Chapter 6. Viewers 0

"...Ugh...."

My shoulders and back ached all the way down to my waist, like I'd gone hiking or something. The bed was a mess, tangled in blankets that clung to my body, and my hair was matted and damp with sweat. Worst of all, my body was still female.

"...Ha."

As soon as I opened my eyes and realized it, I grimaced. A sigh of resignation. The faint hope that it might all be a dream upon waking had burst like a bubble, and sleeping with these breasts pressing down on me was just so damn uncomfortable. I touched my stomach below them, and it let out a little gurgle. Come to think of it, I hadn't eaten anything yesterday—that thought hit me, and hunger came crashing in.

No status window popped up in front of me, but if there was a hunger meter, it'd probably be sitting at -20 right now.

"......"

The underwear I'd tossed on the chair beside the bed was draped awkwardly. The dilemma of whether to wear it again didn't last long. It was the only clean pair I had, after all. I pulled on the gray hoodie I'd worn the day before and grabbed the training pants from my male days, unfolding them.

"...These were really mine?"

Even though I hadn't gained much weight, the waistband hung loose and empty. The elastic was stretched out, and I had to fold it over two or three times just to keep it up. It felt like it'd slide down every time I moved, so I held the waist ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with one hand—then shoved that hand awkwardly into my pocket for stability.

A few minutes later, I stepped out the door, and the cool late-morning air wrapped around me. But I didn't care about that right now. Ramen was priority one.

As I walked to the nearby convenience store, I pulled out my phone—and notifications were piled up.

"...Huh?"

The convenience store door chime rang as I entered, but I couldn't tear my eyes from the phone.

"Welc...ome."

The part-timer behind the counter faltered for a second. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh before clamping my mouth shut so it wouldn't show. Then, from behind a shelf inside the store, I heard muffled snickering—not at me, just someone giggling at their phone. I looked up but didn't spot anyone and just moved on.

There was a short line at the register, and as I waited, one guy's eyes flicked from his phone screen to me. This time, it was definitely me he was looking at. He whispered to the person next to him.

"Hey, next to you."

"...Oh."

"Huge tits. Totally busted."

Short exchange. No mention of my name. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But I knew instantly it was about me.

...They probably thought I couldn't hear.

I heard... I totally heard.

My breath caught. The phone in my arm felt strangely heavy. Sweat beaded on my forehead, my spine chilled, then heat surged up. My heart raced.

And—

Twitch.

The sensation inside my pants made my eyes flutter. ...From this?

No, it's just embarrassment, shame. That's all. It can't be that.

But my inner thighs clenched subtly anyway.

I'm losing it, seriously.

Why was I getting turned on by something like that?

"...Fuck..."

I hurried past them, grabbed some instant ramen from the aisle.

"1,900 won."

I finally reached the counter. The part-timer's phone next to the card reader had a video playing clearly. Total self-consciousness. I didn't really want to see it, but ignoring it felt like it'd haunt me, wondering if it was me. Was this person aware of me too? I handed over my card, head bowed, eyes locked on that phone screen beyond.

"......"

The part-timer said nothing. Good.

As the card processed, another alert sound from behind—

Pam-ba-ba-bam!

That super familiar sound sent a chill down my spine. Video donation effect. But then a coquettish woman's voice followed.

"Have a good one."

My face flushed hot. That's not me, no way.

The part-timer handed over the cup ramen with a smile—just being polite. Even if there was a contrived "I don't know" in their eyes, and they deliberately lowered the items to brush my hand.

I took the ramen, head down amid the leaking snickers, and bolted.

Once the door shut behind me, I could finally exhale. Clutching the ramen bag to my chest in shame, I speed-walked home.

"...Haha."

Realizing not everyone in the world was staring at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me despite the weird assumptions, the walk home felt fresher, the sunlight dazzling. Even a little hum escaped me.

"Ha..."

I hugged the ramen tight as I reached my one-room door. Pulling my hand from my pocket, the ill-fitting pants finally sagged properly, and my hair still tickled my cheeks. The cup hit the desk with a thud.

"Whew..."

My chest rose and fell lightly a couple times. In just my panties, I boiled hot water, tucked my hair behind my ear, and peeled back the ramen lid. The motions felt surprisingly natural already.

...When did that happen?

"So hungry..."

I murmured softly, poured in the water, and pressed the lid down with chopsticks. Steam tickled my fingertips as the noodles bubbled. While the room filled with that smell and sound, I idly opened my phone and checked the streaming app again. The clips from yesterday's stream I hadn't even seen had jumped to 22.

Someone else uploaded more in the meantime...

The ramen scent teased my nose—I couldn't hold out and lifted the lid.

"...Looks perfect."

My lips pursed instinctively, welcoming the food. As I slurped noodles and inhaled—

"Ah, hot..."

Even this little sound felt utterly unmanly now. First a wry chuckle, then back to eating. Slurp— Noodles in, I rolled the lid with my fingers and sipped the broth. The moment my lips touched it, sensations sharpened: softness I'd never noticed before, the subtle feel of broth on the inside of my cheeks.

"...Mm."

My newly sensitive, cat-like tongue smarted from the heat, and I smacked my lips. Can't eat hot soup anymore, huh.

Tch, nothing for it. I slowly finished the noodles, drank half the broth, and set the spoon down.

"Haaah..."

Stretching made the hoodie hem ride up between my arms, the loosely fastened bra strap shifting inside. As my shoulders relaxed, a yawn-like sigh slipped out. Belly full, the warmth of the broth lingered on my lips. Sleepy, languid.

I leaned back against the chair, twisting slightly. Hair spilling into the hood tickled my nape, but too lazy to fix it properly, I just brushed it roughly.

"...Nice."

Fiddling with the hoodie strings at my chest, my soft murmur sounded too sweet for someone who'd just demolished a cup ramen alone—like a cat purring in the sun.

Enjoying that happy lull, a now-familiar alert chimed, and a translucent window appeared in my vision.

"...Mm."

I murmured unwittingly. At the end of my deepened gaze, the status window showed my channel: a tiny icon, gray silhouette with no image, and [No Intro]. Nickname: temporary.

If I wanted to keep streaming, I needed to spruce it up...

The cooling ramen flavor tickled one cheek; I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and exhaled slowly.

Guess I have to.

I shoved the empty cup aside, stuck the chopsticks in it, and cleared space. Not some grand resolve, but something solidified in my chest.

Click.

Powered on the computer. Short boot chime, monitor flickers to life. A few clicks, and the familiar platform loaded—my channel management panel right there.

I paused, leaned back slowly. Staring at the gray profile pic on-screen, I tugged the bra strap lightly inside the hoodie.

"What do I look like... right now?"

The words slipped out like mere thoughts, but they made me flinch. Was the sensation of being ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seen—of someone watching me—already this ingrained?

I grabbed the mouse again and clicked [Set Up Now].