(The Neighbor’s POV)

Our pretend family has recently begun a contest to see who can get the most views on a certain video submission site. And of course, Abaddon and I won’t be observing this time—we’ll be joining in.

Personally, I’m not really into the whole idea. I never participated in this sort of fun leisure activity growing up—it seems like something from someone else’s life. And because I never got used to it, I wound up disliking it. Sour grapes, essentially.

What I am interested in is the rule that says the winner can make the loser do anything they want. I wonder what would happen if I got first place and my neighbor came in last. It’s a delusion built on the faintest of hopes, but nevertheless, I feel anticipation begin to build inside me.

To be honest, the idea has my blood pumping. And I’m required to participate anyway. So I decide to approach this contest somewhat optimistically.

“How many minutes has it been since you sat down at your desk?” asks Abaddon.

“Give me a break. I can’t come up with any good ideas.”

Currently, Abaddon and I are in one of this house’s two bedrooms meant for children. I’m sitting at my desk, with my partner floating in the air beside me.

Robot Girl is using the other matching room, while Makeup has the master bedroom, and my neighbor is in the guest room. Blondie and the new character, Hot Prince, took the grandmother’s room. I think Futarishizuka wound up in the prefab shed outside.

Our assigned room has tatami floors and is about fifteen square meters—more than enough space for two children. It’s large compared to my old apartment, before it blew up, anyway. But that makes it feel pretty empty. I’ve barely been in here since we started this whole family act.

There’s nothing on the bookshelf or in the garbage can, and the wall doesn’t even have a calendar hanging on it. If anything draws the eye, it’s the two wooden school desks, placed back-to-back.

Futarishizuka got them when she bought the other furniture and appliances. I remember her saying something about how a character-themed desk from some company called Kurogane is a must-have for a child’s room. Unusually, Robot Girl agreed with her.

Of particular note are the bookshelf and lighting built into the upper part of the desks, and the little areas to store small items. They have a pretty functional design. They look a bit worn in places, though, so I assume they’re refurbished. It has a certain aesthetic to it, and I get the feeling such items were probably part of the ambiance of older houses like this one.

I’m facing the desk now, pushing myself to think of something—some idea for a video to upload for the contest.

“Why not just put up one video as a test? It can be about whatever,” suggests Abaddon.

“I’m not sure. That doesn’t sound very promising.”

“You can just delete it if it doesn’t go well, right?”

“I guess.”

Half an hour has passed since I left the living room, and I still have no ideas. Abaddon is right, though. Maybe it’s best to actually do something rather than simply worrying about it forever. I don’t have any experience uploading videos, and with some things, you have to get your feet wet first. I think that’s what the demon is trying to tell me.

“All right. I’ll try just going through the process.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you agreed so fast! I’m happy, though.”

“You didn’t seem too pleased about this contest, though.”

“Well, if we’re doing it anyway, we might as well shoot for first place!”

“I see.”

He’s probably being considerate, since Futarishizuka was the one to suggest this idea. She’s been helping us a lot lately. We won’t have the chance to give her another reward from the death game for the foreseeable future, so the demon must be worried about what we can do for her instead.

“I agree we should try to find a way to repay our landlady outside of the death game.”

“Yep. I’m glad the two of us are on the same page!”

“But this room is basically empty. Let’s go out into the yard.”

“Roger that, buddy!”

We exit the bedroom and head outside. The weather is clear. I look up and see a perfectly cloudless blue sky. It’s cold, but there’s not much wind; if I stay in the sun, I should be warm enough with just my coat. The sunny winter day feels so good, it almost brings tears to my eyes. The scenery is so realistic, it’s hard to believe we’re currently inside a spaceship.

“I’ve heard it’s important to have an attractive setting for videos. Don’t you agree?”

“Do you see any place like that around here?”

“Hmm…”

Abaddon and I stand near the living room veranda and look around.

The house is a retro Japanese-style building. There are at least two or three like this in just about every residential area in Japan. It’s not really something you would go out of your way to film, so my attention naturally turns to the rest of our surroundings.

Several other houses stand in a line near ours. I feel like there are more of them every day; Robot Girl must be hard at work adding to the neighborhood. It’s clear she’s very passionate about this pretend family business. There’s even a paved asphalt road running along the row of houses.

That said, I doubt any of it will make for a good video. It’s all so realistic, it simply looks like any other street.

“I think I’ll just follow your advice,” I say, “and film whatever for now.”

“Right. And if it doesn’t work, I’m sure you’ll put all the blame on me, huh?”

“Words have consequences, Abaddon.”

As we engage in pointless banter, I pull my phone out of my inside pocket. As a test, I take a video of a crow perched on the roof.

According to Robot Girl, it’s the real thing, captured on Earth and brought here. We can hear its occasional caws from the living room. There are other birds, too—some sparrows fly around the house. I’m very curious what she’s feeding them.

