Aaaargh! Status Window—!!!
“…How the hell am I supposed to handle this?”
I leaned back against the chair and stared blankly at the ceiling, a cigarette dangling from my lips. My front teeth clicked the filter back and forth.
Of course I hadn’t lit it. Was I crazy enough to smoke indoors? I’d never even put a real cigarette in my mouth in my entire life.
Cigarettes are expensive as hell. Why would anyone smoke this crap…?
Worse, they were pure poison. Social stigma, absolute trash for your health, and expensive on top of it. Zero reason to touch the things.
The only reason I was doing this was simple: for some weird reason, the smell calmed me down.
It should have been disgusting. Yet somehow it felt familiar. The original owner of this body must have been a pretty hardcore smoker. A strange kind of comfort, I guess.
So is there even a point in me explaining myself and forcing myself to keep doing VTuber stuff?
The reason I was stuck chewing on a cigarette I hated this much was just as simple. I was debating whether I should keep streaming as a VTuber the way the original owner had.
I still didn’t know if I had to live the rest of my life in this body, but even if I did… was there any real reason to continue?
She used hacks in a tournament run by a big corporate streamer. Is that even something that can be forgiven?
There’d been a streamer who got caught using an X-ray texture pack on a Minecraft server hosted by a huge creator. Months later he still hadn’t clawed his way back. Hundreds of thousands of subscribers, and his views barely cracked ten thousand.
That was how merciless Korean public opinion was toward public figures. Skill mattered, but morality mattered just as much.
In a place like that, she got caught red-handed using hacks. Is a comeback even possible?
If this body had belonged to a big agency VTuber, the story might have been different. As long as it wasn’t something nuclear like a boyfriend scandal, people found ways to bounce back.
But that’s not the case.
I’d just checked the channel. Followers: a measly 1,200. Average viewers: six.
How someone with those numbers even got into a tournament was a mystery by itself.
If she used hacks, recovery is impossible. The game company will ban the account any day now. Then what?
Of course, if Bullet truly hadn’t used hacks—if every play had been pure skill—maybe the narrative could be flipped.
“Except that’s not it either.”
In the corner of the main monitor, a cheat program sat installed in plain sight. No wriggle room left.
I could try rebranding, but there was no guarantee it would work. Even if it did, I’d spend every day terrified that my past would get exposed.
Living like that would be worse than just giving up completely.
“I’m done.”
I didn’t even feel that attached to it.
Sorry to the handful of people who used to watch her streams, but this was beyond saving.
Wrrrrr—
I moved the mouse and shut the computer down.
“Uuugh…”
I stood up from the chair and stretched hard, then turned to look around the studio apartment.
“Might as well start with cleaning…”
I let out a long sigh and got moving. Sleeping in a pigsty wasn’t an option.
“Wow… somehow I actually got it all cleaned up.”
Three 50-liter trash bags sat stacked near the front door, stuffed with tissues, wet wipes, snack wrappers, food packaging, empty water bottles, and drink cans.
All the clothes are in the washer and drying now…
Dishes done, bathroom scrubbed. All that was left was taking out the trash. And…
“Gotta find a part-time job…”
The bank account had exactly two million won left. The problem was that the original owner had financed a bunch of expensive gear on installments.
Rent, electricity, card payments—with everything stacked up, this money would last maybe one month.
But what kind of job can I even get?
Back when I was a guy, if I needed quick cash I did loading docks or construction day labor.
Even as a man, a few days of that left me bedridden for a while. Doing it in this body? Instant permanent damage. They wouldn’t hire me anyway.
Convenience store, café, PC bang… maybe something like that?
I turned my head and looked at the mirror beside me.
“Hmm.”
I’d heard that part-timers with good looks sometimes got a slightly higher hourly wage. With a face like this, maybe I could swing it.
Or I could look into modeling, I guess.
I knew nothing about that world, so I shelved the idea for now. Honestly I didn’t have the confidence either.
Start with the easy options first.
Having decided that, I pushed myself up off the bed. The trash still needed taking out, after all.
“Up we go…”
I grunted and managed to hoist the heavy bags. I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, waddling awkwardly under the weight.
“Oh.”
A guy smoking in the corridor spotted me and greeted me like we knew each other. Cigarette between his lips, piercings, tattoos on his neck. Straight-up thug vibes.
“What’s that?”
He was talking down to me, so he must have been friendly with the original owner.
How do I even answer?
I hesitated a second, then opened my mouth.
“Can’t you tell? It’s trash.”
