Round of 32
The day of Virtual Voice Fight.
Two hours before the tournament began, the main page of the streaming platform Link had already transformed.
Ordinarily it displayed streamer thumbnails ranked by concurrent viewers. Today a dedicated tournament banner claimed half the screen. A countdown timer ticked away above a lineup of all thirty-two virtual streamer contestants.
I sat there, slightly dazed.
They put this much weight behind the content?
…How on earth did Lunari even get in?
I scanned the other VTubers one by one. Unlike my old self, who used to distinguish characters by hair color alone, I could now pick out the subtle differences. Studying virtual streamers had paid off — and it turned out the whole scene was a lot more complicated than I expected.
At first I figured thirty minutes to an hour would be enough to get the gist of it…
Wow. The more I dug, the deeper it went.
2D, Live2D, 3D. Traditional, RP, original, booth models, commissions, full custom rigs. Corporate, indie, reincarnation lore, past-life lore, and on and on. The range was so wide that past a certain point I simply gave up trying to understand it all.
Ah, so that exists. Moving on. There was no real reason to dig any deeper. Knowing enough to understand what kind of streamer Lunari was up against was plenty.
Pink eyes and pink hair. A cute smile, cat ears flicking. Lunari was charming — but I would bet anything she looked the most scruffy of anyone in that profile row.
It couldn’t be helped. This industry was absurdly expensive. A high-quality avatar, a wardrobe of outfits and accessories, flashy effects — everything you saw cost money. Popularity brought money, and that money got poured back into the model. Motions grew smoother. Everything looked prettier. As long as you had cash, it was a world of infinite plastic surgery with zero side effects.
Lunari’s rough-around-the-edges avatar stood out for an entirely different reason among those surgically perfected beauties. Whether standing out was good or bad, I couldn’t say — but it beat being ignored. And this was a singing tournament, not an avatar contest…
“Hope she does well.”
I grabbed a bag of jelly instead of popcorn and waited for the tournament to begin.
Korea’s only major live-streaming platform: Link.
Link effectively monopolized the Republic of Korea’s live-streaming market. YouTube had a live function, sure, but it was fundamentally a video-first platform, and its live ecosystem was nowhere near as dense as Link’s. Streamers who made their living on real-time broadcasts almost all set up shop on Link as a result.
Link’s viewers were always wary of the kinds of things that happened under monopolies — yet Link kept investing heavily in growth and maintained a consumer-friendly course. When the virtual streaming market started swelling, they moved fast to create a dedicated Virtual category. This Virtual Voice Fight was simply the next step in that same current.
“Hello, everyone! Connect with the world — Link! I’m Hyun-dong, your MC for the first Virtual Voice Fight!”
Link’s exclusive MC and streamer Kim Hyun-dong expertly whipped up the atmosphere.
“A real festival is something we all enjoy together, right? The winner is decided by the judges’ scores and your votes! You’re the ones picking the champion with your own hands!”
One vote from the audience. One vote each from the two judges. Three ballots total — majority takes the match.
Link had deliberately designed the format so viewers could participate directly and sink deeper into the experience. At the same time, the community was already buzzing with mixed reactions.
Because the platform itself was pushing the content so hard, even people who had never heard of the tournament were clicking in through the ad thumbnail that owned half the site. Viewers from every category and every brand of chaos agent gathered into one glorious, disastrous harmony — and through it all, the judge introductions continued.
“Virtual streamer Lirie!”
“Hello everyone~ I’m Lirie~ I’m no expert!! But I’ll score with a regular viewer’s eyes! Following my heart, speaking my mind!”
Lirie was one of Link’s longest-running virtual streamers. With over three hundred thousand followers, she was far better known for games and talk than for singing — which was exactly why she’d been picked as a judge: she had a popular, mass-market sensibility.
Her appointment had been half-spoiled already, so chat just rolled out the usual “oh of course,” “yep,” “same old flavor” and waited for the next name.
Then the MC kept going.
“From IG Entertainment — singer-songwriter Shin Se-young!”
The audience erupted.
IG Entertainment sat somewhere between a mid-size and large agency, but its roster was widely considered pure gold. Among them, Shin Se-young — with her steady musical output and striking looks — was routinely filed under “celebrity among celebrities.”
“Hello! I’m a huge fan! Your new song is so, so good. I never imagined I’d get to meet you in a setting like this. It’s an honor.”
“Thank you… I’m a little embarrassed.”
Shin Se-young offered a shy thank-you and took her seat. She was the type who got nervous around strangers — which was also why, for all her fame, she rarely did variety or outside appearances.
Oh, interesting.
I watched the monitoring chat scroll by at high speed. The reason she’d accepted a random streaming event out of nowhere…
Glance. Glance.
Her ears… they’re so cute… is that a puppy tail? All fluffy-looking. Oh, that person’s pretty too.
It was because Shin Se-young was a VTuber fan. A quiet hobby she’d never told anyone about.
“All right — let’s begin the bracket draw!!”