My video only lasts a few minutes. I use the zoom feature to get a close-up of the crow grooming itself. The camera leaves nothing to be desired—just as I’d expect from a phone Futarishizuka purchased. The video comes out really clear.

I upload it as a public video to the submission site without editing it at all. The process is very simple.

For a few minutes after that, Abaddon and I sit on the edge of the veranda and soak in the sun. After a little under an hour, we check the views on the video. There are three in total—the exact number of times I played it back myself.

“The number doesn’t seem to be changing. Is it broken?” says Abaddon as we peer at the smartphone’s screen.

“No, I think it’s working just fine.”

You can tell from the thumbnail that it’s a low-quality video made by an amateur. It’s no wonder no one is clicking. The video itself is just a close-up of a crow. The title is simple: “Crow Grooming Itself.” Nobody’s going to watch something like that.

I did some investigating yesterday, when Futarishizuka first announced this contest, and I found out that unless a video gets a certain number of views, the submission site’s recommendation system won’t pick it up. And this particular site’s search function is so poor, it’s essentially broken. So unless I can bring in people from other sites, I’ll never get any views no matter how long I wait.

I explain all this to Abaddon.

“So you’re saying we need to advertise on other websites first, to get things rolling?”

“Yes. People won’t magically find their way to my channel. So we’ll need to make a video that’s easy to advertise in communities outside the submission site. We could aim for bulletin boards and the comment sections of blogs, where lots of people are already gathered.”

“Do you not have any way of advertising it yourself?”

“I have a social media account, but I don’t want to use it right now. It doesn’t have many followers anyway, so I don’t think it would help very much.”

“Why don’t you want to use it?”

“Because it’s for keeping an eye on my neighbor. I can’t exactly have him finding out about it, can I? Just think of the fallout.”

“Even I’m a bit disturbed by this side of you, and I’m a demon.”

I’ve left comments on my neighbor’s posts before and had brief conversations with him there. Anonymously, of course. I know he’d be creeped out if he discovered it was me. And I don’t need Abaddon pointing that out to me.

“Maybe the video would be popular if the crow suddenly took a liking to me.”

“I could hide myself and move it for you, if you want.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I’ll pass. I’d feel bad for it.”

If the crow started behaving unnaturally, someone would definitely point it out. It would be a real pain if I posted an animal video only to have people start crying abuse. Then again, maybe I can get views by riling people up—now there’s an idea.

“Hey, that’s the face of a schemer.”

“Was I that obvious?”

That said, I don’t think I need to go that far just yet. Either Robot Girl or Futarishizuka are sure to win. It’s unlikely either of them will order us to do something impossible, so it won’t pose too much of a problem, even if we come in last.

If I’m going to pull out all the stops, it will be after I determine that my neighbor is sure to place last, or if Makeup is poised to win. Then I’ll revisit the idea as a way to clinch the win or to escape last place. Of course, I don’t want anyone else to realize I’m doing it on purpose.

“Being honest is a virtue, but maybe you shouldn’t overdo it.”

“Only with you, Abaddon. That’s the only time I can be this genuine.”

“I do hope that one day, you can say that with sincerity instead of sarcasm.”

Abaddon and I sit on the veranda, trading snide remarks and not doing much of anything. The bright, warm sunshine feels really good when it’s this cool out. Maybe I’ll use the kitchen to make some tea. There are still mandarin oranges in the basket on the living room table.

But just as I consider this, the door to the shed opens up and Futarishizuka pops her head out to look at us.

“Taking a break already, are you?”

Spotting us on the veranda, she walks over. Her shed looks like the ones you find at construction sites—neat and tidy on the one hand, but simple and austere on the other. Maybe she heard our conversation through the thin walls.

“We’re fresh out of ideas,” I tell her.

“Oh, then did you already upload a video?”

“Yes. It got three views and then plateaued.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you upload something without thinking about it.” Futarishizuka stops in front of us, then looks up at the house. “And if you were filming this house, I suggest you stop. The youngest daughter has been aggressively larcenous in the past, and people are talking about it. This sort of structure is made by hand by carpenters. If anyone recognizes it, they could start a witch hunt.”

“You’re right. I’ll delete it right away.”

Just as we’d planned from the start, I use my phone to delete the video.

Uploading one for the first time taught me how hard it is to get views. Maybe it should have been obvious, but I begin to realize just how amazing Blondie and the sparrow are for getting tens of thousands right off the bat. They didn’t even do any advertising—they started from literally nothing.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem pretty laid-back,” I muse.

“Who, me? Well, I’ve already decided my plan of action.”

“Oh, color me curious. I’d love to know what kind of video you intend to make.”

“Oh yeah? Curious, eh? You really wanna know?”

