Hmm, is this really that big a deal?

Anyone looking at it coldly, from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a few steps back, would have felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the same. The song itself was subculture — far from mainstream — and while her tone and vocals were charming, they didn't seem to warrant that kind of mindless praise.

Now I get it. The feeling I couldn't understand back then.

In the end, the core of it was the story.

Watching the video with zero background knowledge, I felt nothing. But right now — understanding every thread of her narrative, watching this stage unfold — it was completely different. I might not have been her most passionate fan, but I'd become someone who could at least raise a hand and shout a cheer for her.

And the lyrics made it all the more perfect.

The melody was bright and cheerful, no question. But the voice that carried it was mournful.

The viewers' reactions were much the same — the chat flooded with crying emotes, people saying the song was sad. Even Ssa-yo's avatar, which had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been bobbing along to the upbeat melody when the stage began, had gone still.

It was an astonishing sight. A subculture song that the vast majority of viewers had never even heard of. Under normal circumstances, everyone outside the VTuber fans would have given mechanical reactions or written it off with a "Hardcore otaku songs, nah." Instead, a huge number of them were clumsily trying to follow along and cheer.

The passage that struck every heart. The lyrics overlapped with the audition itself in a way that was almost too perfect. From the song title alone — I Declare Myself an Idol, performed at an idol audition — something had already felt significant. All of these elements wove together, pulling the audience deeper into the moment.

Will I ever be able to write a story like this?

I drifted into a daze. A small girl avatar with pink hair in double buns. It was nothing more than a base model that hadn't even gone through Ttu-tta, and yet I couldn't understand why it shone so brilliantly.

Meanwhile, the song raced toward its finale.

The cheer rang out one last time. Behind it, the bright melody lingered like an afterglow. An unnameable ache, a tightness in the chest. The pink double-bun avatar bowed her head.

"Thank you."

"I'm a Pass. There have been so many stages yesterday and today, but this is the first time I wasn't judging — I was just listening. I closed my eyes and took it in comfortably."

"Ah! Thank you, thank you."

"If I had to point out one thing, though — if you adjusted your technique to be a bit more idol-like, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠think you'd become an even better vocalist. And that's something I could help with, right?"

A rare, playful side of Jerry. Next up was Great Moon.

"I honestly thought this would be tough. Back in high school I used to load Park Na-na's cover songs onto my MP3 and listen to them everywhere I went — that's how distinct her character is. Right? But if she joined a new idol group, there'd be overlap with the song crew she used to be in, and well…"

"Ah, yes."

"But after watching that stage just now, I changed my mind. Wow! This is what a narrative is. This is what a story is. Maybe Park Na-na could break free of her old character and paint an entirely new picture. What do you think — could you do it?"

Two Passes already. Qualification was locked in. Now only Ssa-yo remained.

"……"

He couldn't bring himself to speak easily. After all, there was the attitude he'd shown before the stage. But Ssa-yo was a professional broadcaster with a full decade of experience under his belt. He sorted through his emotions and thoughts quickly, then opened his mouth.

"Honestly? I was planning to fail you no matter what."

"……"

"I'm not just saying that. I mean it. Park Na-na, we've been at this a long time, haven't we? Right? For real."

"Yes. We have. A long time."

Neither Ssa-yo nor Park Na-na was speaking empty words. Both of them, as ten-year veteran streamers, understood better than anyone what was packed into the phrase a long time.

Image consumption.

The streaming world chased stimulation and novelty above all else. Survive ten years in a place like that, and you were little more than a piece of gum with all the flavor chewed out. Of course, there were corporate streamers who still thrived after a decade — but those were the rare, exceptional cases. Even if you'd managed to survive, the odds were overwhelming that your prime had long since passed.

That was how terrifying image consumption could be.

"Right. And because I know that for real, I was even more set on failing you. But then… ah, damn."

Call it shared suffering. Ssa-yo was in a similar position, so he could see it — the heart that still didn't want it to end, even after all this time. The desperation, the raw need held inside it.

"I don't know. Somewhere in the middle, the tears just started coming on their own. Augh!"

"Watching that stage, I thought — I'd figured it was over. But maybe she still has more to show. Maybe there's still something left."

"Yes. I… I can still shine more."

Ssa-yo nodded wordlessly and pressed the Pass button.

That made it an All Pass. Park Na-na offered a thank-you brimming with joy and left the stage.

"Shall we take a short break?"

"Yeah. We still have the next person's song to hear, but the afterglow hasn't faded yet."

"Honestly, I got choked up from the middle too. And Ssa-yo felt the same? That's wild."

An unexpected bathroom break. I collected myself, then quietly opened FM Community on my phone without the viewers noticing.

"Of course…"

I'd already known the facts, but reading the FM Community posts left a bitter taste. When Park Na-na's story took the spotlight, the stories of everyone connected to her inevitably gained power too. I'd hoped it would quietly pass so Lucy could draw the attention instead — but already, the past connection between Park Na-na and Baiyo was filling the popular posts.

That meant Lucy, who was scheduled before Baiyo, would inevitably be affected.

Nothing I can do about it. Even if it's not the first-round stage, I've got a bigger opportunity prepared for her.

But that plan required a lot of money. For now I was running on credit built from the reputation I'd stacked up — and people were starting to notice.

This won't work. I need to pick a day and start collecting. Everyone else can wait, but Bebe-ttang the writer is a special management priority.

No one in this world hates money. Happy fantasies unfurled through my mind.