My heart was racing, as if I’d stepped straight into the streaming world I’d only ever watched through a monitor.
I’m looking forward to this.
I hoped it would become a good memory.
To finish the Round of 32 and Round of 16 in a single day meant forty-eight songs. That was probably why the MC kept the pace blisteringly fast.
A giant digital roulette spun at the center of the screen, automatically placing streamers into their slots.
Ding—!
My eyes hunted for Lunari’s name at once. I tracked it down the list until it appeared.
Round of 32 — Match 5
Lunari vs. Soria
“Phew.”
A light sigh of relief slipped out. About five thousand followers. I remembered Soria mostly covering K-pop — solid, but nothing particularly distinctive. Stable, sure… just a little short on character.
This was winnable. We’d avoided the nightmare of drawing a title favorite in the Round of 32, and that was more than enough.
The two streamers being tipped as favorites — Sion and Baeka — had been placed in opposite blocks. The organizers were probably smiling.
I checked the rest of the bracket.
“Huh.”
Round of 32 — Match 6
Baeka vs. Mirion
Right after Lunari’s Match 5, Match 6 had Baeka’s name on it.
…If we win here, we draw Baeka in the Round of 16.
At least we hadn’t drawn power vocalist Sion. In a competition, she was basically a natural disaster. Stuck on the far side of the bracket, we wouldn’t meet her unless we both made the finals.
“Mmm.”
The dice had already been rolled. Nothing left to change. I was just a viewer, here to enjoy the show.
Lunari, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves — shaking on stream and spamming DearCode with “I’m so nervous, I’m so nervous, I’m so nervous.”
I sent a short cheer and settled in to watch Matches 1, 2, 3, and 4 in order. One of the VTubers had been so nervous it bled into her singing — and somewhere in there, a full goat bleat came out. Please, I thought. Just not Lunari.
The viewer count kept climbing as the tournament went on, now brushing up against forty thousand. And before I knew it, Lunari’s turn had arrived.
“Hello! Please give us a quick self-intro and jump right in!”
At the MC’s cue, the cat ears twitched. The pink-haired avatar stood dead center, moving less than usual. I hadn’t realized nerves could show through a model like that.
There was a tremor in her voice. Chat filled with encouragement from people who’d come just to watch.
A short greeting — then the accompaniment began.
Dong—
The first note of an acoustic guitar rang out. Chat froze for a second. This wasn’t the beat people expected, not the familiar one they knew. Over a decadent bass line, a vintage acoustic melody unfurled.
Beyond that blue sea—
Lunari’s cautious yet devastatingly magnetic, languid first line climbed onto the beat.
Stripped of its usual brightness, Lunari’s vocal clung sticky and close to the minor bass rhythm and seized every eardrum in the room in one motion. As the song built, the devilish chorus I had designed drew near. Without thinking I clenched my fist — and dropped the jelly.
Every spotlight seemed to lock onto Lunari as the silence that had vanished all at once exploded back in together, crowning the climax.
Back then— into that summer sea—!!
I wasn’t even the one singing, and still my breath locked up. I sucked in air in a rush. The chat window of a broadcast watched by tens of thousands seemed to move in slow motion — as if, for a moment, it had stopped. Had they felt the same haze I did?
The chorus detonated.
And so did chat.
A song that started in question marks ended in exclamation points. Lunari’s voice melted perfectly into the arrangement — you could honestly say she ate the stage alive.
No exaggeration: she was better than usual.
Maybe some people really were built for competition.
When the final phrase landed with quiet composure, Shin Se-young sat blinking blankly in the judges’ seats, and Lirie — listening on shared audio — was bouncing around calling it insane.
Lunari’s overwhelming first strike. Completely crushed by that momentum, her opponent Soria came in second — pitch already wavering from the first line, then slipping again on the most important high note. The result was never in doubt.
Shin Se-young: Lunari wins
Lirie: Lunari wins
Audience Vote: 91% — Lunari wins
Lunari advanced from the Round of 32.
Only after the MC’s official declaration did Lunari smile.
She bowed again and again under the flood of congratulations. Even after the match ended, the official broadcast chat was still wallpapered with talk of Lunari’s stage — and my own mood lifted with it. I had a share in this win, after all.
Especially the praise from Shin Se-young.
“It was a completely different song. Not an arrangement that made the accompaniment flashier or more showy — it was meticulously tailored to the voice. The track supported the vocal from behind with absolute precision. That almost perverse level of refinement gave me chills.”
A working composer had acknowledged it. How was I supposed to keep my shoulders from rising? Of course, I’d already watched her be kind and highlight only the strengths of every earlier contestant, so I didn’t hang too much meaning on it. Feeling good was enough.
“Did she arrange it herself…? I’m curious about the approach too. If there’s a chance for an interview later, I’d love to talk with Lunari.”
I flinched a little at that last addition — but for now, Lunari would keep my identity buried.
I was still smiling at chat when I noticed my message inbox blinking late.
Whenever she’d sent them, the messages were already waiting. Looking at them, I smiled too.