Futarishizuka puts her index fingers to her cheeks, then waggles her hips from side to side. It’s obviously an act, but it suits her appearance perfectly. I have to admit I’m impressed. I get the feeling my neighbor would say “No thanks” and give her the cold shoulder if he saw it, though.

“You mean you’ll just tell us?” I ask.

“Well, let me see. There’s an old Japanese saying that goes: What one likes, one will do well.”

“Something you like?”

“Ah, I’m afraid that won’t be very helpful for my partner.”

“You’re still young, dear. You should try out more things.”

Futarishizuka’s gaze is gentle. She acts like this with the pink magical girl, too. Aside from my neighbor, his bird, and Makeup, she tends to be kind to her allies. I guess you’d call her attitude “affectionate.” But that’s exactly why I’m so terrified of what will happen if she abandons me. I feel a shiver run down my spine.

So to change the topic, I ask her, “Did you already finish filming your first video?”

“I’m done for today, but I’ve simply ordered the equipment I’ll need.”

“I see.”

“And now I must be off. I have a word or two for the youngest daughter about the state of my accommodations.”

“Thank you for your advice.” I stand up from the veranda and bow.

Futarishizuka waves a hand, as if to say, “Don’t mention it,” then heads for the front entrance of the house and quickly disappears inside.

After seeing her off, Abaddon speaks up. “Even you must have at least one thing you like, right?”

“……”

Something I like. What do I like? I’ve never had the leisure to think about such things before.

“Thinking of that special someone?”

“…Hmm.”

No, I’m not thinking of my neighbor. He isn’t so much something I like as someone who belongs to me. And I belong to him, too. Together, we are one. We fit each other perfectly.

At last, I’d gotten started on my first video. A few hours earlier, I’d asked Peeps to fetch my laptop from the business hotel in Tokyo I was using as my temporary home. He’d been in the guest room formerly assigned to Futarishizuka, explaining the internet to Prince Lewis, but he’d eagerly agreed to help.

Now that I had my computer, it was time to get down to business. I prepared the materials, edited the video, and uploaded it. By the time I was finished, the sun had set.

I think I’ll be able to do this faster next time, I thought. But the work was difficult; it took a lot of focus. No matter how much I hurried, I doubted I could manage more than one or two a day. The prospect of all that work had me downright depressed.

It might have gone a little faster if I was happier about it, but the fact that I was cashing in on copying other people’s videos weighed on my mind. Work like this didn’t usually bother me so much.

“……”

I stared at the page for the video I’d just uploaded, thinking. A little under an hour had passed, and I had a grand total of three views. Unfortunately, that was the exact number of times I’d played the video for myself.

As I wallowed in dejection, I heard the voice of my pet bird outside my door.

“Are you there?”

“Peeps? Come on in.”

At my reply, the door slid to one side. He must have used some kind of magic. I could now see him hovering in the air.

“How is your progress?” he asked.

“Not great, unfortunately.”

He flew into the room and landed on the tea table, taking up a spot next to my laptop and peering at the screen. He was close enough that I could reach out and touch him.

“Is this your video?” he asked.

“It is, yes.”

And now he’s seen my pathetic view count. Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.

I recalled a time when I was a student, and we were all assigned to come up with original dances and perform them for the class. I was as embarrassed now as I’d been back then.

“A video focused on music, hmm? Yes, demand for this type of work is quite high.”

“But if I can’t get that first bit of traction, my video will just fade into obscurity, buried under a pile of similar works. I tried to make the title and description stand out, but nobody’s clicking.”

“I suppose this isn’t a genre likely to get views based on hype.”

My distinguished sparrow was growing increasingly familiar with the world of internet videos. He already seemed pretty knowledgeable.

“Maybe I should stop trying to be crafty and take this contest seriously.”

“Without the ability to use your face or voice, your strategy must focus on two things: novelty and editing quality. But I believe it will be tricky for an amateur like you to compete with professionals.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“However, if you are only looking for temporary attention, why not simply reuse popular videos from throughout the world? I believe suchcompilations are known as ‘clip shows.’ I’ve personally seen many such videos. Certain works even officially permit reuse.”

It was just like the Starsage to suggest such an underhanded plan so casually. I’d had similar thoughts myself, of course.

“It’s not a bad idea, but the rest of the family will be watching.”

I had to set a good example for my neighbor, Miss Hoshizaki, and Lady Elsa. I was the father in this setup, and it wouldn’t be right for me to stoop to something like that. Miss Hoshizaki in particular would probably be very cross. Besides, that kind of thing didn’t go over well these days. It was looked at the same way as scalping.

“Indeed, I expected you would reject such an idea.”

“I’ll keep it in mind as a last resort, though—only using videos I can get permission for, of course.”

If Ms. Futarishizuka won the contest, who knew what crazy request she’d make? I hoped it would be fine, but if she were to demand I ask Peeps to dispel her curse, who knew what chaos would erupt?

