Three Days Later
Three days after the suspension, Kurogami Yui checked her email and pouted.
Inside was the MR for Broken Clock.
She hit play the moment it arrived, and sure enough the difference from the original struck her at once. Listening lifted her mood for only a moment. What she had truly wanted never arrived.
“Ugh, so annoying. And the reply came late too.”
Was it on purpose? No, that couldn’t be. There was no reason for it.
Yui had always been loved by everyone. She was certain she had never done anything to make someone dislike her, and she had no plans to start.
Frustrating as it was, she couldn’t force the issue. She sent a curt thank-you and tried to think of another approach, but there was none. Yeong-il had no agency, no SNS, no contact information at all.
She had dug up the rumor that he had followed Lunari into IG, yet even that felt uncertain. Clicking her mouse in irritation, she finally logged onto Link.
Shouldn’t Lunari’s suspension be lifting about now?
Something about drinking and causing a scene—she remembered the ban had hit three days ago.
“Oh.”
Lunari – Release Commemorative Tofu Mukbang
Current Viewers: 1,703
So today was the day. Three days had already flown by.
Release? Ah—release from prison. What on earth had she done on stream to earn a full suspension? Her personality might be more eccentric than expected.
To Yui, Lunari still felt like some unknown creature.
She can sing, but as a streamer… well.
That was Kurogami Yui’s assessment of Lunari. When she had snuck over hunting for clues about Yeong-il, she had already sized the girl up. Viewership would keep sliding and she would walk the path of a hako again. Still, she was pulling decent aggro today—impressive enough—so Yui settled in to watch.
On screen sat an illustration of the pink-haired cat avatar dressed in a prison jumpsuit. As time passed and people trickled in, a respectable crowd formed.
“Everyone! It’s been three whole days! I’m out!”
Lunari popped in with a bright half-moon smile.
“Ahem! No weird talk. In my case, I got caught stealing catnip and served a one-week sentence.”
The raw VTuber drinking stream had left such a massive wake that people kept poking at it. Lunari pretended not to notice, then rustled around and pulled something out. Since she was a VTuber and her real self never appeared, she simply slapped a photo of tofu onto the screen—taken herself just now, so the realism was perfect.
“Alright then, today we’re doing a release-commemorative tofu mukbang!”
“I shall never again touch alcohol—I mean, catnip!”
Crunch—
The avatar smiled sweetly while only its mouth moved at irregular intervals. Yet the rustling and the wet chewing of tofu were caught in brutal clarity by the mic.
Crunch crunch. Gulp.
“Tastes bad…”
“Ugh… I’m in trouble. It’s way worse than I expected? There’s so much left.”
She smacked her lips like she truly didn’t want another bite, and the chat exploded. Then one message caught her eye.
“Huh? Hang on, I’ll run to the kitchen real quick.”
Rustling, the fridge door, then the squeak of a kitchen drawer.
“Aaaah—nothing decent to go with it. Soy sauce is almost gone too.”
After a long scramble she bolted back into her chair; the facial tracker locked onto her again.
“So what I brought is a little leftover soy sauce, wasabi, sugar, kimchi, and—there was chocolate syrup in the fridge so I grabbed that too.”
Proud of having scraped together everything available, Lunari beamed, then zeroed in on chat.
“Really? Should I try wasabi? I’m not great with spicy stuff though.”
She squeezed—whether it was a squeeze-tube or not, a wet squelch announced a generous amount. She didn’t even notice the chat’s collective shriek before shoving the tofu into her mouth.
“Mmph!!!!”
“Sp-spicy!!! Wa-water!!!!”
Yu Nari shot to her feet. The facial tracking distance broke, so Lunari’s avatar kept its eternally peaceful expression while the audio remained brutally real.
“Aaaaah! What is this, my nose—ugh. Why is it this hot.”
“Sniff sniff, that feels a little wrong……”
Even so, chocolate syrup on tofu? Kimchi flickered in front of her eyes. Then another chat message snagged her attention.
Haaah.
More precisely, it wasn’t the chat that kept catching her eye—it was the ID. asdf1234. The same Do-yoon who had recommended wasabi was now pushing chocolate syrup, claiming it would be even funnier.
“I don’t wanna—! Only you guys are having fun, my tongue is not having any fun at all!”
She had already done the wasabi! Chocolate was a hard no! Lunari pushed back. But there was an iron law of streaming she still didn’t fully grasp.
Viewers only loved it more when the streamer hated it.
“……It’s not because of the donation, but since everyone’s curious I’ll try the chocolate syrup. I’ll post proof on the café, so please join in droves.”
