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

Well, just like with the other members’ mental training, it wasn’t much different when it came to Darami.
“Ha, looks like everyone’s fallen for my charm.”
— LOL

— That acting is godawful lololol
— Ugh, that was cringe
— My hands

— Why does this person feel like such a tryhard otaku?
— Feels like some guy who learned how to act from a YouTube short is going, ‘Look how good I am!’
— lolol I’m not watching this anymore

“What the hell are you all saying?! Shut it! You people don’t know anything!”
— ‘Shut it’?
— Unfollowing, bye
— Said she could act, but that’s some kindergarten-level acting

— Oh wait, that last bit actually sounded kinda real
— For real LOL
— That was acting too? lol

— Angry acting’s the only thing you’re good at
“No, I mean, damn it?!”
And to make matters worse, this wasn’t group training with peers—there was no one for her to lean on.

For Darami, this one-on-one interview with Magia might end up being a traumatic memory.
As Darami flared up from the toxic chat she couldn’t handle, Magia got up from her seat and shouted,
“Cut. That’s enough.”

“Ah.”
“Fail. That’s not how you should respond.”
“Ugh. I just… I got mad without even realizing when they said I suck at acting.”

“You’ve seen stuff like that in Blitzlight Chat City too, haven’t you?”
“Maybe, but the chat moved too fast to even catch any of it. Right now, it’s all right there in my face.”
“Ah, so you’re the type to not care unless it’s right in front of you.”

“Yes.”
“Well, what now? From now on, you’re gonna have to care.”
“But once you hit over a thousand viewers, you can barely see the chat anyway…”
“That’s just because you’re reading with fogged-up eyes. But from now on, you can’t do that anymore. Now that you’ve agreed to stream under Parallel, engaging with the chat is an absolutely crucial part of the job.”

“Ughh… but chat is so hard… Reading toxic comments like just now only makes it harder to manage my mental…”
“Oh dear, our contract’s for two years though.”
“…What.”

Darami flailed her hands in panic.
“Wait, no—weren’t you the one who said you’d help me and support me?”
“Well, that was under the assumption that you’d fully adopt our style.”

“Ugh.”
“Even if it doesn’t seem like you’re reading chat, the truth is, you need to be. You don’t seriously think viewers won’t notice whether you care or not, right?”
“Most people don’t notice that stuff, do they?”

“That’s because you’re just numb to it.”
“For real?”
Just like streamers live off the attention from their viewers, viewers live off attention from their streamers too.

Whether or not they read your chat—
Whether or not they respond to your donation message— it makes a huge difference.
Sure, when you're running a big channel with over a thousand viewers, it's understood that you can’t react to everything.

But Darami’s case was on another level.

She was missing almost all the chat. Even ten-thousand-won ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) donations were slipping through the cracks.
 

Still, the training went on—one day, two days, three days.
A week passed, and then another.
Eventually, Darami finally reached a level where she could cleanly read every chat message.

Even when they were toxic comments.
“Um, but… am I really that bad at acting?”
“No?”

“Ugh… I lost all my confidence. It’s all your fault, Gia….”
And as a bonus, after being exposed to toxic chat for two full weeks, she even started doubting herself.
You’d think this would be a problem, but—confidence can disappear at any time. It’s actually way better for her to go through this now, while she’s preparing for re-debut.

For someone like Darami—whose life had been smooth aside from her conflict with her parents—when she loses confidence, the crash hits hard.
And if that moment hits after debut, it takes a long time to rebuild her shattered mental state. During that time, fans will leave in droves.
They’ll say stuff like: “Darami used to be fun.”
“Now she’s not.”

“She’s not as confident as before, it’s just not the same.”
“I only said that stuff to mess with your head. Don’t take it seriously.”
“But when I keep seeing it, I end up doubting myself…”

“That’s normal. But don’t doubt yourself. Yes, it’s important to connect sincerely with your viewers—but that doesn’t mean you should believe everything they say.”
“Huh…?”
“You’ve got three people on our team, including me, who can actually analyze your streams and give you proper feedback. You’ll get much more objective answers by asking us.”

“Ah, I see.”
Besides, most of the toxic comments Magia had shown her were from accounts that were already banned.
The only reason she displayed them like this was because streamers can still see them in the split-second before they get deleted.

So really, there’s no point paying attention to chat messages that get banned anyway.
It’s way better to just ask the boss, Cheon Do-hee, or someone from the streaming team how the stream went today.
“That said, even if you do spot a toxic comment, don’t directly call it out or fire back. Ignoring it is the best move. Leave it alone and the chat mods will take care of it. And if anything gets said that might be a real issue, we’ll talk about it during or after the stream.”

She had suffered through two hellish weeks of this.
But still, Darami couldn’t help trusting Magia.
She’d wondered—was she the only one being treated this harshly? So she looked around.

Turns out, every single member of Parallel had mentioned Magia’s hell training during their story streams. The general consensus? “That demon is on a whole different level.”
But judging by the results they got from the training, they actually ended up thanking Magia more often than they insulted her.
Stuff like:

“If it weren’t for that training, I might’ve screwed up the real broadcast.”
“Thanks to that, I actually did way better on stream.”
“Anyway, you’ve done great. Starting next week, you’ll be training with the boss.”

