Otaku
I was flipping through the advertising proposal materials for Nova Space.
Compared to my utterly trivial role in it, the overall scale was enormous. It opened with a scene of Shin Se-young donning a next-generation VR headset and logging into a virtual world, then strolling through unfamiliar scenery, looking this way and that, running into every kind of character imaginable — and every last one of them a famous person who'd been cast for the spot. Distinctive VTubers alongside celebrities wearing default avatars. The reason they hadn't designed custom characters for the celebrities, apparently, was to plant the message that you can enjoy a world this spectacular even with a basic avatar.
Which is why it won't feel weird even if I show up.
A-il was a silhouette of a presence — almost no stage, almost no footage. Even if I just picked a default character and hopped in, no one would bat an eye. That was why the pressure had felt manageable.
Mid-section — short duet scene after Shin Se-young joins.
If only it had stopped there.
Three in the afternoon. The appointed time had arrived, and it was already too late to put this off.
Hoo. I'm nervous.
She was one of the rare few singers beloved by the public regardless of age or gender. If this had been an in-person meeting, I probably would have turned it down on the spot out of sheer intimidation. I was just sitting there waiting, legs bouncing, when —
"Hello?"
"Wah!"
A voice came through the headset and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Oh, did I startle you? I'm so sorry. This is Shin Se-young."
"Ah — yes, hello. I'm A-il."
Precise pronunciation, a calm tone. The exact voice I'd heard on broadcasts came flowing through.
…Oh. An actual celebrity.
"Thank you for making time. It may have been an unreasonable request, so I'm grateful you accepted so readily."
"Ah, not at all."
Everything about her was fine — except she was so polite and so deferential that the awkwardness only multiplied.
"Shall we get started? I think dividing the verses first should work."
"Yes."
It was only about six verses' worth of material anyway, and for some reason she deferred to me so thoroughly that splitting the parts was done in no time. The suspicion that she was reading my every cue resolved itself soon enough.
"……There's one thing I'd like to apologize for first."
"Pardon?"
To me?
"It's true that I added this duet scene because I wanted to make the commercial richer — but I also had another purpose."
"A purpose?"
"Yes. Executive Kang Seong-min asked me to pass along a recruitment offer to Composer Yeong-il on behalf of IG Entertainment."
"……?"
Huh? IG?
"If it had been a truly shady proposal, I never would have brought it up — but honestly, even from where I stand, it isn't a bad offer. IG is on the verge of ranking among the major agencies, so in terms of working environment and infrastructure, it's an excellent choice."
"Ah."
I'd seen how she fretted over every detail of a song that would only appear in a short commercial and thought, Wow, her professionalism is insane — and now I was a little disappointed……
"Composer, I think you should at least hear the proposal and then decide. Shall I tell you right now?"
"Mm, it's sudden. Give me a moment."
The idea that IG was looking for me was surprising, and I was curious about the offer — but right now, my own comfort came first. Could I really work at another company with the same kind of understanding I got at Muse Family?
Doubtful.
While I was wrestling with that, a short sigh came through the line.
"……Composer."
"Yes."
"This is delicate, but may I say just one thing?"
"Yes, go ahead."
Whatever the offer is, I won't be shaken!
Loyalty first.
"Yeong-il, you came to this meeting as A-il — so how can you just casually accept being called Composer Yeong-il like that?"
"Ah?"
…She had a point?
"You're far too careless, Composer."
Shin Se-young's previously stiff delivery loosened a little.
"If you're going to hide your identity, you need to be careful."
"I'm sorry."
"Haha — no, you don't need to apologize to me."
She came here to poach me for IG in the first place, didn't she? Then what was that little test just now?
While I was floundering, Shin Se-young continued.
"This might be confusing, so I'll be honest — I don't particularly like being sent to do this kind of behind-the-scenes sales pitch either, and you're from Unnie Hye-min's company, aren't you? I'm very close with her."
"Ah. So you're close with the representative."
