Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Members Over-Immersed in RP
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Just because you're an orphan doesn't mean your life is automatically ruined.
We're all humans—if you slice us open, red blood comes pouring out. Unless there's some major disability, anyone has enough ability to live a normal life.
Yet so many orphans end up crashing and burning. The reason is that emotional resources are just as crucial as material ones during a person's growth.
Parents who cherish their kids more than their own lives? I've only ever read about them in books.
No ideal adult around to serve as a role model or goal.
In school, you huddle together with the others just to avoid bullying, so you never get a chance to mix with regular kids.
Silent and brooding, that's how it was.
Everyone stuck with their own kind—not just in school, but in the facilities too. No environment where you could buckle down and study.
Sure, there were the occasional super-elite outliers who made it through the entrance exams despite all that.
I wasn't one of them.
I didn't dive headfirst into the underworld with gambling or drugs, but I wasn't exactly fitting into mainstream society either. Mine was an ambiguously mediocre life.
Still, having a room with a deposit and rent I could cover—doesn't that make it somewhat livable?
That was true up until recently.
Now that I couldn't ride my bike anymore, I was at a total loss for how to make ends meet.
And yet, someone was clinging to me, saying they needed me?
Scammer.
No matter how I looked at it, they had to be a scammer. But I could always check the contract and confirm later.
That said, the contract Kim Mi-myo handed me was genuinely a scam of a deal.
"What do you even get out of giving away so much?"
"A comrade to chase dreams with."
In other words, it was a cheat-level contract tilted way too far in my favor.
Even during debut prep, they paid a salary.
Once broadcasts started, 70% of the revenue went to me, 20% to activity funds we agreed on together, and barely 10% to the company.
People who offer honey-sweet contracts like this fall into two categories.
Scammers, or spoiled rich kids whose heads are full of flowers.
"President, you got a lot of money?"
"I promise you the industry's best treatment and support."
No matter how I spun it, conditions this good screamed trap.
But for every poor person in the world, there's someone drowning in cash.
Was this maybe a chance to stick a straw in the company and suck it dry?
'Did my singing really impress her that much?'
Even after turning into a stunning beauty, President Kim Mi-myo was still pushing virtual idol debut.
I had no plans to do anything with this face—life was exhausting enough already. But it was the kind of looks that could turn heads everywhere.
Still, she steadfastly charged ahead on the virtual path alone.
Maybe she had some conviction driving her.
'100 million subscribers and a global idol? That's gotta be a joke.'
100 million.
The number was absurdly huge.
Global Christianity: 2.4 billion. Islam: 1.9 billion.
Buddhism: around 500 million.
So she was asking me to snag 0.2 Buddhas.
Idol, become a religion.
Considering the current size of the virtual scene, it felt like those early Bitcoin pitches: "This coin's gonna moon—bet your life savings!"
A massive hit, right?
Of course it would be.
But don't forget—next to every crypto whale is a mountain of corpses from "investments" that were straight-up scams, enough to fill the Pacific.
Of course, that's just an analogy. My situation wasn't that shaky.
The domestic virtual streaming market already had a solid fanbase.
I wasn't some pioneer breaking ground in a total zero.
But pairing a company no one's heard of with me, someone who's never streamed? Even if it flops hard and we end with 1 or 2 viewers until contract end, no one would bat an eye.
'Guaranteed 300k salary, straw-sucking paradise.'
Mandatory broadcast time: 70 hours a month.
Trash thoughts, I know, but if I just clock those hours, slack off without earning a dime, that's 4,000 won an hour.
Pay's so high it's suspicious in reverse.
Why throw this money at me, no established streamer?
'Believe the sweet dream vs. Suspect reality to the bitter end.'
Was the president a demon dragging me to hell, or a young rich kid doing whatever she wanted because money was no object?
Both possible, but I bet on the latter.
I couldn't pass up a chance to drain the company coffers.
And just like that, I signed on the spot.
The next day.
"It's a scam after all!"
I headed to the office and was shocked by its size.
Smaller than my studio with a 1 million won deposit and 350k monthly rent.
Not even in an expensive area.
