Behind the Curtain

I wasn't shaking nearly as badly as I'd feared.

Maybe because it was only practice?

It was my first time matching harmonies with Kurogami Yui, and for all the way my legs had been trembling before we started, I'd pulled it off surprisingly well.

The result had turned out so satisfying that I grew greedy and even added a few variations for the live version.

If I can pull this off without a hitch in front of the viewers, that would be perfect.

I should practice in bits and pieces so I don't mess up.

Trickle—

I poured water into a cup.

Come to think of it, I promised to buy her a tumbler.

Looking at the modest amount of water in the cup, I thought of Yu Nari's gift. Couldn't she just drink from a regular cup like me? Did she really need a tumbler?

Ah—unlike me, she'd need one if she was drinking outside.

I realized just how thoroughly hikikomori my perspective had been and felt a flush of embarrassment.

Bzzzzt—!

Huh.

Speak of the devil.

She'd vanished for a whole day, and now a message arrived.

How did she even know?

The moment I replied, my phone started vibrating like mad.

"Hello?"

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Calm down."

She nearly gave me a heart attack.

Nari sounded even more worked up than I was. Her words were flying at breakneck speed.

"Yeah."

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, that's right."

She sounded more than a little shocked. Well, as one of the people who knew me best, of course it would hit her hard. I still couldn't quite believe the situation myself.

Whether she'd calmed down a couple of notches or not, Nari's tension dropped two whole levels and she started muttering.

"Yeah, I think I can do it. I decided because I wanted to give people even a small gift, the way you do, unnie."

"I was just going around saying thank-you to people, and by the time I came to my senses it had turned into this. I'm still kind of dazed myself."

Only faint noise drifted through the line as silence settled between us.

"Hm?"

"What, a duet?"

"Yui and I already released a song together."

"Ah, that's just a slip—old viewer habit."

She started mumbling again and I couldn't catch the rest.

Hmm.

So Nari had wanted a duet too, but kept quiet because she thought I might hate it. I was grateful she'd been looking out for me in all sorts of ways.

When I first picked up the call I'd been tiptoeing around, wondering if she was sulking over the snoring thing. Now it felt like I'd given her something new to feel left out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about, and that bothered me.

First things first—apologize for the snoring recording.

"About the snor—"

Huh.

"Uh…?"

Ah, so that was the concept? Pretend it never happened?

Even though the song was already out?

"Anyway, I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

She paused a beat, then spat the next words out like she couldn't hold them back.

"Sure. I'm the one who should be grateful."

I'd already done plenty of song work and calls with Nari, so I was used to her, but there was no harm in practicing. I was also thankful for how she always tried to help me—and somehow it felt like she wanted this even more than I did, so I agreed.

She'd been the same when we first met. She really did love singing that much.

Shouldn't she be a singer instead of a VTuber?

Time flew by like an arrow, and the promised Saturday arrived.

In the meantime we'd matched harmonies twice more, and everything was ready. Wanting extra preparation, I'd even sung along while watching the chat on Yui's VODs, and at night I sang with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nari.

I really shouldn't look at the chat if I could help it.

Practicing while watching the live chat was only a just-in-case measure; as much as possible I planned to face the wall and just sing.

I snorted a quiet laugh at Nari's message.

Did she think I was a kindergartener?

I suddenly realized just how carefully everyone around me treated me. They'd been looking out for me so much. If I hadn't started taking action myself to repay them, I never would have noticed.

Moving forward was exhausting work, but it also made me feel like I'd grown, and that gave me energy.

Let's do this.

I can do it!

I made the resolve—and an hour later…

.

.

.

My hands and feet were shaking so hard it felt like someone had attached motors to them.

Yui was right in the middle of her third song. According to the plan, the fifth one was my turn.

Uweeeehk—

A dry heave rose in my throat. What kind of guts had made me stand here?

Maybe the root of the problem was that I'd accidentally glanced at the chat halfway through. From that moment my fingertips had started trembling like aspen leaves.

Yui usually held around two to three thousand viewers. At a glance, nearly five thousand people were in the stream now.

Click—

I'd lost to the instinct of a viewer rather than a guest. The heat of the broadcast I'd joined out of curiosity was intense. Yui was singing on a simple VR map she'd prepared, with the live chat overlaid on screen, and the flood of emotes and messages from the viewers was pouring in at an insane speed.

If it was this heated online, how did people even survive offline? Respect for professional singers bloomed inside me at the same time that my own courage completely folded.

"Fourth song!"

Next was me.

Ugh.

I was about to step into that.

The immersion deepened and I started blending into the stream. Their chat felt like my own chat window now. The me from the past—Kim Do-yoon from six years ago—flickered before my eyes. The me who had been jerked around by the hidden harassment chat lurking under a mask of kindness.

My stomach turned. The urge to throw open the door and run right now surged ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up.

Three months ago I would have done exactly that without question. Among all the defense mechanisms I knew, nothing was as comfortable and convenient as running away.

I clenched the hand holding my phone until it hurt.

