It Takes a Scammer to Catch a Scammer (1)

While a certain former con artist diligently streamed games dressed in a purple tank top with a white shirt (or what used to be one) draped over it—

On a certain community site—one of those places where users can open their own boards—screenshots had been posted.

Screenshots of a certain streamer's game broadcast—except someone had cropped out just the cosplay half-cam and saved those frames alone.

Anyone looking at them might well have called them outright lewd. You could argue that even terrestrial TV had yoga instructors in tank tops, but that would be underselling the sheer magnitude of the two tanks on display. If these images circulated online as source-unknown thirst traps, nobody would bat an eye.

The subject's consent? Nonexistent—and irrelevant from the start. Because this was a fan site dedicated to the person in the photos.

Ding.

Soon enough, more photos went up. Only two of them—but there was no hiding the overwhelming presence concealed beneath that black coat.

It was unmistakably a game streamer's live broadcast, and yet nearly every conversation among the gathered crowd circled back to the same thing.

Looks. Speculation about the face that never appeared on camera. Open admiration for the chest that was very much on display. The midriff, partially covered yet confidently revealed. The lower half, hard to make out thanks to the camera angle.

They had long since passed the stage of chewing over, tearing into, tasting, and savoring the photos—they'd reached the "thank you for the meal" phase, stuffed full on the feast their streamer provided.

Had reality set in somehow? A board that had been nothing but photo and video dumps was suddenly filling up with talk about the streamer's actual skill.

Perhaps they were witnessing the birth of a new empress of PoChamps.

Nobody typed that into chat. But a few of them wrote it out, then deleted it, shaking their heads. A quiet ripple that never made it online—spreading gently through the hearts of the viewers instead.

Just how good was this woman in a real match—

...For some people, the concept mattered more than the competitive play.

Who would she cosplay next? Whose concept would she build a team around? With half their faith already invested in her skill and her roster, the people gathered on the community board were enjoying the current stream—and already waiting for the next one.

What would the next concept be?

Rather than cosplaying a female Champion who buttoned her shirt all the way to the collar, better to wear ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the clothes of a bisexual male Champion and show off with confidence. What form would she take next time? As a viewer—as someone who'd hit the follow button—how could you not look forward to it?

Anticipation, and at the same time, a touch of concern.

Anyone overhearing that might have shouted, "Quit talking nonsense and promote her already!"—but the person in question, completely unaware of this place's existence, landed a third consecutive Hydro Pump and took the win.

To cut to the chase: the cosplay Champion concept stream was a massive success.

Peak concurrent viewers: seventy. Not as high as one might hope... except that for day three of streaming, it was an incredibly encouraging result. Chat activity and donations kept climbing the whole time.

"Twenty-four matches, fifteen wins, nine losses. Down a fair bit from yesterday."

Time to wrap up the stream. Wins gained about eleven points, losses dropped twenty-three—so the score itself hadn't climbed much. High-rating losses had actually stacked up enough that the final score was lower than yesterday's, but still...

"Should I switch up the team tomorrow?"

"What, afraid I won't wear this outfit if I change the concept?"

"Ugh."

I let out a deliberately deep sigh. At the start of the stream it might have been different, but it was already pushing three in the morning.

"If you want to see that badly—"

I reached one hand toward the camera and made a quick motion of spreading my palm wide—

"—then go ahead and look."

—and the moment I covered the cam, I let the cape slide off to the side.

"I did think about saying I'd take it off for donations, but I'm not the kind of girl who strips just because someone throws money at her, you know?"

Chat went dead silent for a moment. Like the whole room had been hit with a collective stun.

"I'm kidding. You've all stuck around this late watching the stream—this much is just good service."

I winked. Habit. Only belatedly did I realize the camera didn't catch my face at all.

Was just sitting there enough to make them happy? I got it. Even I felt that way looking at the screen through the streaming software—so of course they did.

"Anonymous Supporter, thank you so much for the thirty-three thousand won~"

I'd hold off on answering that request. I quickly glanced at the screen only the streamer could see.

Same person.

A 33,000-won donation. Anonymous, but the amount was their way of saying, "You know who I am."

Dangerous? Too early to tell. Fans and creeps were only a hair's breadth apart, after all.

"If I zoom the cam in wrong and catch a warning, I won't be able to stream anymore~"

"'Just flip on the 18+ tag'—what are you talking about... Look, my win rate hasn't dropped below sixty-six percent yet, so Mikuri's staying for tomorrow too, okay?"

"I'll tweak some moves and maybe bring in a mercenary from another generation—just a little adjustment. That's fine, right?"

Rank 350. The three-hundred-and-fiftieth best player in the world—and if she hadn't been tanking points with a theme team, it'd be even higher.

But at this level, shouldn't more viewers be showing up by now?

PoChamps was supposed to be a trending streamer game, or so I'd thought. Was I the one who needed to start promoting myself? Or were my viewers just too shy to go around community boards saying, "Hey guys, check out this small streamer"?

I'm deliberately wearing outfits like this on stream, and it still isn't converting into live-viewer overflow?

A little gloom settled in. Looking purely at the numbers, the influx had been huge, but still...

Don't sweat the small stuff.

Take the long view. Donations alone were already covering rent and living expenses—minus platform fees—to a decent degree.

I'll need to fill out a bunch more requirements to hit pro rank anyway.

It looked like I'd get there faster than expected, but the score still wasn't high enough.

"That's it for today's stream. See you all tomorrow."

Stream: ended.

"...Nobody cares about the ChoiBoAeng thing at all."

Maybe it was too far in the future. Or maybe the nickname just felt like one of those default handles—something like "SlaughteringBird39420."

"Once I hit pro, I should change the name or something."

Originally, the plan had been to wait until the VTuber panttegi—the character face—was ready, then slap on a proper nickname and go through the whole "I've debuted~" pipeline. But the escape route from small-streamer hell was opening faster than expected, so the one-year plan needed to be pulled forward.

I have to be a VTuber.

In the early days, running half-cam often was fine. But once you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hit hundreds of viewers—a thousand or more—that was when the VTuber model had to take center stage.

You save the half-cam for Christmas or the one-year anniversary. That's how it's done.

Everyone did it that way. I had no idea how things would go for me, but following the proven industry standard was the right call. Follow it—and if possible, do it even more thoroughly.

So...

"Let's see... I saved it somewhere. Ah, here."

How to Make a VTuber Character.avi

YouTube was already packed with every possible method for VTuber debuts, and I'd dug up the materials that applied to independent creators.

"Commission sites... links... hm?"

The moment I started looking up illustrators—

"...Huh?"

I had a promising artist's page open and was checking their rates when the future began to appear.

"......They're going to ghost me?"

A two-million-won illustration commission—ghosted?

"Well, well. There's a bigger scammer here than me."

Would you look at that?