Well, if push comes to shove, I’ll just have to do it. It might be underhanded, but I needed views if I was going to stay out of last place.

That said, if she didn’t clinch the win, I wouldn’t have to bother. In that light, I figured my first step should be to identify everyone else’s accounts so I could keep an eye on the situation.

“If you are so inclined, I could use magic to change you into a dog or a cat. Then you could film yourself. Videos of charming animals accrue views relatively easily. You could perform a simple trick or two, and the views would come rolling in.”

Having the Starsage around was a big help. He was offering me a ton of great advice. If I was being honest, I would have loved to accept his offer.

“But doing that would probably infuriate Ms. Futarishizuka,” I pointed out.

“I have been forbidden from participating in the contest. However, transforming you does not break any rules.”

“I suppose that’s true, but still…”

Maybe it would be best to save that idea as my last resort. But would turning into an animal even work? I loved animals, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be one. I’d feel guilty saying that out loud, though. After all, that was exactly what had happened to Peeps.

“I guess the idea of becoming another creature scares me a little,” I explained.

“Yes, there is quite a lot of discomfort involved as one gets used to a new form.”

“There is? I guess I kind of figured.”

“But using magic can eliminate many of the inconveniences.”

“I see.”

Not much seemed to bother the Starsage, so if he said it was uncomfortable, that was probably a massive understatement. I’d casually accepted his suggestion, but now that I thought about it, it was quite a frightening proposal. I decided to shelve the idea for now.

Just then, we heard shouting from somewhere in the house. “Heeey! Food is ready!”

It was Ms. Futarishizuka. She must have decided it would be too much trouble to go to each person’s room and started yelling instead. This was a fixture of old houses like this. Back when everyone lived in them, you always knew when your neighbors were sitting down to dinner.

I wondered if modern families simply messaged one another on their smartphones. I’d been single a long time, so I didn’t have a good idea of what family dinnertime was like these days. That said, I felt pretty sure people didn’t yell through the walls like this anymore, or at least not very often.

“Why don’t we take a break for dinner?” suggested Peeps.

“Agreed.”

The distinguished sparrow fluttered up from the low table and perched on my shoulder. Once he was settled, we left the bedroom behind.

The entire family gathered in the living room for our shared meal.

Lady Elsa was cooking tonight. She’d volunteered for the job, insisting that those participating in the contest would be too busy. We’d taken a majority vote per family rules, and all of us had agreed to let her handle it.

I suspected she also wanted to make up for what had happened last time. No doubt she felt pretty bad about sending me and Futarishizuka on a wild trip with those herbs she’d brought from the otherworld. Today, she had used only ingredients from Earth—with nothing funny mixed in, of course.

A variety of dishes were piled atop the low table, fresh from the kitchen. The main course was beef stew; sides included marinated tomato and cucumber, as well as a spinach quiche. As for grains, we had a choice of rice or bread.

“Everything is delicious, Lady Elsa,” I said. “Thank you for cooking.”

“I didn’t do it alone, Sasaki. Prince Lewis kindly assisted me.”

“Nonsense, Elsa,” said the prince. “Why, you did most of the work! I only chopped a few vegetables and whatnot—and kept an eye on the pot.”

“Your words are more gracious than I deserve, Your Highness.”

Lady Elsa’s attitude toward the prince hadn’t changed. She seemed to view him almost like a god. It would take a lot more time for her to relax around him.

“I am in awe of your abilities,” said Peeps. “This meat is splendid—it practically melts on my tongue.”

“Go ahead and use all that flowery language,” chided Ms. Futarishizuka. “I know all you care about is whether there’s meat in something or not.”

“I will not deny my carnivorous desires, but I still admire the work that goes into preparing my food.”

The beef stew was chock full of tender meat, and Peeps was utterly delighted. He continued to peck away at it, blatantly ignoring the vegetables.

“The meat is so tender because the prince kept a constant watch over the pot, little bird.”

“I see. Then you have done fine work as well, Lewis.”

“While I am here, I must at least learn to prepare my own food.”

As everyone ate, the conversation consisted mostly of lavish praise for Lady Elsa’s and Prince Lewis’s efforts. To be frank, I was a bit distressed by how high the bar had been raised for the next person on dinner duty. I glanced at Miss Hoshizaki. She, too, looked humbled as she ate.

Once the compliments had died down, Ms. Futarishizuka spoke up, changing the topic. “I’m curious. How has the introduction of a new character gone?”

Her gaze was set on Peeps. As planned, the sparrow had made a video formally introducing Prince Lewis. Until today, Lady Elsa and Peeps had run their channel with just the two of them. But now, an attractive prince had appeared as if from nowhere and joined the fray. The video was simply meant to introduce him as a new regular member of the cast, and the Starsage had written the script and done all the filming and editing.