"I've personally been enjoying your compositions, and when I heard the rumor that you like VTubers… I got curious what kind of person you were. And honestly, I suspect the executive vaguely expected I'd do something like this?"
"……"
If he knew Shin Se-young would be uncooperative, why ask her in the first place?
"You're thinking, Then why ask me? Right? But the calculation is that once you hear the terms, you won't be able to help being tempted."
"Ah."
She'd read me clean through, and I flinched.
"If you hear IG's terms and decide for yourself that you want to go, that's not a domain where I can stop you. I'll tell you the conditions."
No harm in listening. I was curious, too. It wasn't as though I had any intention of leaving Muse Family — but someone wanting me was, in its own way, flattering.
"Before that, may I ask one thing? What's the length of your current contract? IG is willing to cover any penalty fees."
"Oh. Really?"
I'd have to check the exact penalty clauses, but the term itself was simple.
"It's automatically renewed on a one-year cycle, and if I want out I have to negotiate six months in advance? Something like that."
"I'm sorry?? One-year units?"
"Yes."
Why the shock?
"Wow, Unnie Hye-min…… ah, I'm sorry. I was just startled. Renewing on a one-year basis is extraordinary. That's a condition you couldn't even imagine at other agencies. Tsk… why? People usually go in locked for five to seven years…"
So my terms were actually incredible.
I remembered Kim Hye-min saying, when we first signed, that it would be "a structure where you can work freely." I'd been half-skeptical thanks to my general distrust of people — but maybe our representative was the real deal.
"Ahem, anyway! I'll tell you the terms IG prepared as well. Though the contract length won't be quite as good."
"Alright, let's hear it."
"Separate from the penalty fee, it's roughly ten billion won."
"……I'm sorry??"
My jaw dropped.
Ten billion?
"Ten… billion…?"
The guitar I'd bought was twenty million won. That was enough to buy five hundred of those?!
"Pfft — ah, hold on a second."
A small laugh came through the other end of the line.
"The ten billion includes operating costs, facility expenses, and so on. Your personal signing fee as a composer would be around six to seven billion total over five years."
"Hiiik — s-sixty billion??"
"Yes."
"That's still huge, though?"
These people count money in a completely different unit.
"Hmm?"
Shin Se-young sounded more puzzled than anything as she continued.
"If I estimate what you're currently receiving in settlements, that figure isn't particularly unrealistic."
"It is extremely unrealistic."
"That's strange…? That can't be right? Don't tell me… Unnie is messing around…? Um? I'm sorry, but what's your royalty split? There might be something wrong in the contract. How is the revenue divided?"
She asked with such genuine worry that my heart started pounding. I'd been perfectly satisfied with what I was receiving — so what was wrong?
"I, uh, get ten percent of the copyrights plus half the master rights, so I take a total of thirty-four percent of music revenue…?"
"I'm sorry??! You hold half the master rights?!"
"Yes."
Why, why, why are you reacting like that — you're making me nervous.
I waited for Shin Se-young's next response after that stunned silence.
"Haa… no matter how much Unnie Hye-min values a composer's freedom, giving a rookie composer half the master rights is beyond common sense. A one-year renewal cycle and master rights on top of that… Yeong-il, you have no reason to leave that company."
"Ah — so that's a good thing. What a relief."
"It's past extraordinary and into eccentric territory. Very Unnie Hye-min, I suppose. Honestly, I feel better about it — it's more than enough justification to turn IG down. And speaking of which, you haven't received the settlement for that track that blew up in Japan yet, have you?"
"Nope, Umnya is still pending."
"Haha, so that's why you haven't felt the revenue yet. When this settlement hits, you're going to be shocked."
Even the money I'd already received felt so excessive I'd barely touched it. I'd vaguely figured another mountain of cash was coming this time too — but hearing it from Shin Se-young's mouth made me tense up all over again.
Representative Kim Hye-min, though…
She'd taken care of me absurdly well. At the time of the contract, I hadn't even been a proper composer, and I never showed my face at the company. What had she been betting on? Truly a mysterious representative.