I snapped it out sharp. From the moment I’d first seen this face in the mirror, that kind of tone had felt right.
“Yeah, I can see that. I’m asking why you’re carrying it out. The girl who always said cleaning was too much of a pain and never did it.”
Thankfully he just tilted his head a little. No suspicious looks.
“That any of your business?”
“Not really. More importantly—want a smoke?”
He shook the pack and smirked. The sight of the cigarettes made me swallow hard without thinking. Then the actual smell hit my nose and my brow furrowed.
“…I’m good.”
The craving vanished instantly.
“Since when? You used to come running the second someone offered you a cigarette.”
“…I’m quitting.”
“Quitting? This good stuff?”
“Good my ass. And stop talking to me. Looking at you just makes me want to smoke.”
I cut it clean and walked past him. That was when it happened.
Thud—
“Hik…!”
A thick, rough hand clamped onto my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin. My whole body started trembling.
“Hey, isn’t that heavy? Want me to help carry it?”
Thud—
I shook my shoulder hard and knocked his hand off.
“…Get lost.”
We locked eyes for a long moment. Then he snorted a laugh, turned his head forward again, and spoke.
“What’s with the attitude today? Fine, whatever. If you don’t want help, forget it.”
I exhaled in silent relief and went back to struggling with the bags. I dumped them at the utility pole and headed home.
“………”
Every time I had to pass behind the smoking thug, my body instinctively shrank in on itself. The constant worry that he might grab me again.
Luckily he didn’t say another word while I finished taking out the rest of the trash.
“Haa…”
After the last bag was gone I climbed the stairs. The tattooed guy was still smoking. I was walking past him again when he spoke.
“Hey.”
My body flinched again.
“…What.”
“I’m moving out in two days.”
“…So?”
My tone softened a little without me meaning to.
“Just saying. Seeing you quit smoking and take out the trash… looks like you’re finally trying to live properly. Good luck with that.”
“None of your business…”
I muttered it and kept walking. Right as I opened my door I turned back, suddenly feeling the need to say something.
“…You take care too.”
He looked at me, smirked, and crushed the cigarette into the case.
“Yeah. Live well.”
With that I went back inside. The second the door closed, all the strength drained out of me and I collapsed onto the floor.
“Haaah…”
The breath I’d been holding finally escaped. My hands and legs were shaking. Why did my shoulders, neck, and jaw hurt so much? My heartbeat pounded loud in my ears.
I sat there blankly staring at the apartment. The one-room was so much cleaner than when I’d first opened my eyes.
Something this simple… why had the original owner kept putting it off like it was the hardest thing in the world?
Maybe it wasn’t that simple for her…
My stomach churned. A sudden chill ran through me and my body started shivering.
“Ugh…”
With a sigh I grabbed the nearby drawer and forced myself upright. I dusted off my butt and thighs, then kicked off the slippers.
I staggered across the room and threw myself onto the bed. The sheets, blanket, and pillow were all in the wash, but just the soft give of the mattress was enough to settle my nerves.
I don’t think I can handle a part-time job…
I’d felt it the moment that guy grabbed me. Outdoor work in this body was impossible. Weak physical strength I could maybe deal with, but the mental side? That was another story.
I wasn’t this fragile before…
Probably leftover effects from the original body.
“Then how am I supposed to make money…?”
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling.
The money I had would last one month at best. Sit still and I’d starve, plain and simple.
Which means I need something I can do from home…
I turned my head toward the desk. High-end streaming gear that looked completely out of place in this rundown studio. Clear proof of how serious the original owner had been about broadcasting.
Do I… have to stream after all…?
Streaming itself wasn’t the issue. I wasn’t confident, but I figured I could wing it somehow. The real problem was the hack accusation hanging over the Bullet persona.
If I can’t clear that, streaming is dead on arrival. But is it even possible to clear?
Sighs kept leaking out of me.
Why had she made that choice in the first place? Did she really think she wouldn’t get caught? Or had she been that desperate?
My eyes drifted to the nightstand. A bottle of sleeping pills sat there. It had felt pretty light when I cleaned earlier. Almost empty.
“Aaaah, what the hell am I supposed to do…?”
No money. Mental issues. And the only possible lifeline—streaming—was currently doing a tap dance on the edge of a cliff. Wasn’t this difficulty setting a little too sadistic?
If only I could get a game system like some novel protagonist. That would at least be something.
“Aaaaargh! Status window—!!!”
The moment I screamed it—
Ding—
“Eh?”