I’d gotten a look at the completed video myself. The content seemed relatively innocuous. It was just Lady Elsa and Peeps on either side of the prince, introducing him for a few minutes.

“We submitted it a little under an hour ago. I haven’t checked it since.”

“Really? Well, why don’t we have a little look-see at the response?”

At this, everyone started fiddling with their phones, and I opened the page as well. Peeps moved to my shoulder and peered at my screen.

The video was in the language of the otherworld, as always. Recently, however, they’d been adding translated Japanese captions on many of their videos—it wouldn’t have been possible to retain viewers in the long term if they were just talking in a language no one understood.

That said, the words they spoke and the translated text said entirely different things. It was all part of a cover-up to conceal the otherworld’s existence. For example, Peeps and Lady Elsa might discuss the weather that day, while the captions explained the channel’s future direction. Anyone trying to decipher the otherworld’s language would find themselves with an impossible task.

This time, the captions introduced Prince Lewis, but what they were actually discussing was the day’s dinner menu—the meal sitting in front of us right now. And the only ones who could possibly know that were the other members of our pretend family.

“Sasaki, are you seeing all the cringey comments on this video?” asked Miss Hoshizaki.

“It does seem there are some negative remarks causing a stir, yes.”

The view count was impeccable—even higher than that of their other recent videos. But Miss Hoshizaki was right; the comment section was a mess. Given the scale, I felt pretty comfortable calling it a firestorm.

Lady Elsa couldn’t read Japanese, so she wasn’t yet aware of what was going on. The same went for Prince Lewis. Only Peeps was capable of grasping the situation, and he hadn’t checked the site since uploading the video, so he probably hadn’t noticed, either.

“The appearance of the hot prince has transformed a bunch of gachikoi types into hard-core haters, eh?” said Ms. Futarishizuka.

“It seems that way,” I agreed.

The main topic in the comments was Prince Lewis. Specifically, people cursing him for being so attractive, demanding he stop standing next to Lady Elsa, claiming this was NTR, cursing him for being so attractive, demanding refunds for the red super chats they now regretted, asking why the uploader had felt the need to add a man to the cast, cursing him for being so attractive, cursing him for being muscular but lean, and so on and so forth. There were dozens of comments along those lines.

“Such loathing and disparagement,” said Type Twelve. “Were such words directed at me, I am not confident I could remain calm. Despite understanding the evolutionary process that brought humans to this point, it is still difficult to understand how these people can be of the same species as Mother.”

“I think you might want to consider developing a thicker skin,” suggested Ms. Futarishizuka.

I put the name of Peeps’s channel into a search engine and saw that news sites had already picked up the topic. Some articles were just pouring fuel on the flames, while others were trying to extinguish them. I assumed the latter probably had the bureau breathing down their necks.

“Wow, the internet sure is a scary place. You gonna be all right, partner?” Abaddon asked, turning to my neighbor.

“There’s fresh drama on the internet every week,” she replied. “Won’t everyone forget all about this in six months? You make it sound so important. But for most people, I think it’s just momentary entertainment.”

“But they turned loyal fans into enemies. Will that be all right?” asked Miss Hoshizaki.

“I don’t think any respectable fan would burn the palanquin they’re carrying.”

“I… I suppose not…”

My neighbor seemed to have nerves of steel. Miss Hoshizaki, on the other hand, was looking pretty worried. She was probably thinking back to when her profile picture was broadcast over the airwaves. Recently, she’d stopped wearing her suit and tie—the outfit in the photo—as often.

Lady Elsa seemed to guess the situation from our exchange and began to look nervous. “Have I committed a breach of etiquette, Sasaki?”

“No, nothing like that, Lady Elsa. You don’t need to worry.”

“Huh? But then why…?”

“The ones breaching etiquette are the ones on the other side of the internet, not you,” explained Ms. Futarishizuka.

Prince Lewis got up from his cushion and switched places so he could peer at Ms. Futarishizuka’s phone. “What is written here, Lady Futarishizuka?” he asked. “Would you be so kind as to explain it to me?”

“Some viewers suspect you of being in a romantic relationship with my other houseguest. Many fans of these kinds of videos develop unrequited feelings for the person on the screen—and now those people are getting a bit rowdy.”

“Ah. I suppose love affairs between men and women are the same wherever you go.” Prince Lewis gave a slight nod, seeming to understand.

Peeps had only introduced him to the internet and online streaming that very day, and yet he showed an immediate comprehension of Earth’s culture. He was clearly very intelligent—an average man like me could hardly compare.

Lady Elsa, on the other hand, was powerful. “Futarishizuka, in that case, we must only record proof that I am yet unpenetrated!” she cried.

“That would ruin all our efforts,” Ms. Futarishizuka replied. “You are never to do that, understand? Never.”

“B-but think of the problems I’m creating for Prince Lewis!”