"Ughhh! The commercial can just be shot the way we first discussed, and I've done the job the executive asked me to do. Feels clean. Whew—! Once MAMA is over this year, I really need to rest next year."
"You've been working hard."
Famous celebrities were always busy — and yet she still had to take on this kind of messy errand. Muse Family, where I could do things my own way, really was the best.
I was looking for a way to wrap things up when Shin Se-young cleared her throat.
"When I rest, I'm going to watch internet streams to my heart's content and just flop around. Yeong-il, you like VTubers too so you know — the lifestyle doesn't match streamers' schedules at all, so it's honestly hard to keep up with them every day."
"Ah, yes."
Her tone had shifted from the calm, polished delivery at the start into something much looser and more excited.
"Are there any VTubers with thick RP these days~? Natural ones aren't boring, of course, but that old-school flavor——"
"……"
"Lunari and Yui are just nekomimi concepts — they're essentially just themselves on stream, which makes them kind of fake, heheh."
"There used to be concepts like a wooden sword carved from a twenty-thousand-year-old tree, and a witch who dies if a man so much as touches her——"
……This.
I didn't know what misunderstanding she had about me, but a thick, sticky VTuber monologue had begun.
"Every time she started a stream she'd go, 'Which human shall I observe today~' — I kid you not."
"Is that so."
"Hahaha, isn't that amazing?"
No… I wouldn't know.
I didn't say it out loud, but I felt a colossal wall rise between us. From now on, I wouldn't even be able to admit that watching VTubers was a hobby. I'd thought I was enjoying them just fine on my own terms.
Not even close.
This person was the real deal.
"Composer, listen to this one. Back in the day…"
The stories began to unspool without end, and my consciousness kept cutting out and reconnecting in little loops.
"Ahaha, I got way too worked up. This is the first time I've ever talked to someone else who likes VTubers, hehe. Unnie Hye-min just writes me off as a total weeb."
"……No. Yes. I-it was fun."
"So it's a shame that those thick-RP characters have gotten so rare——"
Kyaaaaagh, I can't take any more.
Seeing the signs that Shin Se-young's VTuber monologue was about to launch into another cycle, I cut her off.
"……Streams are ultimately tied to people's livelihoods. Matching viewer demand means the more natural tone is what survives, I suppose."
"A polarizing concept is a gamble in a way, and for someone dreaming of broadcasting full-time, it's not an easy choice."
"Ah."
"……"
"……You're right. That's a different angle. As a job, I guess there's no helping it."
A small murmur lingered in the headset.
"In that case… hardcore RP might actually be more fun as a hobby stream……"
"Yep. I think I need to go grab dinner now, so may I head out?"
"Oh! Yes, yes — thank you for today, Yeong-il."
I hurried through my goodbyes and fled the voice channel.
…The side conversation was way longer than the actual ad discussion.
Social life was hard.
I stretched until my back cracked, then flung myself onto the bed.
Kurogami Yui had been trapped in the endless cycle of blanket-kicking for days.
Perhaps her past experience on streamer RP servers had helped — once she'd locked into a concept and started performing, she'd managed to face Do-yoon with shameless boldness. But the moment she turned her back and walked out…
"Kyaaaaaaa."
An emotion too profound for the mere word "self-loathing" came crashing over her. Streaming at least let her deliberately push it out of mind — but every night when she lay down, that day would resurface, and she'd thrash around on the mattress like a landed fish.
After several days of this back-and-forth, her composure finally began to return.
He is handsome, though. Hee.
And once she'd calmed down, Yui's feet carried her straight back to the company. The way Do-yoon's face kept flickering through her mind was beyond her control. They'd broken the ice now — so maybe they could talk even more comfortably than last time.
She arrived and made a beeline for the basement.
"Tch. Not here."
