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

That day, before leaving the CEO’s office, I was ultimately persuaded to sign something called an “appendix contract.”
What was it about? Apparently, it stipulated that a fixed percentage of the donations I received while streaming would be split and settled accordingly.

The problem was that this income couldn’t be combined with my salary, meaning it had to be reported separately when filing comprehensive income tax in May or something like that.
Just hearing about it gave me a headache, so I refused outright, but then the accounting director suddenly appeared and said something that left me no choice but to accept.
What was it again?

Something about how excessive bonus payments would make the payroll expenses stick out too much, so they needed to adjust the financial statement categories, blah blah blah.
He also assured me they’d help with the tax filing, and since it all sounded like some alien language I didn’t understand, I had no choice but to agree.
But there was one thing that bothered me—the profit distribution ratio.

Article 7 [Revenue Distribution and Settlement]
(1) "Party A" shall pay "Party B" 60% of the special earnings defined in Article 6, Clause 8 ("Party B’s Special Distribution").
According to the CEO, the standard for first-generation members was actually 70%, but since I had stubbornly refused to take my share, they had only given me 20% as a bonus.
Apparently, a 60:40 split was the industry standard.

So I asked, “Then why not just not give me anything at all?”
That’s when the accounting director butted in again.
There might be others like me in the future—people working for the company while occasionally appearing on streams. If that happened, they’d base their appendix contracts on mine.

If I accepted too low a share, the company would have no choice but to apply similarly exploitative rates to them.
The accounting director’s job was to minimize unnecessary expenses, and as one of the founding members of the company, my opinion carried significant weight.
I doubted this would ever happen again, but… considering how Gong Seung-yeon turned out to be my lookalike, I couldn’t completely rule out the possibility. So, in the end, I agreed.

It was annoying to pour my earnings back into the company, but I couldn’t just let others suffer financially because of me.
The problem was, the moment I said that, the CEO and the accounting director started snickering.
“So you’ve admitted it, huh?” they said, telling me to look forward to my salary next year.

Just how much more were they planning to raise it? I was already worried.
Still, the CEO did dangle a solid incentive in front of me: if I avoided causing trouble, they would deduct 10% from the revenue split every month, reducing it to at least 10% next year.
Of course, there was also a penalty clause—if I messed up, it would go up by 10% each time, with a maximum cap of 90%. That part I wasn’t too happy about.
But I had watched hundreds of VTubers and had seen nearly every drama and scandal imaginable. There was no way I’d make a mistake.

Next year’s revenue share? 10%. The dream will be realized.
***
The Next Day

Youngun Team’s Teddy Bear League Collaboration
The game supported up to 2:2:2:2 matches, so with six players, we decided to split into three teams of two.
- Moo Team -
{Youngun, Kamik}

- Meow Team -
{Crkemang, Bazubi}
- Woof Team -
{Magia, Serena}
Of course, just playing to win would be too dull.

One of the best ways to build camaraderie between teams?
Punishments.
Naturally, the most important question of the stream was what kind of punishment the losing team would face.

[Alright, the teams are set. What should the punishment be for last place? Crkemang, got any ideas?]
[For the first round, let’s go with singing. Simple and easy.]
[Oh, that sounds good! So the losing team will sing a song together?]

[Exactly! Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?]
[Not bad. Alright then, let’s put singing on the line for the first round and get started!]
So, what kind of game was Teddy Bear League?

To put it simply, it was a plushie brawl.
But unlike your typical fighting games, with flashy hit effects and walls shattering from powerful attacks, this was… different.
You grabbed opponents by the hair. Tripped them. Lifted them and threw them.

The move set was, in a way, pathetically simple.
There were also basic mechanics like dash punches and guard dodges, but generally, the best strategy was to survive by maneuvering around the map’s gimmicks and then throw your opponent off the stage when they tripped.
Of course, you could also just start swinging wildly from the beginning.

If you landed a punch on your opponent’s head, they’d get stunned and fall over, making it easier to throw them out.
But as you all know, I’m a newbie at every game. (With extensive spectating experience.)
I did have a talent for gaming, so I adapted quickly, but it still took me some time.

So, my initial strategy was simple—run away and throw people off the stage when the chance arose.
[Aaaaah! Gia! Help! Help! I’m falling!!]
"Sorry."