“He’ll be fine, child. This is no big deal, so why don’t we settle down a bit, hmm?”

Even Ms. Futarishizuka was starting to panic. If Lady Elsa actually went through with a plan like that, it would be a worldwide scandal. The account she and Peeps had worked so hard to build up would be banned that very same day. I assumed Peeps, supremely tech savvy as he was, understood that and would stop her, however.

My attention naturally shifted to my beloved pet, still perched atop my shoulder. Soon, he began to give his own impressions of the situation.

“There are indeed many negative comments, but I see quite a few positive ones as well.”

“You probably hooked some female fans,” mused Ms. Futarishizuka.

They were right—in direct opposition to the haters, many comments actively supported the prince. From the wording, I got the impression most of them were written by women. Something of a ringside battle had broken out in the comment section.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

That day, after we wrap up our pretend family business, Abaddon and I go back home to the villa in Karuizawa we’re borrowing from Ms. Futarishizuka.

With dinner out of the way, I take a bath and change into my pajamas. At this point, all that’s left is to go to bed. I don’t have school tomorrow, so I can stay up later than usual, but I’m pretty worn out both mentally and physically, so I decide to turn in early.

One of the reasons for my exhaustion is the recent atmosphere at school; it’s been very awkward ever since the ski class, when Robot Girl destroyed everyone’s interpersonal relationships.

After being forced to come out about his sexual proclivities and relationships with women, Hayashida stopped coming to school. The girls all eye each other warily and act very unfriendly. Perhaps that’s why my classmates—both girls and boys—have increasingly been hanging around me. Just responding to them exhausts me.

My only solace is having regular conversations with my neighbor while we’re playing pretend family. But after lying down in bed, I start having trouble going to sleep.

A bunch of little things I don’t need to be thinking about now race through my mind, pulling me back from my fatigue-induced doze. When I’m in class, the clock seems to tick so slowly—but now it appears to be moving faster every time I look at it, bringing me ever closer to morning.

After I toss and turn countless times, Abaddon finally asks, “Can’t relax?”

I’ll ignore him, I think, I’ll pretend I’m asleep. I turn in bed, putting my back to where he floats at my bedside. Then I start breathing a little louder to make it sound like I’m asleep. I want him to stop talking to me.

But Abaddon just drifts over to the other side of my bed so I’m facing him again.

“You’ve been rolling around for almost two hours now, you know.”

“……”

He reminds me of a dog clinging to his master. He’s usually sarcastic, but he turns serious at the oddest times. He probably considers maintaining his Disciple’s health to be part of his job. All for the sake of our success in the proxy war, I’m sure.

“Anything bothering you?”

“Yes, so please be quiet.”

“Hey, you can talk to me about it, if you want.”

I open my eyes and look at Abaddon, who is floating right in front of me. He has a hand to his chest and a smile on his face. It’s enough to make him look like a cute little prince, but I know what he truly is.

“No, thank you.”

“Worried about the view-count contest?”

“……”

It feels like losing to simply nod and agree, but he’s right.

Everyone else is approaching the contest seriously, even Makeup. I can already picture it—a future where I wind up dead last. And if things don’t change, that’s just what will happen.

While I don’t stand to lose much for getting last place, I worry about what will happen if Makeup wins and my neighbor has to do whatever she says. When I consider that, I feel sleep slip even further away. And when I fantasize about winning, I’m wide awake again.

“I’m actually surprised. I didn’t realize you cared so much about the pretend family’s little events.”

“I’m not sure I’d say I care. But it’s hard to ignore when I’m constantly being reminded. Besides, haven’t you ever started thinking about something dumb right before falling asleep?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Humans and demons are pretty different.”

There was a period of time in early elementary school when a vague fear of death would always settle over me a few minutes after getting into bed. It used to really upset me. I’ve outgrown that feeling, but I can’t help wondering if my current problem is rooted in the very same thing. Then, like now, problems that seem trivial during the day suddenly feel oddly dire.

“If you really can’t sleep, you could try getting up and reading a book.

“…I guess.”

I hate agreeing to Abaddon’s suggestion so readily, but tossing and turning isn’t going to make me fall asleep, so I just nod and get out of bed. Just then, I hear buzzing from my bedside. The timing almost feels intentional.

My phone, set on my nightstand, is vibrating. I check the screen and see a message from the youngest daughter: Elder sister, may I intrude?

“A message? It’s pretty late. Who is it from?” asks Abaddon, peering at the screen from behind me.

“The youngest daughter wants to schedule an appointment with me, apparently.”

According to family rule number seven, we must respect one another’s private time when we’re not playing pretend family. Breaking that rule is grounds for punishment, as stated in rule number eight. Two strikes and you’re out. Robot Girl already has one strike on her record—which is probably why she wanted to check with me before barging in.

“What are you going to do?” asks Abaddon.