For a place supposedly flush with cash, starting a business and recruiting with sweet deals—this office looked dirt poor.
Scam confirmed.
"You got money to pay that salary?"
First worry: wage theft.
I had enough to scrape by right now, but no real buffer.
A couple months off, and I'd miss rent, get booted.
Couldn't waste time in a scam outfit in this spot!
"The office is small because we're investing heavily elsewhere!"
"Elsewhere where?"
"Virtual models, gear, this and that."
Right, contract said most broadcasting stuff would be remote anyway.
Forced out by circumstances, but as an introvert at heart, handling most work from home was a clear win.
So the office being this size... understandable? Kinda? Maybe?
Tough sell.
"And this isn't the whole office?"
Saying that, the president opened a door on the wall I hadn't noticed.
There was a door there?
It led to a tiny side room next to the office—perfect for a pantry or storage. But it had a bed, cabinets, lived-in vibes.
Someone living here?
And on that bed, a pint-sized bunny girl filming herself in selfie mode on her phone...
Bunny girl?
Pint-sized?
Two words that should never mix... had mixed.
"This isn't forcing strip streams or child porn, is it?"
Chills shot up my back.
No big-shouldered thugs jumping out from behind the president, right?
And me suddenly the victim in a sex trafficking bust.
"Knew my luck was too good to be true..."
"What dark nonsense are you spouting?"
Kim Mi-myo said that and draped a tracksuit top over the bunny girl kid.
"Say hi. This is Yun Byeol, your fellow first-gen kid from World Live Entertainment. Stage name: Akari!"
"Kids? I'm too tall to pass for 'kids'."
"K-E-Y-S! Keys, like the thing that opens locks!"
"Very Korean pronunciation."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Akari."
She greeted like a character popping out of a mobile gacha game.
SSR-level cuteness, at least.
"So, how old are you?"
Looked elementary school age—no way she could work in broadcasting!
"Akari's 0 years old."
"0?"
What did 0 even mean?
Like when companies post "0 hires" but take single digits—maybe her age was single digits?
"On my planet, we count a full cosmic cycle—from universe birth to death—as one year. So Akari's still 0."
This girl started spouting incomprehensible lore.
Prime virtual idol material?
"Her official resident registration says 18 or older, so rest easy!"
Every word from ㅂ to ! reeks of suspicion.
"So why the bunny girl outfit? This some shady studio?"
"Big data showed it's the outfit male viewers prefer most."
No, it's virtual anyway.
Whatever you wear won't show to the audience.
"Perverted outfits plus half-cam demands!?"
"We're not that kind of company! Listen to the president!"
Telling me not to suspect the suspicious setup with this suspicious girl...
That was my first meeting with my groupmate.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The intelligent lifeforms on asteroid B150—Earth terms: the humans of that star—lived eternities by our standards.
They measured a full universal cycle from creation to destruction as one year, so this girl's Earth age was indeed 0.
B150 natives didn't live for any grand mission.
Like Earth humans, they simply existed because they were born.
And in that existence, they observed much.
They could freely choose their gender.
The girl now using Yun Byeol or Akari was male back on B150.
But for cultural exchange on Earth, female seemed more advantageous, so she switched.
She even surveyed Earth males' preferences via big data and donned the top pick. For some reason, though, President Kim Mi-myo kept trying to layer clothes over it.
They settled on tracksuit tops over the bunny suit daily.
That look exuded an even deeper allure than the suit alone.
While observing Seoul, Yun Byeol got scouted by Kim Mi-myo, gaining the name Akari and a new career as a virtual idol.
No separate home, so she started living in the side room next to World Live Entertainment's office.
Her resident registration address was faked—nothing but an empty lot there.
Thus settled in the side room, Akari met the newest member: Jang Gyeon-u, who hadn't picked a stage name yet.
'Beautiful girl type. Confirmed top-tier Earth appearance rank.'
Had Jang Gyeon-u asked, "Why'd you become a girl?" Akari would've gladly explained.
But she didn't ask, so Akari didn't tell.
She just gazed at Jang Gyeon-u with eyes lit by curiosity at something intriguing.