— No, don’t just apologize, help her lmao!
— LOOOOOL
— "Sorry!" (abandons teammate)
So, when Serena got punched in the head, fell over, and got thrown out of bounds, I just stood there watching.
I didn’t want to risk going in to save her and getting thrown out myself.

It was a bit cowardly, but what could I do?
I really didn’t want to be the one taking the punishment.
Not that I was bad at singing, but I was never confident in entertainment-related things.

If the CEO had assigned this as work, like Find Rain, I would’ve at least practiced thoroughly, but this was just for fun.
So I ran for my life.
This translation is the intellectual property of .

I also made sure to lead my pursuers into the other teams’ paths, making them clash instead.
And somehow, I won through sheer opportunism.

The game was won by being the first to take four rounds, and I ended up winning three more in the exact same way.
I guess my ability to slip away and avoid getting caught was just that good.
As long as I wasn’t in a game like Combative, where one grab could smash my head in, survival wasn’t that difficult for me.

Final Rankings
Woof Team
Moo Team
Meow Team
[Crkemang and Bazubi are last place!]
[Sing! Sing! Sing!]
This collab stream felt eerily similar to the dinner we had two days ago.

That time, everyone was drinking (I declined since I don’t like getting drunk), and they played drinking games. Everyone was having a blast, except for Bazubi and me, who were clueless and out of place.
Tonight felt exactly like that.
[… Let’s do it. … Alright.]
[It’s fine, I’ll sing with all my might. Bazubi, just focus on adding reactions, okay?]
[… Okay!]
[No, no, let’s go! Let’s go!]

So the two of them ended up singing a trot song.
And it was quite the spectacle.
Usually, in these situations, the small-time streamer would sing with all their might while the big-time VTuber added a bit of support.

But was it because Crkemang had the heart of an ocean?
Or was he just the kind of guy who enjoyed having fun?
[Like a flower that blooms and withers, who dares say life is meaningless~]
[… Life! … Is it?]

It was a full-blown trot solo stage for Crkemang.
Beside him, Bazubi chimed in with background reactions, which, surprisingly, turned out to be quite adorable and entertaining.
When they finished their song, Youngun and Serena kicked off a round of applause and cheers.

But the celebration didn’t last long.
The moment the song ended, Crkemang shouted,
“That’s it. The next punishment is also singing. This old man believes that if we’re playing, we should all have fun together.”

Since the losing team got to decide the next punishment, it was completely fair.
And since we had agreed to switch team compositions every round, we shuffled the teams through a ladder draw using our preassigned numbers.
The result?

- Moo Team -
{Youngun, Crkemang}
- Meow Team -
{Kamik, Serena}
- Woof Team -
{Magia, Bazubi}

Given the precedent set by Crkemang and Bazubi, it was now an unavoidable reality—I’d have to sing if I lost.
But all I had to do was not lose.
Last round, I survived until the end by running away.

I saw no reason why I couldn’t do it again.
Sure, everyone was getting more familiar with the game, but there was no way they’d ever be able to catch me.
However, there was one critical detail I had overlooked.

Unlike my usual gaming groups, where people would humor me when I stubbornly refused to participate in things, these teammates—despite having fought alongside me—were still wild animals in their own right.
They remembered that, two nights ago at the company dinner, I refused to sing and just sat in the corner shaking a tambourine.
And Bazubi? Among the six of us, she was objectively the worst at the game.

"Huh. This is bad."
And just like that, the other four players surrounded me.
They blocked every escape route, closed in, and started throwing punches from all directions before hurling me straight out of the map.

How long had it been since the round started?
Before I could even react, I was already drowning.
Bazubi, left alone, didn’t last much longer.

[Hahaha. Gia, I’ve been waiting for this moment.]
[You too, Youngun? Same here.]
[Ah, me too.]
[Well, looks like we were all thinking the same thing.]
The funniest part?
Even Bazubi, who had been shy about singing earlier, was just as determined to make me lose.

[…Finally!]
Of course, she had no reason to hesitate.
On the night of the company dinner, she sang not just one, but two full songs.

And it wasn’t like she had been forced into it either.
She was only embarrassed when streaming in front of an audience—when it was just the six of us, she wasn’t nearly as self-conscious.
So now, I was stuck in a 5v1 situation.