She squeezed the syrup she had pulled from the fridge in a long ribbon over the remaining tofu. Then click—
“I-I’m eating it!”
This is cake. This is cake!
Chanting the spell under her breath, she took a huge bite.
“Hm?”
Only the soft nyam-nyam-nyam sounds filled the mic.
“Ahem! I finished the tofu. Taste was worse than expected. The fact that the chocolate syrup wasn’t bad is… honestly shocking.”
The tofu mukbang performance had drawn even more people; viewership had already broken 2,600.
Perfect. Now.
Time for the announcement she and Do-yoon had planned in advance.
“Me! From this day forward I am a reformed woman with a brand-new heart and brand-new resolve. And so! I have an announcement!”
The quick-witted chat made Yu Nari flinch for a second, but that wasn’t the whole story.
“W-what? How did you know? But it’s not the place you think!”
Everyone assumed IG Entertainment. Time to throw cold water on that.
“My new home! It’s Muse Family, an independent label under IG—! Waaaaah, clap clap clap!”
The lukewarm chat was exactly what she had expected; Lunari answered brightly.
“It’s an independent label under IG—small but wonderful! Composer Kim Hye-min is the representative.”
Their disappointment was already priced in. Turning that disappointment back into cheers was Lunari’s real goal.
“So! What are they doing for me? You all know the track from the contest drops in two weeks, right?”
The song people had been howling for every stream was finally coming out. But that wasn’t all.
“You’ll finally be able to hear it as an official release! And also!”
The screen switched to a picture of Lunari’s illustration stamped with a giant question mark.
“Ta-da! On the same day, a brand-new avatar reveal is scheduled! I’ll be wearing a full VR tracker and doing a little performance that day! And one last thing!”
“One more unreleased track drops! First reveal will be at that performance! Yeong-il made this one too. You can look forward to it!”
“All of this—every last event—has been fully backed by our Muse Family label, so please give them a big round of applause!”
“The show is exactly two weeks from now! Saturday at 5 p.m. on Lunari’s stream~ Lots of love~”
Truthfully, as long as Lunari’s agency wasn’t some shady dump, viewers didn’t care much. For people who just wanted good live content and a streamer who was properly cared for, name value meant nothing.
Chat promptly united under the banner of Great Muse.
Kurogami Yui watched the return stream with genuine interest. Before, there had been something boring about it; today it finally felt like a real broadcast. Had the infamous drinking stream cracked her shell open? There were streamers like that—people who one day shed a layer and awakened. Lunari might be one of them, Yui decided.
More importantly—
Clack-clack-clack—
Muse Family.
A neatly designed homepage loaded. The songs Kim Hye-min had sold filled out the résumé section decently, but everything else looked sparse. What Yui wanted was…
“Here it is.”
Artist: Lunari
Producers: Kim Hye-min · Yeong-il
Clicking Yeong-il produced nothing. Same as always—zero information. But the label page listed an inquiry email address.
If they won’t connect me, I’ll just go myself.
The building address was right there.
Muse Family Label.
Han So-yeong was losing her mind again today.
Three days earlier, when Lunari first got banned, finishing three album covers and distribution prep would have been the end of it. Now…
Adding a new track meant four simultaneous releases, schedule coordination, one extra illustration cover, a complete overhaul of the distribution plan plus extra fees, hunting down a modeler for the avatar, preparing VR full-body tracking, commissioning a 2D illustrator, outsourcing the performance map for release day, gear prep, and on and on.
All of it crammed into two weeks.
“H-how did it end up like this… damn it…”
It was brutally tight. One delay and the whole house of cards would collapse. And they were actually doing this insane thing.
It had started three days ago, when Yu Nari—forced into rest—had carefully floated the idea.
Add one unreleased track to the three already dropping in two weeks, then perform with a renewed avatar. The strategy behind it was excellent: fan the embers of interest sparked by the accidental drinking stream while even a little heat remained.
The only question was whether So-yeong herself would burn up trying to make it happen. She simply couldn’t bring herself to refuse the shyly asking Nari.
She’s our first artist…!
So-yeong was a capable, fiercely responsible employee. Thankfully the label had money. Kim Hye-min had earned plenty, and there were ways to pull more from IG. Avatar and map production were commissioned with express fees stacked several times over. The company covered the full cost of the VR full-body tracker. Using the authority Kim Hye-min had handed down, Han So-yeong was giving it everything she had.
“Uuugh.”
Before full zombification set in she went to refill her fourth coffee, only to sense someone beside her.
