The Commission

I was dragged into the call by Yu Nari and Han So-yeong and planted firmly in my seat.

"I hate it! I hate it! I hate this!"

"What's the big deal? It's not like you're doing it in real life."

"Online, this is my real life! A-and if I do it, it's like I'm admitting I'm a drunk!"

A fierce war of words was raging in the room.

An emergency meeting, called in the wake of the challenge's runaway success.

Han So-yeong's position was that they needed to post the drunk challenge on Lunari's Nertube Shorts themselves. Yu Nari's was that her dark history becoming a meme was already mortifying enough without fanning the flames any higher.

"What do you think, Yeong-il?"

And then there was me.

"I'm in favor."

"Huh? Whyyy!"

"I knew it!"

Look, we made the content and the song. It made no sense for everyone else to walk off with all the views.

And take a look at Blackout Cat's growth on the Mellow chart right now.

It was sitting at a solid forty-third place.

Challenges were divine intervention. There was zero reason not to do this.

Above all else, I wasn't the one who had to do it, so it was fine by me.

"Easy for you to say when it's not your problem…"

Nari kept grumbling under her breath.

"Don't worry, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nari. I'm not crazy enough to go in a direction you'd hate. Let's talk it through."

Maybe they didn't need full-on wasted. Just that pleasantly tipsy feeling.

"What if instead of the stream-accident version, we write new lines and shoot it fresh?"

"Fine by me. Let's lock in the outfit first. Speed is everything. We have to post before the trend dies."

"Uh… for the clothes, what if she starts in the concert outfit from the Blackout Cat stage video—to pull in traffic—and then switches into casual wear later? That seems clean enough."

"Mm-hm. Excellent. If that's settled, let's move. Nari, can you suggest some lines? You're the one who has to act them."

The meeting wrapped in the blink of an eye, and Yu Nari's opinions had barely factored in at all.

Not that "just say no" really counted as an opinion in the first place.

"…You chart slaves. Haaah—fine. Whatever."

Fortunately, she didn't take it to a last stand.

"Keep it simple. Pretend you're drunk and go for something like, 'Whew, another fulfilling day~'?"

"Hmm! No! I'll pick the lines myself. Or wait—Yeong-il, will you write them?"

"Why me!"

Nari got sidelined right to the end.

I couldn't think of anything particularly funny either.

In that case…

"Maybe writing the lines with chat during stream would… work?"

"Oh! That's good. Nari, make that today's content."

"…I feel like the ideas are going to be horrific. And I already have a collab with Yui today."

Apparently her claim of having gotten close with Kurogami Yui hadn't been a lie—they'd scheduled a joint stream. They'd briefly considered meeting up to broadcast together since they lived nearby, but things still felt a little awkward, so they were doing it online instead.

"You can get line suggestions from Yui too."

Her stream sense was solid. She was the perfect person for it.

"You're supposed to take my side… khk."

Good medicine always tastes bitter. This was simply advice from one of her viewers—and someone who helped with Lunari's broadcasts.

"Alright! Now that that's decided, Nari, go rest. Yeong-il, stay behind for a moment."

"Ugh, it's my stream, my song…"

Nari muttered discontentedly and left the call first.

Han So-yeong moved straight to the next order of business.

"About the web drama OST I mentioned last time. Do you remember?"

"Ah, yes."

"The production company reached out again. Things seem to have gotten urgent on their end."

"Why?"

"They said it's because of the schedule, but there was no talk of urgency at the start, so I suspect Yeong-il's rising price tag is making them nervous. Your chart ranking keeps climbing—you're updating your career in real time."

"Price tag…"

Yeah. That tracked.

"They commissioned you when you were in the top eighty. Now you're in the top forty, and if you climb any higher, it's going to get awkward for them."

A faint thread of amusement colored Han So-yeong's voice.

"That's their situation, though."

"Sorry?"

"From our side, honestly, dragging this out a little longer isn't a bad thing. The terms can only get better."

"…"

W-was that really okay?

"I'll send the web drama script to your email. Read it over and take your time deciding."

"Understood. I'll give it a look."

"And they specifically asked me to tell you they want a track with a Blackout Cat vibe. Good luck."

Han So-yeong's business wrapped quickly, and the file arrived a minute or two later.

It was being co-produced by a drama studio and a Nertube channel specializing in web dramas, with three hundred thousand subscribers.

I barely watched TV dramas. Web dramas were even more foreign to me.

Probably not that different. Maybe a little more sensational?

Either way, I wasn't particularly invested.

They'd given me a script, so I'd read it. But still.

"Alright. Let's see."

I started flipping through the synopsis.

The protagonist was a faceless singer.

Loved for their voice alone.

Fans went wild for that voice, but no one knew what the protagonist actually looked like.

Circumstances eventually force them onto a stage, and they waver between two hungers: If my identity is revealed, will people still love me? and I want to stand on that stage.

"…"

There were similarities to me—except I had zero hunger to stand on a stage, so we diverged there.

What about Lunari, then?

Given how sensitive she'd been about her appearance, maybe she was closer.

She insisted she was pretty, but that was hard to take at face value.

I shook off the stray thoughts and turned the page.

The scene where the protagonist decides to take the stage.

What if the people who loved my voice are disappointed by my face?

Even so, I hate this. I want to be loved as myself.

"…"

The content was good.

The emotional through-line was solid, the structure clean.

A melody was even starting to form at the edges of my mind.