“Huh? But isn’t the boss super busy right now?”
“Well, now I’m about to get busy. In two weeks, we’re opening the Manae Festival pop-up store, and there’s a stage event in the evening. I think the idea is to have you show up, just for a moment.”
Manae Festival.

A subculture event that Magia once attended in cosplay with Cheon Do-hee—where she ran into Pino.
With Blitzlight City having gone mega-viral, Parallel’s name had blown up. So they figured this was the perfect moment to ride the wave.
They’d been sitting on their application, wondering when to jump in—and now was the time.

Suddenly being told to appear in front of people seemed to make Darami panic, stomping her feet.
“W-what?! Already? I’m not ready yet!”
“You have to start building anticipation early. You’re not going to show your face or anything—just your voice. So don’t worry too much. The seniors and your peers will support you.”

“Ugh… I haven’t even really met the other second-gens yet…”
“That’s why, next week, while we’re preparing for the stage, you’ll be working with the second-gen members. Try your best to get close with them.”
“Just like when I was doing streams during mental training with you—I’ll still have to keep streaming during that too, right?”

“Yep. You have to. Even if they’re short, you need to keep showing up on stream so your exposure stays consistent. You only just started gaining traction, so now’s the time to push hard. Make sure you manage your energy, eat properly, and take care of your health.”
“…Okay.”

“Anyway, good luck. Honestly, I’m expecting a lot from you, Darami.”

At that, Darami blushed and squirmed.
“After all the nagging, now you say you’re expecting things from me?”
“Your body’s more honest than your words.”

“Ughhh…”
***
So, while everyone else was busy getting ready for the Manae Festival…

What was Magia doing that made her even busier?
“Hello! Wow, I never thought I’d get to meet you in person, Gia.”
“Hello, I honestly didn’t think I’d be visiting Mimax headquarters either.”

“You’re too modest. This way, please. Let’s sit down and talk comfortably.”
While Blitzlight City was still running, a bulk offer had come in.
It was a contract with Mimax, casting Magia as the main villain voice actor for a new story.

All the other members set to do voice work with Magia had already finished their recordings.
Now that Darami’s debut prep was wrapping up, it was Magia’s turn to tag in and begin recording—starting with the biggest volume of lines.
The role she’d taken on wasn’t that different from Tia in Blitzlight City. And luckily, Magia wasn’t someone who feared trying new things too much.

Still, it felt kind of like when she first started as an utaite.
Since this was her first official voice acting job, even Magia felt a bit nervous.
The coordinator handed Magia a tablet with the script on it across the conference room table, and said:

“When you get to the studio, the director and manager will guide you through the recording process. So we don’t have any specific requests today.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Just do what you did as Tia. Our game leans heavily into subculture anyway, so not many players feel pressure from characters like Tia.”

“Ah, understood.”
“There’s just one thing. It’s a bit of a demanding request…”
The coordinator swiped through the tablet, and soon a scene came up at the end of the script—a section requiring intense emotional acting.

“The character you’ll be playing, Loro, needs to give a performance close to a breakdown at the end. That part might be difficult.”
“A breakdown? Like… ‘I don’t want to die’?”
“It’s more like, ‘If I die, I’m taking you all with me.’ That kind of thing. Tia had a playful tone all the way through, right? That’s why we’re not sure yet if this is something you can pull off.”

Magia nodded slightly and read through the script slowly.
Kyaahahahahaha!
Are you all stupid? While you were flailing around, I already finished everything I had to do! Goodbye, idiots. Go rot in hell with your beloved master!!!

After reading it, Magia scratched her cheek with a “hmm.”
“Yeah… I’ve pretty much never spoken in this kind of tone before.”
“Is that so.”

“But if I treat it like doing a voice imitation of someone, I think I could pull it off pretty well.”
“Oh?”
And the person she planned to imitate—was none other than Cheon Do-hee.

Whenever Do-hee pushed through a flood of snipers and won, she would unleash a furious, triumphant roar—even while in pain.
Kyaahaha!
MongMongies! No matter how hard you try to trip me up, I still win!

MongMong! MongChung! Puhahahaha!
Outta my way! I’m the one getting the chicken dinner tonight!!!
It was a little different from what Mimax was asking for, but Magia figured she could adjust and make it work with some improvisation.

“When does the recording start?”
“We’ve got the studio booked starting two days from now. Today we just wanted to brief you on the character and give you some guidance, which is why we asked you to visit HQ.”
“Ah, I see.”

She didn’t have a lot of time, but at least she had a day to prep.
Then again, the only reason her schedule had gotten this tight was because she kept postponing things to train Darami.
She’d just have to give it her best.

‘If I could find a VTuber to use as reference, that’d be great… but that’s probably not gonna happen.’
After all, it was rare for VTubers to scream lines that sounded like total breakdowns. Magia figured she’d need to check some anime on a streaming site later.
One title came to mind right away—a story about a girl with a name kind of like Magia, who tried to become a magical girl but instead ended up as an officer in the Demon King’s army.

Normally timid, but sometimes would go completely dark and scream in madness—a protagonist who really left an impression.
“Then… would it be okay if I headed home right after today’s meeting wraps? I’ve got a lot to prep for tomorrow.”