Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Members Over-Immerse in RP
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"So, do you have a preferred genre in mind?"
Honestly, I'd never really thought about it.
Calling it my biggest interest while admitting I'd never given it much thought might sound contradictory at first glance.
But for me...
"I never imagined I'd be this deeply involved in the production process."
I figured signing with the company meant just doing whatever they wanted.
I had no idea my opinions would shape every single detail.
The president gave a faint smile at my bewilderment and explained.
"Virtual idols are closer to the Japanese style than the Korean one. The kind that makes you want to cheer them on—their awkward charm and all."
K-pop idols from Korea are famous worldwide.
Top-tier artists and engineers collaborate on songs, then hand them to trainees who've practiced anywhere from six months to several years.
The quality is leagues beyond what a few amateurs could scrape together.
Fans of those K-pop idols often mock or criticize Japanese idols.
Choreography on the level of a dance cover, terrible vocals, that sort of thing.
But that clumsiness was the whole selling point for Japanese idols from the start.
The narrative of fans and idols growing together—watching your idol improve and expand—was the core concept.
"Truth is, we don't have the capital or manpower of a big agency, so it's the natural choice. But we can't fake the dream of becoming an idol."
'Idol wasn't really my dream, though. I got hooked by the promise of original songs.'
Still, I could feel how sincere the president was about idols.
I'd thought she was just some immature rich girl, but unlike me, she had dreams, ambition, passion.
The more we talked, the clearer that became.
If that expression was acting, anyone would fall for it hook, line, and sinker.
"You're amazing, President."
"Flirting out of nowhere!?"
The president flinched, her mouth twitching.
Was that surprise? A laugh?
'What kind of song do I even want to sing?'
I'd never seriously dreamed of being a singer.
I'd given up before trying, scared it was impossible.
So I'd ignored the voice inside me.
All that was left was a fool who didn't even know what she wanted to sing.
Truth be told, even now, it's just about creating a memorable page—not some serious belief I'll make it big.
Not like her.
"I don't know what I want to sing."
"What's your favorite song?"
What's my favorite song?
I rummage through my memories, trying to pin down my tastes.
"Favorite... song..."
I can't say it.
Back when I was in school, hiding my otaku side was mostly to fit in with the other kids at the orphanage.
I didn't want to deal with their hassle every day unless I planned to run away.
So I played the delinquent who ditched studies and complained about everything to match those who thought losers were beneath them.
I figured once things changed—once I didn't have to face them stiff-necked and on guard—I could just admit I was an otaku naturally.
But no.
Looking back now, it's a little embarrassing.
That my absolute favorite is a Vocaloid edgelord banger? No way I could say it!
"Why are you turning red without saying a word?"
I could definitely feel the heat rushing to my cheeks and ears.
"No matter what song you mention, I won't mock or dismiss it. Come on! Say it proudly!"
That didn't give me courage.
I only forced the words out because nothing would move forward if I stayed silent.
"'Disappearance -DEAD END-'."
"Ah, that one? Great choice. For virtual viewers, being a die-hard otaku—not just a casual fan—is a huge appeal. There's a clear difference between someone who learned it for the audience and someone who's loved it naturally since childhood. Viewers can tell from the streams. The sincerity shines through."
Is this praise or a knife to the gut?
Just naming my favorite song got me certified as a true otaku—not a fake subculture poser pick, but the real deal.
Yeah, I'm a natural otaku who turned into a full-blown weeb without trying.
Not studied, just pure!
The fact there's an industry where that's a plus is so touching, I'm tearing up.
But the president's words didn't end there.
"By the way, did you discover that song through a game? A mobile rhythm game? What about SNS?"
"I don't do any."
"Be honest. Do you have a Bluebird account?"
After that, the president grilled me on my ideology and gave me a crash course in streaming etiquette.
Feminism issues are a massive deal to viewers—never even joke about them.
Ignore trolls and agitators, don't react.
Wait for staff to handle it.
'I was a guy until yesterday—how am I supposed to do that!?'
How did we even get to this? The backstory's complicated.
The song I like wasn't sung by a person—it's filled with vocals from a vocal synthesis engine called Vocaloid.
And that engine has characters attached, making them virtual singers—the true originals of virtual idols, you could say.
"Virtual singer" can mean a singer performing behind a virtual model or a being that's both virtual and singer, like Vocaloid.
Anyway, the original song's nearly 20 years old, but it's still known because Vocaloid remains active content among otakus.
A mobile rhythm game launched in Japan in 2020 and Korea in 2022.
There, this almost-20-year-old track got a flashy revival, claiming endgame boss status with its brutal difficulty and tempting countless rhythm gamers.
That mobile game, unusually, had more female players than male, with a much larger female fandom.
Discussions about it often pop up on Bluebird, an anonymous SNS perfect for hiding your identity.
Anonymity lets people say things they'd never post with their real name—otakus flock there.
And it was huge for feminism trends too.
So sensitive folks might jump from "you play that game?" straight to "you're a feminist, huh?"
Suddenly, I had to rant to the president that I absolutely didn't support that ideology.
Is this for real?
I was a dude until yesterday, remember?
"So why do you like that song? The lyrics? The melody? How it's too fast for most people to cover?"
A song is a total art form.
Music, literature, and these days, music videos too.
You might not like it at first but fall hard after reading the lyrics, or love the tune then obsess over the words, or get hooked on the pretty MV and end up addicted to the song.
Lots of songs have stories or are based on movies, anime, novels.
Some singer-songwriters compose explicitly that way.
"The 'final song' vibe? How it vanishes when it ends? Saying goodbye?"
My face kept burning as I spoke.
This was the first time spilling my guts like this to anyone—the president, right here, right now.
Another favorite genre of mine.
Requiems.
Dedicated to the dead.
You might picture grand classical pieces, but modern artists compose and perform requiems for the departed too.
Vocaloid has them.
This makes me sound like such a gloomy otaku.
In a creepy way.
The president might see this and want to cancel our contract.
"The part pleading not to disappear? The desperation?"
"That's good too."
"How about this concept? 'I'm an idol, but if you don't watch, my stream fails. If you don't listen, my song flops. Without you, I vanish.'"
"Isn't that too far from what an idol should be?"
Listen to recent Korean idol songs—they're all about worshipping the idol.
I'll sing, you just listen.
And adore me.
I'm amazing, incredible, bursting with confidence!
"It's different from K-pop idols. Different. Their target fans are teen to 20s girls. Ours are male viewers from teens to 30s."
"Ah."
"An idol you aspire to be like versus one you want to support. The dictionary won't tell you the difference."
But begging people to watch me, save me, don't let me go... it feels so humiliating, so shameful.
Make a whole song around that?
Are you trying to embarrass me to death?