I May Be a Virtual Youtuber, but I Still Go to Work-Chapter 172

The moment I arrived at work the next day, I was summoned straight to the CEO’s office. Naturally, I made my case.

“I’m innocent.”

“Innocent of what?”

“I really said that because I was thinking about you...”

“Then you shouldn’t have phrased it like that. Why’d you have to bring up the ‘youthubers’?”

The VTuber industry’s a strange little world.

It’s pretty much expected for roleplay ages to hover eternally between sixteen and eighteen. Even two-year-olds and four-year-olds are common (usually animal-human hybrids).

So once you’re over twenty, you’re considered an old, wrinkly VTuber.

Now, this system is totally arbitrary, but to break it down—

For VTubers like the CEO, whose real-world identity is publicly known to a degree, age jokes usually reference their actual age.

On the other hand, if the person behind the avatar isn’t public, then the RP age is what counts.

But wait. For corporate VTubers, aren’t they usually at least old enough to be working in a company?

Which means, in reality, almost all of them are in their twenties or older.

That makes Momo—whose age is known—hugely disadvantaged in any verbal sparring match, doesn’t it?

Exactly.

That’s why the CEO routinely takes hits whenever someone brings up “youthubers” (young, plump-skinned VTubers).

In our company, there aren’t any VTubers older than the CEO, so she’s the one always getting labeled “old.”

But honestly, in VTubing, where talking skills matter most, there are quite a few in their thirties who thrive thanks to their seasoned delivery.

Some embrace it, even when people call them aunties—because their taste and experience inevitably shine through on stream.

Others, though, cling fiercely to the roleplay. Every time someone brings up age, they’re quick to deny it completely.

There have even been cases where a VTuber in her twenties (RP age: 24) gets called old and wrinkly by a VTuber in her thirties (RP age: 16).

That, too, is part of the absurd fun of the VTuber world.

Anyway, I’ve rambled long enough.

Point is—I’m innocent, damn it.

The CEO regularly gets teased for being an “old VTuber,” and she’s joked about it plenty of times herself, so I thought it’d be fine.

Of course, like always, she had her reasons for calling me in and chewing me out.

“Look, I’m not gonna go on and on about it. But let’s get one thing clear today. Avoid bringing up anything that might remind people of my real age. The viewers can toss around jokes about ‘youthubers’ and ‘wrinkleboomers’ all they want, but you can’t. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I know it’s hard to resist, but keep it official. You understand, right?”

“I do.”

The CEO let out a small sigh, then gently patted my head and asked,

“Still, you did a good job. Judging by yesterday, this series looks like something we can really milk for a while.”

“Ena’s so good at it, I don’t even have that much to do. Honestly...”

“...Honestly, I know you’re worried about Maru. But go easy on her. It’s not that she doesn’t want to do well.”

“She’s just a well-meaning idiot, so I can’t help it. Rather than nagging her to get better, it’s more effective to poke her until she reacts. Maru’s not the type who thinks things through—she learns by doing.”

So what if she’s bad at roleplay?

Maru’s biggest strength is her singing.

Just like idol groups have different roles—vocalist, dancer, leader, variety expert—it’s the same with Parallel’s VTubers. Everyone has their specialty.

If someone asked me which VTuber sings the best, I’d pick Maru without hesitation.

And it’s not favoritism.

Maru’s genuinely talented. Every song she’s been involved in has turned into a hit.

Whether or not I market it well, or CAT promotes it properly—

Her voice alone is enough to carry it.

Add in the fact that her teammates all have unique vocal tones too, and it just works.

So Maru doesn’t need to do roleplay bits every day.

She can focus on refining what she’s great at—singing—and just react when someone gives her a push.

Honestly, even just her iconic sound effects like "Hey!! You toothpick!! YOU?!" and "GRAAAAHHH!!" are enough to make her unforgettable.

“So, are you collabing with Maru today? After all that physical chaos yesterday, looks like today’s a mental game.”

“Yeah.”

“What was the original plan? Did she change it last minute? I bet she saw Ena switch it up and decided to follow suit.”

“We were supposed to play Gomoku, but she suddenly changed it to a maid café experience.”

“...A maid café?”

“Yeah. She said she felt bad about saying something mean yesterday. So today, she wants to show me nothing but overflowing love as a form of penance.”

We stared at each other in silence.

Then I borrowed the bottle of fake tears on the CEO’s desk and dabbed some beneath my eyes.

Drip.

The CEO spoke first.

“Why are you acting like you’re marching into hell? You don’t have the right to talk crap about Maru’s cooking, you know.”

That’s because Maru’s cooking is... bad.

Not in a “it tastes disgusting the second it hits your tongue” way, but in the literal sense that it has no taste.

She has zero instinct for seasoning.

I remember once, I stopped by her place to check her streaming setup. I was starving, so I grabbed some of her leftover omurice from the fridge.

And maybe it’s because I’m used to super flavorful food, but...

I could only taste the ketchup. Nothing else. It was bizarre.

“Look, maybe my ingredient choices and cooking process are weird, but at least my food tastes good, right?”

“That was pure luck. Do you know your seafood jjamppong challenge is blowing up not just in Shorts but on ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) every cooking channel?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re all baffled. Everyone wants the recipe. They’re like, ‘How did she make this even remotely edible?’”

“Hmph. That’s because I’m just that good—”

“Good? That was a miracle. Orca literally said she thought she was gonna die. God stepped in to save her. Be grateful.”

“Dying is a bit much, don’t you think? I didn’t poison her or anything.”

We bickered back and forth for a while—basically our usual WWE sparring session, which was more like mutual affection disguised as smack talk.

If I had to summarize: “Stay healthy, you CEO bastard.” “Yeah, you too, you punk-ass employee.”