“Noona~”
Park Gi-dong.
“I’m busy.”
“Just a sec, just a sec. You know how I’ve been getting feedback from Hye-min-ssaem lately? It’s going really well. Think I should try releasing a track?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“It’s my life’s masterpiece.”
“Yeah yeah.”
“You’re not even listening for real.”
So-yeong carried her coffee back to her seat.
“Gi-dong… Noona’s exhausted… go away. I don’t even have the strength to hit you.”
“Why do you always have to hit me? Just use words.”
Dodging the chatty junior composer’s gaze, she checked the clock. Somehow it was already 9 p.m. The appointed hour was approaching.
“Prep the recording, Gi-dong. Yeong-il is remote again today, so you have to go.”
“Ah… right.”
Gi-dong’s face stiffened slightly.
“What now.”
“That… Lunari person is coming too, right?”
“Of course. It’s a recording.”
“……Shit.”
“What, gonna say you’re scared again?”
When So-yeong looked at him like he was pathetic, Gi-dong had a full meltdown.
“Noona didn’t see it so you don’t get it. In the booth that person—ugh, goosebumps.”
“Hmm.”
So-yeong recalled the Nari she had monitored on stream: complaining the tofu was bad, screaming after the wasabi.
“I just thought she was cute.”
“Who isn’t cute to you, Noona. You’ve completely lost your fear response.”
“Looks like Gi-dong’s under a lot of stress. I need that kind of thing too—it’s a big help.”
“Hearing some trend online and copying it makes you sound like a real ahjumma.”
Thud—!
So-yeong’s right-hand straight sank into Gi-dong’s gut.
“Urgh……”
The internet said calling a twenty-something ‘ahjumma’ wouldn’t even land… Should I tattle to Auntie? She just swings her fists every damn day.
Wiping away unjust tears, Gi-dong stood.
“Anyway, are you really sure that person and Yeong-il aren’t anything?”
“Haa, why do you keep doing this. Are you a masochist?”
“The atmosphere in the booth that day was murderous… When she heard Yeong-il wasn’t coming her eyes went full psycho.”
“They haven’t even met in real life, I told you.”
Park Gi-dong still looked full of doubt, but another question would probably earn him another punch, so he gathered his things and left.
Basement level two of the Muse Family building—the recording studio Kim Hye-min had built. Gi-dong had been killing time upstairs precisely because he didn’t want to be alone with Yu Nari. The moment their eyes met he was sure that chilly glint would freeze him solid.
“Aigoo.”
By the time Park Gi-dong came down, Yu Nari was already there. She stood by the door with her phone to her ear, talking to someone.
Yu Nari’s voice floated over.
“I don’t waaant. Ugh, that topic again.”
Gi-dong froze in place.
“I still like Lunari better, okay? Nari or Lunari—what’s the difference? What’s even changing?”
He had no idea what the conversation was about, but she was clearly rejecting something.
“I don’t want to be lectured by someone who thinks the name Yeong-il is good.”
Yeong-il? Is she talking to the producer?
“How is it different? What is Yeong-il, a beach or something? What even is Yeong-il. Are you a trot singer? Or a computer—0 and 1?”
Were they fighting?
“It does matter! The person telling me to change my name has naming sense like this, so your persuasive power is zero! If it weren’t for me, English-nim’s name would’ve just been A-S-D-F, you know! Mr. Computer Repairman.”
Judging by the momentum, Yu Nari was winning. When would it be safe to walk in? Gi-dong squatted behind a pillar.
“That’s the only one? Then what about asdf1234? You just smashed the keyboard and now you’re proud. Hmph.”
Yu Nari’s voice paused. The other party was saying something, but from Gi-dong’s position he couldn’t hear the reply.
“……Still no.”
The tone had changed.
“There are memories in the name Lunari.”
“It’s the name that protected me during the hard times. When nobody was watching I turned on the stream under this name, sang under this name.”
Her voice grew small.
“A-and under this name I met English-nim……”
A brief silence. Whatever the other person said made Yu Nari laugh softly and answer, “……Yeah. Heh.”
Gi-dong watched from a distance.
They’re not dating?
That looked ridiculously earnest.
Or… one-sided crush?
Once he confirmed Yu Nari had gone inside, Gi-dong followed. The air in the recording booth was unmistakably heavy. Yet the moment she started talking with Yeong-il through the headphones, Yu Nari’s expression bloomed with color—as if reality and the world on the other side of those headphones were completely cut off from each other.
He had no desire to get any closer.
Couple bullshit.
Gi-dong began setting up the equipment as silently as he could.