“If there’s some sort of problem, I’d like to know. She’s not as close with my neighbor and Futarishizuka. If I can get a handle on the situation, chances are good I can help them all out.”

“Yep! I agree!”

As I reply to Abaddon, I shoot back a message saying I don’t mind.

Seconds after I press SEND, I hear knocking at my window. The timing of her response is so perfect, I feel myself tense. I’m in my bed with all the lights out as the sound of knocking echoes through the silent room—it’s just like a scene out of a horror movie. A shiver runs down my spine.

“Is that her?”

“……”

I get out of bed and open the curtains. Robot Girl is outside. She’s standing stiffly upright, like always.

I slide open the window and ask, “What’s the matter? Why are you here so late at night?”

“Did you pick up something on your mechanical life-form sensors?”

“Elder Brother, such apprehensions are unnecessary. I have visited you and Elder Sister with regard to another matter.”

Robot Girl looks the same as always, wearing the same outfit she’d had on back at the house in the UFO. Behind her, it’s pitch-black, save for the entrance of her terminal, a single light floating dimly in the middle of the villa’s expansive yard. The rest of the vehicle is hidden with advanced camouflage technology. The whole scene is like something out of a fantasy movie, especially considering Robot Girl’s inhuman beauty.

“Is there something I can do for you, then?” I ask.

“I would like to assist you.”

“Um, with what?”

“Elder Sister, you kept the promise we made and helped me transfer into your school. While my time there ended in failure, I would like to thank you for what you did for me.”

Back when we visited that amusement park as part of our pretend family activities, Futarishizuka explained to Robot Girl that everyone needs to contribute to maintain a happy family. I suspected that lesson was affecting her attitude now. Just as you might expect from a mechanical life-form, she always faithfully put what she learned into action.

“But what do you want to help me with?” I ask.

“I thought you might be struggling with the view-count contest.”

“Well, I guess I can’t deny that.”

“Then I have a proposition for you,” she says from outside the window.

Her face is blank, as usual, and it makes her look somewhat unfriendly in the dim light. That said, I feel some positive emotion in the way she pauses before continuing—perhaps kindness or consideration.

“I think you should become a VTuber.”

“Oh. That’s unexpected.” What a ludicrous suggestion. Where did she come up with such an idea? “Could I ask the reason, maybe?”

“I concluded that you would be resistant to exposing your appearance and living environment because of your association with the proxy war. VTubers are able to stream without revealing such information, and such activities also tend to get lots of views.”

“I see what you’re saying, but…”

I was familiar with the term VTuber. One such video had made its way onto my timeline while I was using a school computer to track my neighbor’s social media account. They seemed to be people who took on the guise of two-dimensional characters and used their videos as a kind of role-playing activity.

To be honest, I don’t get what’s so interesting about them. Regardless, they appear to be taking root in Japan’s culture and proving to be more than just a transient fad. Robot Girl is right, it’s not a bad choice for getting views. As long as I can play the part, that is.

“But don’t you need a hefty initial investment to become a VTuber?” Abaddon points out. “We’re already freeloading, and we don’t want to inconvenience the family any further.”

“You seem to know a lot about this, Abaddon,” I remark.

“Yep. If you didn’t notice, I’m a hardworking, studious demon.”

He’s always reminding me of how much work he puts into studying. Is he fishing for a compliment? Surely not, right?

“That is how I would like to repay my debt to you, Elder Sister.”

“You mean you’ll help me with becoming a VTuber?

“Your conjecture is correct. I will prepare all the necessities.”

If her proposal had involved asking for Futarishizuka’s help, I would have refused outright. I can’t keep depending on her for everything. But if the mechanical life-form is the one offering to help, it shouldn’t cause the family any trouble, and I can’t think of any real disadvantages.

“May I assist you, Elder Sister?” Robot Girl asks, staring straight at me.

“Hmm…”

She’s always blunt, but that makes it clear she doesn’t have any ulterior motives. That and her gestures, which remind me of a small animal, make me want to protect her. I suspect that’s how she won over all the boys in our class.

In this situation, she really doesn’t stand to gain anything from deceiving us. She isn’t capable of lying, either, so I’m certain she’s offering this assistance with no strings attached. And in that case, how can I turn her down?

More importantly, if I don’t do something fast, I’ll definitely lose this contest.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to have your help,” I say.

“That is the response I have been waiting for.”

“But are you sure this is allowed?”

“There is no rule prohibiting contestants from helping other family members.”

She’s right—co-op play isn’t forbidden. The only thing we’re not allowed to do is use Blondie and the talking sparrow’s popularity to get more views. There shouldn’t be any issue accepting Robot Girl’s help as long as I make the videos myself.

“Okay, but are you sure you don’t want to help out your mom first?”

“Mother has come up with an idea on her own, so I have decided to wait and see how it goes.”

“Oh.”