Still, if the conversation just ended like this, there’d be no point in having it in the CEO’s office, right?

She clearly still had something else on her mind. She fidgeted with the calendar on her desk, then asked:

“Hey, are you free next weekend?”

“Are we going to the PC café? I’m totally in.”

“Well... not the PC café. I was thinking we could go somewhere else.”

“...Are you already buying me fall clothes?”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Weren’t you the one who used to complain about me buying you clothes? Now you talk like it’s a given.”

“Well, I’ve accepted that no matter how much I fight it, I’ll end up going shopping with you every season anyway. You even took me to a PC café when we bought summer clothes.”

The CEO tilted her head, something clearly clicking in her mind.

“...Wait a sec. We live together now. Why the hell would we go to a PC café?”

“Ugh. You seriously don’t understand romance, do you? There’s a specific kind of joy you only get from playing games together at that kind of place.”

She looked at me for a moment, then casually made a proposal.

“Alright then. For the sake of your so-called romance, I’ll give you four guaranteed hours at the PC café on Sunday—

but in return, can you spare your Saturday from morning to evening for my idea of romance?”

We’d been so swamped prepping for the second-gen debuts that I hadn’t even had the chance to bring up the PC café.

But if she was taking the initiative like this, of course I appreciated it.

My first reaction came out jokingly, but that’s just because I was genuinely happy.

“What? Two full days? You’d get more value out of streaming during that time—”

“Don’t give me that ‘but the subscribers—Parallel’s growth—blah blah’ line. Saturday’s basically a business trip.”

“Wait, so it’s not even about your ‘romance’ then?”

“It is a business trip, technically. But we’ll be going somewhere that used to feel romantic—at least to me, before I started this company. Ever heard of the ‘Mane Festival’?”

Starting out with manga and anime...

Now including moe-focused games and, more recently, VTubers—

It’s a massive subculture event in Japan, best known as Comiket (Comic Market).

There’s a Korean equivalent, run by a different group under a different name, but it functions pretty much the same.

And it’s been around for over 20 years now—called the Mane Festival, short for Manhwa-Anime Festival.

Too long to say every time, so most people just call it Mafe.

“You’re going to Mafe?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve never been to Mafe before, so I’m not sure what to expect... Is Mirai still popular in fanworks these days?”

At the mention of Mirai, the CEO let out a long, nostalgic hum through her nose.

Hoshino Mirai.

Considered the ancestor of VTubers, she debuted nine years ago.

The CEO used to joke that there’s no way anyone would still be buying her merch now.

“Not really, these days. When it comes to VTubers, it’s either Bachubachu, Lapits, or our merch that sells the most.”

“Then what’s with the whole ‘romantic’ angle...”

“Hey. Are you trying to trigger me on purpose today?”

“I’m just making a factual observation.”

“Whatever. Are you coming or not?”

I started fidgeting in front of her—not out of nerves, but just to mess with her so she wouldn’t catch on to how I really felt.

The truth?

I’d already gone to Mafe twice last year by myself.

As much as I treasured my weekends for catching up on VODs at home...

I couldn’t stop thinking about work, so I ended up going.

If I spotted a promising artist, I could mark them for potential official contracts.

Plus, I could get a firsthand look at how much of our talents’ merch was selling, and what kind of products fans were into.

But for the past six months—

Ever since I pulled off that voice impression of Rain—I’d been way too involved with streaming to even consider going.

Now that the second-gens had debuted and things had settled a bit, I could finally breathe again.

So going with the CEO this time? That sounded pretty good.

Well—aside from one small concern.

“Don’t you think we’d stand out a little too much walking around a place like that?”

“Not really? Don’t a lot of women attend these days? I’ve even heard couples go together.”

“I mean, yeah, but... People keep saying my face looks like my avatar’s, remember? At the year-end party, everyone recognized me before I said a word. And afterward, it kept happening.

And you too, you stand out. A lot.”

“Hm. You’re not wrong. I do kind of stand out.”

“Knew I shouldn’t’ve brought it up.”

When the CEO’s in her signature business suit, she radiates charisma and presence.

Honestly, it feels like her VTuber model is the only thing toning that down.

So if someone like me—who’s been called a 3D version of my avatar—walks around next to her?

Yeah. We’re gonna attract attention.

And there’s a decent chance that whoever recognizes me might end up swallowing the red pill and recognizing her too.

But while I was stuck worrying, she clearly already had a plan.

“I’ll take care of it. Can you trust me on that?”

“You already have something in mind?”

“You know what they say: If you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest.”

“Hm...”

My lukewarm reaction made her squint and grumble.

“Wow, you’re always like ‘CEO, you trust me, right?’ But when I say the same thing, suddenly you don’t trust me?”

“No, I do trust you. Really. But... Thinking back to how enthusiastic you were about buying me clothes, I can’t help but suspect you’re gonna suggest cosplay.

Especially since it’s Mafe.”

The CEO quickly averted her eyes.

Subtle move, just shifting her gaze, like she was trying to act cool—

But come on. Like I wouldn’t immediately read what that meant?

I shrugged.

“Not that I don’t want to do it. I was just thinking about what kinds of outfits I’d be okay with.

I figure... anything’s fine, as long as it’s not too revealing?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So I’ll leave it to you.”

She looked absolutely delighted, nodding enthusiastically.

“Great. Then leave it to me and go do your stream with Maru. Got it?”

The longer we’ve worked together, the more she’s started picking up my wicked mindset.

But still—she’s CEO for a reason.

Even if it’s Mafe, and even if we’re dressed a little weird for the occasion, she’s not the type to bring anything too outlandish.

Thinking everything would probably be fine, I nodded.

“Got it. I’m heading out.”