Possibility
Pangea TV's first-ever virtual concert.
Looking back from before the regression, concerts like this had become fairly common once the number of virtual streamers who could actually sing started to climb — but even then, they were always content that commanded the spotlight. The absolute endgame of what a virtual streamer could put on display, you could say. And at this point in time, it was the very first one. So how much anticipation were people going to pile onto it?
FM Community was in an uproar, of course — and so was Pan-beo-gal. That wasn't even the half of it. The most passionate viewers didn't stop there; they came straight to my channel and left comments on the announcement post itself.
Are these people actually coming out to sing at the concert?
Please book some of the others too T_T
The announcement post's view count and upvotes were overwhelming compared to usual. That was how much of a sensation Pangea TV's first virtual concert had become. Even I was surprised — enough that Pangea TV's operations team reached out to me about it.
Wow. I'd heard Pangea TV was really interested in virtuals, but it was actually true.
They seemed to have a lot of questions about the virtual concert, so I explained everything patiently and even opened a private room to show them the VRC concert venue map I'd built. Then they came back with a proposal I never saw coming: on the day of the concert, they would put an ad for it on Pangea TV's main banner. And the perks didn't stop there. They also offered two million won in content support funding.
I immediately swore an oath of loyalty to the Pangea TV staffer still on the call.
I love you, Pangea TV!
And, uh, about maybe getting bonus points on the Best Streamer review process… ahem!
Ssa-yo got in touch too, but we just felt each other out and left it at that. It still wasn't the right timing to negotiate with him. I'd set that window for after the concert was over.
Good. Just as planned — I've locked down the buzz and the public goodwill both.
I hadn't gone through the trouble of plastering guests all over this thing for nothing. If I'd only been chasing hype, a solo concert would have been more than enough. The title of Pangea TV's first virtual concert alone would have drawn all the aggro I needed. But when one person runs too far ahead, a jealous crowd always forms. There's a reason the proverb exists: the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.
To guard against that, I needed to manage public sentiment. And the method was inviting the Wooga-dol dropouts as guests.
It was genuinely tedious, exhausting work. I had to contact and persuade every single one of them through DMs and Discord. And it didn't end there. Once people confirmed they wanted to participate, I had to bring them into the VRC map for pre-shoots and run through rehearsals over and over. Coordinating the schedules of twelve people one by one while getting everything ready — the amount of effort that took was no joke.
All of this is built on money and hard work. Especially the money.
Because the window after the guests decided to join was so short, I had no choice but to throw more manpower at it. Still, the payoff was more than worth it. Just look — the praise posts about me plastered across every community. The work had been a pain, but through this, I'd successfully planted real goodwill with the fandoms of the Wooga-dol dropouts. And to everyone else watching, I'd planted the image of someone considerate and kind. Because I'd gone out of my way to look after the people who'd been cut.
At this rate, even if I screw up once later, it feels like I've got a razor-thin free pass from the hate…?
Ahem. Words become seeds — better not think that kind of thing out loud. I don't have a hobby of self-reflection anyway.
"Seo-a, I'm all set on my end."
"Ah, yes. I'll be right in."
While I was scanning the communities, Miho messaged me on Discord. She'd helped out during the concert prep by handling communication between the guests, which was how we'd ended up dropping formal speech faster than I'd expected. I still had a little awkwardness left, so I was using a half-formal register — but Miho had dropped the honorifics from the start with zero hesitation. The way she treated me felt so much like an aunt talking to her niece that I'd asked her age.
"Oh my! Asking a woman her age is rude, you know."
"I told you mine, though."
"Hehe. A gumiho is nine. hun. dred. years old."
"…"
She kept dodging, so I eventually just let it go. As a hint of sorts, she'd said she was older than both me and Lucy, so I'd go with that for now.
I logged into VRC with Miho for one last thorough check. Connecting to the concert venue map we'd prepared for today, I felt my chest tighten at the sheer grandeur of it.
"Hoo…"
I already couldn't wait for tomorrow.
Pangea TV's first virtual concert, in the original timeline, had been Yun Seo-a's solo concert held during the Wooga-dol period.
Honestly, as someone who'd lived through to 2025, I had no choice but to give it the lowest possible score on quality. It was inevitable. The gap in technical capability between 2022 and 2025 was an absolute wall. On top of that, finding even halfway decent talent on Pangea TV in 2022 had been nearly impossible. The virtual market itself was a barren wasteland — what technician was going to take an interest?
I'd managed to scrape solutions together by reaching out nearly two months in advance and leaning on connections through Bebe-ttang, but Yun Seo-a hadn't had the time for any of that. So all she could do was pick a decent public map and sing her heart out. By any objective standard, it fell short.
And yet her concert still received rave reviews. The reason? Simple. For Pangea TV's viewers, it was the first virtual concert they had ever seen. I only found it lacking because I'd lived through 2025 and watched far higher-quality concerts — but for the audience of 2022, it was a whole new world.
Wait — this isn't even an anime, and a character is actually moving around and singing?
Even a clumsy public VRC map looked no different from a major concert venue to those viewers. And because Yun Seo-a had been a popular pick in the Wooga-dol audition, the reaction was even bigger.
Late October 2022, when everything was burning hot. Riding the wind of hosting the first concert, Yun Seo-a had been a streamer widely expected to lock down one of the final five spots. Ssa-yo's repeated interest and private meetings only backed that up. Just like the slip he'd made with me during our own meeting, he'd casually sounded out her intentions before the fourth and final audition stage. A lot of people believed that if she hadn't brought up her scheduling issues in that conversation, she would have had a high chance of becoming one of the finalists.
Maybe, as the price of snatching the first-ever title, I can still do something to help Yun Seo-a.
She'd put on a spectacular run, only to miss the final Wooga-dol cut and quietly return to Rabbit TV. I couldn't call it a hundred-percent certainty, but my plans going forward might turn out to be an unexpected stroke of luck for her. And maybe that would settle the guilt of stealing the title.
"Alright, everyone — rehearsal starts now. Video team, any issues? Make sure everything's lined up so the order doesn't get scrambled."
"Video team is ready."
"Please double-check carefully for any sound errors on the VRC map. And everyone going live today — don't forget to fully charge your full trackers and confirm they're good."
Concert day. Rehearsal starting from early morning. We'd run a light rehearsal yesterday, but today was the real stage. We worked through it with the exact same pacing as the actual concert, thorough and uncompromising.
I was nervous. Even after preparing this hard, every time some minor glitch or problem popped up, my heart clenched. If this was how it felt during rehearsal — what if something like that happened during the actual broadcast?
There was a reason streamers froze up mid-live, brains locking solid, and just stammered through it. It wasn't for nothing.
Come to think of it, Lucy used to do that at singing competitions sometimes too.
Back then, as a viewer, I hadn't understood. I'd found it frustrating, even. Why is she freezing up there? Why is she acting so stiff? Can't she just power through it cleanly? If you're going to put on content, practice beforehand so you don't make mistakes. Why does every full-tracker stream somehow end up with equipment setup problems? Endless complaints, all piled onto the streamer.
Now that I was standing on the other side, I finally understood. None of this had ever been easy.
"Even so…"
I wasn't stopping here. No — I couldn't. Two months of effort poured into this day. The staff who'd willingly thrown in their strength, my fellow streamers, and the fans who liked me. Today, I was going to show them. The value that was mine alone, shining for everyone to see.
"No — ours, right?"
Lucy, and Miho too. Gauging our possibility — the one pointed toward the future.