This time was different.

These weren't people reacting to Streamer Kim Do-yoon. These were people who were happy just listening to the song I made. People who knew nothing about me and had been drawn in by the music alone.

I wanted to express my gratitude to them, even if it was from behind a mask like the VTubers.

"Whew, that was tough. Let me drink some water! Yes! Now it's time to bring out our guest!"

A signal popped up in the collab program chat I'd left open on the monitor. I pulled out my phone, read Nari's cheering message one last time, then slowly reached out and flipped the mic from off to on.

"Hello, A-il-nim! Thank you so much for making time for us! Come on, everyone, applause~ Welcome welcome~"

I forced the sound out as if I were expelling the clogged-up feeling in my chest.

"A-A-il here. Hello."

Had I spoken too quietly? If it was too soft, Yui would point it out, right?

"Originally the schedules didn't match so I was going to sing it all sad and lonely, but thank you for coming. A-il-ssi is under the same Muse Family as me. And, um, he prefers to keep his face hidden a little, you know? Is that okay?"

"Huh? Ah, y-yes."

"Hehe, the viewers say you're cute. Shall we take a few questions?"

Yui had filtered a few likely questions in advance and told me to prepare answers for the ones she would read. Around five light ones, she'd said.

"Hahaha, this one's fun. Is A-il-nim Muse Family's new male VTuber?"

"Huh? No?"

What a horrifying idea. I had no desire to make streaming my job again. And me as a VTuber? Just imagining it felt awkward.

"Hmm, ah! How did you end up working with Yui?"

"Uh… through a company introduction."

Lunari was under the company too, so saying it was a company introduction wasn't a lie.

"Any solo plans?"

"Not yet."

Yui skillfully skipped anything sensitive, so we lightly exchanged only the questions I could answer. Once the Q&A corner ended, we moved straight into preparing the duet as planned.

Finally.

Strength gathered in the hand holding the mic. How had I ended up doing this? Looking back, it was the impulsive result of simply wanting to repay people. Right—I'd hypnotize myself into believing this was a 73-million-won concert. Even if the song couldn't reach everyone who had listened to Yeong-il's work, I hoped it would reach at least some of them.

♬— ♪—

Yui gave the signal that she was starting, and three seconds later the accompaniment rolled in.

Spotlight.

The story of a faceless singer who could never step out for a curtain call. I'd revised the lyrics to fit the drama, but the atmosphere and content were close enough to a song I'd made long ago that I'd sold it.

I took the intro first.

I sank into the voice of a man who had to hide behind the curtain and listen to the audience's applause—full of sorrow and story. It was easy to immerse myself in the protagonist whose name and face no one knew, because I was in the exact same situation.

Yui's voice cut into the man's hesitation. Darkness and light traded places, answering each other.

It was the same as practice, yet completely different. The tremble of a live performance crossed the line from tension into a thrilling wave that rolled through me.

Yui's solo became the signal flare of awakening—like the protagonist's desperate scream that he would no longer stay hidden. The song raced toward the last chorus. Yui's breathing grew deeper as she climbed to the climax.

The part we'd prepared for the live. I focused everything on decorating a highlight more intense than the studio version.

A barrage of high notes higher than the original followed. Once more. I gathered up the firework Yui had launched as if her breath would snap, and held it carefully.

"Spotlight."

"Will you shine on me."

As restrained and calm as I could make it—yet still packed with all the condensed resentment inside.

"……"

Even after the accompaniment ended, the lingering emotion refused to fade. I wondered if the people were satisfied too. Whether it was the leftover high of the performance or something else, the wreck of a man who'd been shaking minutes earlier was gone; I peeked at the chat.

It was an old habit of mine. Back then, after finishing a guitar performance on stream, I used to glance at people's reactions and smile. Maybe that habit was still with me.

Six years ago it hadn't been nothing but weird people either. There had been warmth there too—people who praised my guitar playing and simply enjoyed my performances.

It hadn't been only bad memories. Those days hadn't been completely meaningless.

That was why I'd turned on the computer every day at three in the afternoon. I'd forgotten.

Buried under the fear.

Hahaha.

I covered my naturally rising smile with my hand and laughed. Encore, they said. It was probably something people said to anyone, not just me—but satisfaction still wrapped around my entire body.

"Mmm! How was that, everyone? Looking at the reactions, I don't even need to ask! Sadly, we have to let A-il go now. Sorry~"

Yui started wrapping things up while apologizing to the viewers.

My mouth opened on its own.

Courage, for me, was a lot like going to the convenience store. The hard part was only opening the path the first time.

"Um, excuse me. Yui-nim."

"Hm? Yes."

"…Could I do one more song?"

"Ehhh?! Really? I'd love that…!"

I didn't look away from the chat window that was being plastered in real time with pure ecstasy. I felt floaty—like I could do anything today. Was this what drinking felt like?

What would be good for the finish? After a short moment of thought, I chose the song.

"Then I'll sing Lunari's Broken Clock."

A song I had made needed no practice.