Someone's Fan

A contemplation of the self.

Deep brooding, and the endless labor of thought chasing an answer that never quite came. There was no crisp solution that would have drawn applause from anyone who heard it. Even so, I decided I would not let myself grow too anxious.

"Here. Please, help yourself."

I present the Helper with a gift: a middle finger, held perfectly stiff.

That long stretch of brooding had included doubts about the Helper's own behavior. Why, on that day, when Lac's confession had left me emotionally unsteady, had the Helper driven me the way it did? The answer was absurdly simple.

"You wanted that badly to lock me in as a 'woman'?"

"......What matters is my will."

Perhaps the Helper had decided that pushing any further would only backfire. It conceded without a fight.

"......"

I still don't know where I stand. Honestly, I used to think of myself as a man without the slightest question, and it frightens me how natural it has become to be a woman. If even the smallest shard I could still claim as mine were to vanish from the world... if I were left entirely alone, could I really hold on?

Friend.

Even the warmth of that single word can't easily settle the pounding in my chest. I'm still afraid. But I knew that staying frozen like this meant nothing at all. Change was already underway, whether I willed it or not. Then I had to find the courage — become someone large enough to overcome even a frightening ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠future. Yes. That was the person I meant to become.

"......This isn't the kind of courage I meant."

Erase the hesitation. Take courage. That was the spirit in which I'd meant to throw myself into things, and in that spirit I finally ran the Penalty Broadcast I'd been putting off.

Damn it!

This time, I'd landed on bunny-girl cosplay. Rabbit ears stood perkily up from the headband, the costume clung skin-tight, and a dainty white cotton-ball tail sat at the small of my back. The viewers exploded. They looked especially satisfied with the outfit stuck so close it traced every line of my body.

"R-RabbitMania donated 2,000 Water Balloons! Thank you so much!"

Embarrassing, sure — but I can't just let 2,000 Water Balloons walk away. I dropped into a crouch and sprang up with a hop.

Huh?

Was that a frog?

Anyway, a few more impressions along the same lines and the chat began plastering itself wall to wall with boing boing boing.

Oh — crap! I'd forgotten. I clap both hands over my chest in a hurry, and the viewers fire off laugh after laugh at how frantic I look. I answer those creeps with a middle finger on each hand.

"......"

The bunny dance — the reaction currently setting Shindaeryuk TV on fire. I knew it, of course, which was exactly why I'd been worried. Put me in a bunny-girl outfit and some mischievous viewer was bound to demand a bunny-dance reaction. I'd had a bad feeling. And the Vice President betrays me like this!

"Gangnam... gnash... thank you, Octopus, for the 3,000 Water Balloons. The reaction... I'll do it."

I let out a deep sigh I hope no one catches, and hit play. A bright opening, cheerful as a nursery rhyme, prickles at my ears. The lyrics I have to sing are nothing like a nursery rhyme, though, and neither is the choreography, so I start the reaction with my head hung low.

The viewers are demons. No question.

For a few days after the Penalty Broadcast, I streamed like normal. The one mercy was that the collab I'd done with Lac and the others had pulled in a decent crowd on YouTube — views, obviously, and subscribers had climbed a fair bit too. But I was disappointed. At the dark truth of this society....

The collab video, a little over twenty minutes, carefully edited and uploaded to the channel, lost. Miserably. Its opponent was a bunny-girl cosplay short, not even a minute long, uploaded two days later. All that effort, brushed aside without a fight by a little boing-boing and jiggle-jiggle!

"Hahaha, excellent. With this one video I won't have to worry about the subscriber growth rate for a while."

Yoonjae looked nothing but delighted. I was sad. Content I'd prepared and practiced for more than three days had lost to a handful of jiggles (?). This society is one big knot of contradictions! This irrational world!

I check my points — just past 2,500 — and swallow my temper. Right. The world's always been like this. If the points are stacking up nicely, I can clench my jaw and bear it.

"Shut up!"

Easy to say. I need time for the mental damage to heal. So today, in that spirit, it's Legend of League. I was sitting at Diamond 1, with about three months left until the season ended, and I meant to grind and take a shot at Master.

There was a Master-clear mission, too.

The President and the Vice President had each put up 10,000 Water Balloons as a mission for hitting Master tier. Combined, that was a full 20,000. Even if they hadn't set a mission, Water Balloons would come pouring in on their own during that day's broadcast, so I figured I could clear a related mission something like twice. With that plan I moved through the day's schedule, and at five p.m. sharp I turned the stream on, same as always.

On any other topic, maybe not — but on the days I play Legend of League, the viewers get a little serious. I could only guess that my own drive to reach Master had rubbed off on them. In any case, I spent about ten minutes on light chatter after going live, then started the game in earnest. The picture and the sound were cut for the moment, of course.

I couldn't pin the exact point it had started, but even if it wasn't on Mia's level, snipers had begun clinging to me. With my tier being what it was, there probably weren't that many people trying to snipe, but it was more than enough to feel unpleasant, so I was doing what I could to block them.

"Yep! It won't take long, President. I'll give it everything I've got!"

"Uh... please don't say things that put other streams down. This is my broadcast, so I'd like chat that's about me."

"Bring up that broadcast and it's an instant chat ban."

"......"

My viewers certainly know how to enjoy themselves. Anyway, I waited at my ease, glancing through chat and answering now and then, and right on cue a game popped. Fortunately, I got jungle. I skimmed my allies' names and pulled up their records, and the top laner's win rate was nothing ordinary.

"Whoa, is this person on an alt? Their ranked win rate is over 67%."

This wasn't some downstairs neighborhood. A win rate like that in Diamond 1 meant you couldn't call them a local — Grandmaster at the low end, and at the high end you could guess the bottom of Challenger.

"No way? Is it really Soldier?"

Soldier was a former pro of Legend of League turned broadcaster. He'd been streaming on Tweet TV for two years now, and between the fandom he'd commanded since his pro days and a still-solid level that kept him moving between Challenger and Grandmaster after retirement, he was considerably popular.

The chat turns into a racket. But I can't spare it any attention. After StarCraft — the War of the Stars, the game people go so far as to call our people's traditional pastime — Legend of League was the game I loved most, and of course I'd had pro teams and players I rooted for.

And Soldier... was one of the three players I'd been a fan of back when he was active.