And yet—it was off.

I couldn't reach the deep place where the protagonist's feelings lived.

I couldn't immerse myself in the story as if it were mine.

"Hoo—"

I closed the script.

I should turn it down.

Nothing had truly hooked me.

Still, it was entertaining enough.

I checked the time. Three hours had already slipped away.

"Ah. The stream."

There was a collab today. I'd almost missed it.

I scrambled onto Link.

Lunari and Kurogami Yui floated side by side on screen.

A pink cat demi-human and a blue wolf demi-human.

Placed next to each other, Lunari felt bright and light; Yui, mature and wild.

They were cat and wolf to begin with, so Lunari clearly carried the weaker image, but…

And the person behind that one is a little kid.

Kurogami Yui was beaming as she mercilessly teased Lunari over her dark history.

"Nari weak with alcohol! So young, young! Next time you learn from me-yo!"

"…Hearing that from Unnie feels weird ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠somehow. Haa—"

What were they talking about?

I'd missed the beginning, so I had to focus for a second.

"Eumm, while pretending to be drunk… something like, 'Tonight, I am da law!'?"

"'Tonight, I am the law'? That's childish…"

Ah. They were writing lines for the drunk challenge.

For someone who'd sworn she hated the idea, Lunari was cooperating diligently. I couldn't help snickering.

"Childish? Then stronger! 'I'll kill you all. Ufufufu'—how about that?"

"I think Japanese and Korean vibes just don't match. Not feeling it."

"Huh? Chat says she said that?"

"Moving on! I know nothing about that!"

The irony of trying to invent new lines only to converge back on her own past self.

Watching their back-and-forth, I laughed too.

But even as I laughed, something else kept catching at me.

Every time Yui tossed out a line idea, that youthful foreign accent snagged in my ear.

Before, the gap between that cute pronunciation and her tough-unnie image had been part of the charm.

Except it hadn't been a gap.

It had been exactly what it sounded like.

"Nari is weakling, weakling little drunk~!"

Yui cackled. Lunari ground her teeth.

"Just you wait… I'm counting down the days to a real-life collab."

"Counting down real-life collab—khhhhahaha pff—what can you even dooo~?"

"Unnie said she'd shoot the challenge too, so Unnie goes first!"

"Easy. I practiced already. Watch."

An instrumental kicked in at once.

Yui launched into the chorus of Blackout Cat in her own style.

The childish speech vanished. The wolf's throat opened.

A vocal color completely different from Lunari's—pulled up from the low end and detonated at the highest point.

And then, right after—

"Eheheheng~ Dizzy~ Head hurty, flop!"

"Saying 'flop' out loud is so corny."

"How was it? Okay?"

As if the shouting from a moment ago had been a lie, her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tongue went short again.

In the warm, lively atmosphere—minus Lunari—I sat still with my headphones on.

In my mind, the voice that had lisped "I'll kill you all" tangled with the singing from a second ago.

It shifted into an animal roar.

And when the song ended, it shrank right back down.

That dissonance.

The wolf on the screen, and the small person inside it.

The sheer volume pouring out of that small body.

"…"

The script I'd read earlier surged up unbidden.

A faceless singer.

Someone whose on-screen image and off-screen reality didn't match.

Someone whose voice was loved, while no one knew their true form.

My left index finger tapped the desk—tap, tap, tap—and the noise beyond the headset ordered itself into place.

A dazzling mask. A small reality.

And from that small reality, a vast voice.

It came to me.

I'd heard it before.

No—I'd made it before.

I opened a folder stacked beside my composition program.

A graveyard of old projects I'd built and then buried, listed in date order.

I scanned from the top.

My hand stopped mid-scroll.

This one.

A track from the VerboPa contest days that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd never shown Yu Nari.

Without a feature, the song completely died, so I'd cut it.

Click—

I double-clicked the file.

My own voice spilled out.

I'd written it imagining a female vocal, so the main parts hadn't landed the way I'd drawn them.

My voice slipped in between the gaps where it needed to, and the song closed out.

It still felt incomplete.

This track needed the contrast of two voices to be finished.

Back then I'd even done the doubling—recording the feature part twice and layering it for thickness.

Even then it hadn't satisfied me, so I'd shelved it. I hadn't known where I'd ever use it.

But listening to it now—

It overlaid perfectly with the drama's synopsis.

The story of a faceless singer.

The story of someone hidden behind the screen.

The seam between a dazzling mask and a small reality.

This song. Exactly this song.

I pushed the stream to the background and pulled up Manager Han So-yeong's contact.

Send it, or not?

I typed a message on my phone, deleted it, typed it again, deleted it again—over and over.

"Ah, whatever."

I attached the file and hit send.

Once it was gone, relief washed over me—followed immediately by a wave of worry.

Did I miss something? No, probably not.

Ummm…

My eyes flew open.

Right. This wasn't a Blackout Cat-style tempo at all.

I'd gotten so swept up in the moment that I'd completely forgotten the requirement.

Too late now. Nothing I could do about it.

If they rejected it… well, that would just be a shame.

I must have gotten excited at the thought of another one of my songs stepping out into the world.

After a brief session of self-reproach, I turned back to the stream.

It was still going.

Lunari and Yui were laughing with the chat.

Thanks to them, I'd found the perfect image—so I offered a quiet thank-you in my heart.

Saying it out loud would have been too embarrassing.

I'd tell them someday.

(Lunari's Blackout Cat stage costume)