Regrettably, Do-yoon was nowhere in sight. She headed back upstairs to the break room, pulled a sweet chocolate latte from the coffee machine, and leaned into a chair. Relative to the headcount, the office building was spacious — empty stretches of unused space caught her eye.
A lot of empty rooms.
If we just put in a soundproof booth, I could stream from here, right?
People always say it's good to separate your workspace from your living space.
And commuting is healthy, isn't it?
Yui piled up rationalizations for showing up at the company alone, one after another.
She'd fastened the first button wrong, so the ending had been strange — but whatever the process, she had managed a proper first conversation.
Ugh, why did I go so overboard. I should've just talked normally.
She'd poured on the aegyo at the highest tension setting of her entire life. And to cover that up, one lie had begotten another. She'd shaved a full six years off her age, hadn't she?
Oppa.
Twenty-four years of life, and that was the first time she'd ever used the word. Calling a twenty-one-year-old "oppa" felt vaguely humiliating — and yet, surprisingly, not bad. The height difference between Do-yoon and herself played a part, and standing in front of that face made pride feel like something that never put food on the table anyway.
It is cringe, yes.
But as long as no one found out, who cared? She decided to keep dragging along this house of lies for the time being. She still didn't have the courage to tell the truth. She might actually die of embarrassment.
Her contact list.
Yeong-il
Cheeks flushed, Yui fidgeted with those two characters on her smartphone screen.
Text him or not.
In the middle of that life-defining dilemma —
"Huh? Unnie?"
"Hng?? Oh! Oh-oh?"
A voice from nearby made her phone slip and land on her lap. She turned toward the sound to find Yu Nari walking in through the break room entrance, and Yui scrambled to her feet, fighting to compose her startled face.
Ah. Right.
Another problem she'd forgotten about rose to the surface.
Nari seemed to like Do-yoon, didn't she.
Her conscience jabbed her once at the thought of catching feelings for the guy her little sister liked. But then —
What if Nari lied to me too?!
She'd always wondered how Nari had fallen so hard for someone she'd supposedly never even met. Maybe Nari had seen his face as well.
If Nari lied first, we're even.
And she hadn't approached him intentionally from the start — she hadn't known. Her ideal type just happened to be Do-yoon, met by chance.
She pulled herself together and looked up. Even if Nari was the younger one —
Ugh.
When she smiled, she was the purest, most radiant beauty in the world — but when her face went blank, it somehow made you start questioning her school years. Yui's heart was thumping timidly when Nari opened her mouth.
"Unnie, why are you at the company?"
"Hm? Ah-ah, me? No, I mean — I happened to have something nearby, so I figured I'd stop by and handle some company stuff while I was at it, mm-hmm."
The words tumbled out faster than usual.
"Hmmm…? Is that so?"
Trying to sell a lie that hadn't been in the plan made her eye contact thoroughly unreliable. Nari's mouth was smiling — but whether it was the guilt talking, that smile felt heavier than usual.
"What about you, Nari? What brings you to the company?"
She quickly redirected the question. Fire the arrow elsewhere.
"Hm? Me?"
Gulp—
"Me? Mm…."
Nari flashed a radiant eye-smile.
"Who knows…… tracking a cat burglar? Marking my territory?"
Yui, meeting her eyes, sucked in a breath without meaning to.
"Hic—! W-what are you talking about?"
She felt her palms go damp — and then a laugh rang out.
"Just kidding! I came by for the final check on the MAMA stage."
"……Oh, oh-oh? Haha, right!"
Nari was smiling as brightly as ever, as if nothing had happened. The sense that a slightly narrowed gaze had swept over her once behind that smile was surely just her imagination.
"Unnie, by the way…."
"Hm?"
"Do you like chocolate? Is that a chocolate latte in your hand?"
Yui drained the remaining drink from the paper cup in one gulp and cried out,
"No! This is coffee! I-I don't really like sweet things."
"Mmm, is that so?"
A cold line of sweat slid down Yui's back. Somewhere in her head, a red light blared that she must not, under any circumstances, get caught.