This Is Life Round 2

I was a newborn.

The haze over my mind cleared all at once, and the very first thing that surfaced was Mewtube.

Mewtube? What even is that?

I had never seen it and never heard of it, and yet somehow I knew. When I traced the memories back—faint as they were—I understood that I remembered a previous life. My profession, it seemed, had been composer. Not professionally, though. A hobbyist who made songs for fun. Then one ordinary day, right in the middle of writing one, I dropped with a soft thud, and when I came to, I was in this body.

In other words—

So... was I born again?

The old memories were thin. What came through was that I had been a man, a composer, something called Mewtube—anyway. I had been reborn. I looked up at the man and woman I took for my parents.

"Hehe... our daughter is so kawaii..."

Huh? What?

Why did Dad talk like that? Was he Japanese? Did that mean I had been born Japanese?

"Hehe, how is she this adorable?"

And Mom was speaking Korean? Had I landed in a multicultural family? A Japanese father and a Korean mother?

"Hehe, our girl."

"Uwah?"

And I was a daughter?

What?

Where the hell is my dick!?

My name was Yu Ayeon.

In my last life I had been a pyeondori—an orphaned convenience-store clerk who composed on the side. Born again, I was a woman. Even the era I had landed in was wrong.

If I was reborn, why is it the past?

I died in 2026 and opened my eyes in 2004. I had no idea why it was the past, but picking that apart felt pointless when simply being reborn with my old memories was already absurd enough, so I let it go.

Anyway. Since I had been handed another shot—

This time, I'm actually going to make it.

Last time I had been too afraid to try anything, hiding behind the excuse that I was already too old to start. Not anymore. This life, I wanted to succeed badly enough to leave my name on the world.

Still, though...

If I was going to succeed, it ought to be as a singer, right? Composing had been my trade. I wanted to win in an industry I actually knew. So for my sixth birthday I threw a fit until Dad bought me a guitar. In the old life I had composed on a computer program and uploaded the songs to Mewtube, which meant I could not play an instrument to save my life.

Even so, a singer should at least be able to handle a guitar, right?

I already had the whole plan drawn up. Practice singing and composing side by side for a few years, then walk onto the audition show Super Music K. That plan—

"Sweetheart."

"Yeah?"

"I think we're going to have to move ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to Japan."

"???"

—collapsed before it had even begun.

There is an old saying that fortune and misfortune share a fence. No one can tell how the world will turn. A life does not have to follow the plan you laid, and luck is too slippery to predict—good becomes bad, and bad becomes good. Fourteen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠years, besides, is more than enough time to rewrite a dream and the values underneath it.

And so, at twenty—

"All right, everyone. Eyes up."

"I have a major announcement. Everyone, please be seated."

"Nothing too dramatic. You all know I work two jobs, right?"

"Not quite... I've decided to quit one of them. All right, everyone, a round of applause."

"And in honor of quitting, I'm taking tomorrow off. Come on, applause."

The broadcasts I had started at eighteen were already two years old. I had been streaming as an indie VTuber, and the viewer count wandered. On a good day it had cleared a hundred; on average it sat under that. Even so, the bait of a "major announcement" must have worked, because quite a few people had wandered in today.

"Now, now, don't force your opinions on people. Someone out there might actually want to send it."

"Where are you going to find anyone as diligent as me? I was pulling three jobs, streaming included. Oh—now that I've quit one, does that put me back at two?"

"Excuse me? I'll have you know I take this broadcast very seriously. I want to make it as a streamer more than you can imagine."

"Like what?"

"Hmm..."

Listening to them, I had to admit the grievances had piled up. But every single one of them had a reason. Starting with the first.

"What am I supposed to do when the timing never lines up with my main job? Even I think it's ridiculous. Those fun events always open right when I'm swamped."

"That's a secret."

And the second.

"If I'm the one playing, shouldn't I play what I find fun?"

"Hmm... janggi is fun, though."

"But here's how I see it. Work has stressed me out plenty, you know? So I made a decision. If I'm going to work, I'm going to enjoy it. The third complaint comes from the same place, so let's move along."

"Ah. Um. The singing."

That one was... well. It had to do with my real job.

"I, uh... I'm tone-deaf."

I was not, in fact, tone-deaf. If anything, I could say with confidence that I sang very well. And yet in two years of streaming I had not sung a single time. Because—

At first I really had meant to become a singer, just as planned. But no one can see what a life will do next.

"Sweetheart. Would you like to try an audition for child actors?"

"An actor?"

"Mm."

Ever since I had been born a girl, every look in the mirror told me the same thing: objectively speaking, my face was quite pretty. Sometimes the reflection startled even me. That was probably why Mom had suggested acting in the first place.

I did not think it was a bad idea. My goal was to succeed, not to succeed only as a singer. I had leaned that way simply because composing had been my old trade, and a little knowledge of the field seemed like the faster road. Acting was a perfectly good choice too.

So I followed Mom to the audition, and the fake-baby acting of a girl on Life Round 2 flattened the real babies. I passed without trouble and became an actress. After that I walked the ordinary path. Two years as a child actress in Japan, then back to South Korea to keep at it.

Acting was not the only thing I did. Once I turned thirteen and my voice was finally usable, I started composing in earnest alongside it. Maybe it was the old life, making tracks with Vocaloid, or maybe it was having a Japanese father. Either way, the songs I wrote drifted naturally toward J-pop, which felt inevitable in hindsight. Back then I was hungry to try as much as I could, so running acting and music together seemed only natural. I wanted to become someone enormous, and I wanted it badly.

And then I turned eighteen.

I became the Nation's Little Sister.

"...Ah."

That was when I understood how exhausting other people's attention could be. It was also why I decided that this film would be my last, and that I would retire from acting at twenty. As a child I had simply liked being watched. Too much attention, it turned out, was poison.

Honestly, what a relief. Even now, I think separating the actress Yu Ayeon from the faceless singer Yui was one of the best calls of my life. Easily top ten.

Good thing I figured it out at sixteen.

Sixteen was when other people's attention started to wear me out. Looking back, that may have been when I first began planning the retirement. The reason I started streaming at eighteen was the acting, too.

God, I want to drop the act. I want to do whatever the hell I feel like and still get paid.

What came to mind was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠VTuber. I was still a hakko, averaging under a hundred viewers, but this sort of thing lived or died on consistency. Two years was nothing, and it was still fun enough that quitting felt like a waste. I meant to keep going.

"Anyway, I'd like you all to congratulate me for quitting one of my main jobs. Come on, applause~"

"Now, now, I don't think forcing people is very nice. Someone might sincerely want to congratulate me."

"I prepared something, obviously."

"Come on. On a historic day like this, would I really do the same old thing?"

I set a bottle and a glass down on the table with a solid clack and went on.

"Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we are doing a drinking mukbang~"