Even my own teammate was against me.
— Are we finally gonna hear Magia sing?!
— Wait, how did it come to this? LOL
I could understand why the viewers were dumbfounded.

Just a few weeks ago, during Wicker Town, our official channel had received two separate 1,000,000 KRW donations—not counting Pino’s.
Compared to other streamers, I had spent an unusually long time thanking the donors.
But even then, I didn’t sing.

Because the CEO had authorized my reaction boycott.
If Momo didn’t order it, I simply didn’t do it.
"Should I just sing this time?"

When I was preparing for this collaboration, the CEO had said something to me before I left work.
She told me that collabs like this would become more frequent, and she couldn’t always be there to dictate how I handled them.
She trusted that I’d manage things appropriately, so when I was stepping into the role of a streamer, I could start making my own judgment calls.

But if I really didn’t know what to do, I should just message her—she’d reply as long as she was awake.
And if all else failed, she told me, just go for it.
“There’s almost no streamer who’s never caused some kind of incident. If you do this long enough, controversy is inevitable.”

“But knowing you, it’s not like you’re going to make a huge mess.”
…So, in the end, it was about the revenue share ratio, huh?
It felt like Momo was subtly abandoning me to figure things out on my own.

「Do your best. If you screw up, I’ll cover for you… but you know the split goes up, right? Up to 90%?」
By my own logic, in this situation, I should sing—even if I wasn’t prepared.
If I refused until the very end?

That was fine when it was just us off-stream.
But this was a broadcast.
If I kept pushing back, I’d kill the mood.

And if the atmosphere soured, Parallel’s reputation would take a hit.
People would start saying, Oh, that one just refuses to participate, huh?
Right.

I wasn’t a VTuber, an idol, or a celebrity.
Even if I screwed up the song, wouldn’t it just make me seem more human?
Of course, that didn’t mean I was just going to accept defeat.

In the end, Teddy Bear League was a game of precision punches and well-timed trips.
If you couldn’t escape when surrounded, it was basically a one-sided slaughter.
But that’s what tripping was for.

If I could sweep their legs, I’d create an opening to dodge and break free.
[Hahaha! Surround her!]
[Magia’s gonna sing! It’s happening!]
[…Sing!]
The moment the round started, my opponents charged in to corner me.

So I decked Bazubi first.
Smack!
Her body tumbled over with a loud crash and landed right into the frigid, iceberg-ridden sea.

[…What?!]
Splash!
A moment later, her plushie-filled body sank straight down into the water.

— LMAOOOOOOO
— The instant betrayal LOL
— That’s how Flare «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» Gun plays, baby!
— You gotta get rid of the team troll first, duh
Of course, the two opposing teams didn’t particularly mind losing Bazubi.
It wasn’t like she had been throwing the game on purpose last round.

And for me, it was just eliminating a potential traitor before she could turn on me.
Now, the real match had begun.
I looked at the four players still standing and said,

“If I end up in last place, I’m picking something spicy for the next punishment.”
Serena hesitated.
[Uh… What exactly are you planning?]

I grinned.
“How about this? Whoever the wheel lands on… has to say, ‘Baby, I love you.’”
The male streamers—excluding Crkemang—lit up with excitement.

Of course they did.
How could they let a fun punishment like that slip by?
[Let’s do it. Make Magia lose.]
[HELL YEAH, NO ONE GETS IN MY WAY! I’M MAKING SERENA LAST PLACE!]

But Serena was not on board.
For a healing-type VTuber, the mere thought of saying that to any male streamer—especially Youngun—would be disastrous.
Her fanbase’s collective unicorn horns would snap into pieces.

— Ow, my horn hurts.
— My horn is turning black…
— I feel sick…
Even though Serena wasn’t even their oshi, my chat was already filling up with distressed messages.
This would definitely work.

[I’m sorry, everyone.]
As expected.
Serena punched Youngun in the back of the head with a perfectly executed dash punch.

[Wait—HEY! What are you doing?!]
[DIE, PLEASE!]
Splash.
And with that, Youngun was the second one to fall into the water.

Now, only four players remained.
On one side, Serena and I, both determined to keep me from losing.
On the other, Crkemang and Kamik, desperate to hear me sing.

It was 2 vs 2 now.
How would this end?