I remember Makeup saying something along those lines to Futarishizuka during dinner—about how “currently enrolled high school girls have their ways.” She looked really proud of herself. The whole thing gives me a bad feeling. Is it just my imagination? But as long as she doesn’t bother my neighbor, I don’t care what she does.

“To be truthful, the youngest daughter wishes for Grandmother to suffer the indignity of last place.”

“Right. So that’s your motive.”

“It is one of my motives. But please believe me when I say I truly wish to help you.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“As I thought, you are just as kind as Mother. This has shown me once again how wonderful a family can be.”

The only problem with this plan is that I know pretty much nothing about what a VTuber is or what they do.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

The next day, Abaddon and I find ourselves surrounded by a variety of machines and devices.

Robot Girl carried them in, explaining that they were all necessary items for starting out as a VTuber. She showed up first thing in the morning and worked swiftly and efficiently, just like a professional mover.

Some of the items I recognize, like the laptop, camera, microphone, monitor, and speaker. Others I’ve never seen before, like the motion-capture device and audio interface. They all look very high-tech. By the time Robot Girl is done, the house’s spare room has been transformed into a dedicated recording studio.

Not only does she move in all the materials, she sets them up, too. When I ask her where she stole it from, she tells me she manufactured it all herself. Apparently, she did it at her factory on the moon’s surface, just like with the translators we use to talk to Blondie. The moon feels so much closer these days.

Apparently, all of the devices are compatible with those in use on Earth but are far more advanced than anything currently on the market. The laptop, for instance, looks at first glance like an ordinary computer you’d find at an electronics store. Its processing power, however, is greater than the sum total of every other computer on the planet. Robot Girl has set it atop a desk in the corner, and when I try to use it, I find it works exactly the same as the ones in the computer room at school, right down to the OS. Mechanical life-forms really are something else.

“Not even a day has passed, and everything is accounted for,” says Abaddon as we look over the equipment.

“I’m just as shocked as you are, Abaddon.”

“Is what you did at school really worth all this?”

“If I get another opportunity, I might try to get a little closer to the younger sister.”

I had no idea she would provide me with such a complete setup. In no time at all, we had a space that looked like something a big company might spend ten million, or even a hundred million yen putting together.

“I wonder what would happen to your self-esteem if you wound up in last place with all this.”

“If that happens, you won’t get out unscathed, either.”

“Huh? Wait, I’m included?”

“That’s what we agreed on when we started, remember?”

“Then I guess I gotta roll up my sleeves and get to work!”

Robot Girl is even providing top-class follow-up service. She says she will be constantly monitoring the system, and that if any problems arise, she’ll access the network of devices remotely and get things working again in short order.

What’s more, the setup is extremely beginner friendly. If I say what I want to do out loud, a display will appear in midair and show me how to do it. And if I still don’t understand, Robot Girl will come in person to teach me.

Abaddon is right. Everything really is accounted for. The downside is that Robot Girl will know about all our videos. Then again, there’s no harm in that this time, so I decide to leave everything in her hands.

“What was the thought behind this 3D model design?” Abaddon asks.

“I was going for a generic main heroine-type girl—the kind you’d find in anime and manga made for guys. I figured it would be bad if I tried to do something overly original. Do you see anything wrong with it, as a demon?”

The front-facing character—said to be the very core of a VTuber—has already been prepared for me. Robot Girl and I sat in front of the laptop and worked together to model it a little while ago. The word “model” makes the process sound awfully technical, but all I did was answer her questions. She asked me about facial features, hairstyles, and clothing, and the model changed by itself to reflect my answers. After several rounds of questions, we settled on the current design.

“Not exactly. I was just wondering if maybe it was a little…aspirational.”

“I don’t really know what I’m ‘aspiring’ to, to be honest.”

“I guess that’s why you’re still keeping your distance from him, huh?”

“Yes, and if you understand, I wish you’d help me a little more with gathering intel.”

As Abaddon pointed out so sarcastically, the finished 3D model looks nothing like me. The virtual character’s most striking attribute is her long, straight, glossy hair. She wears bright colors, and she has fair skin and big round eyes. She’s beautiful, with well-balanced features.

With her affable, natural smile, she reminds me of an honors student who is kind to everyone in class, both boys and girls. Her tie is properly fastened at her neckline, and she wears a blazer that suits her well. Her appearance absolutely oozes sunshine and rainbows.

“People seem to like girls who look like this. From what I’ve seen, they’re often main characters in popular anime and manga, from past classics to big new shows.”

“I see. A standard beauty, then!”

“Exactly.”

Once Robot Girl finished her work, she immediately took off. I asked if she wanted to stay for a cup of tea, but she exercised a surprising amount of self-control and said she had other things to do. Now the two of us feel even more indebted to her. Of course, it’s always possible that was her aim.

“Did you give the model a name?”

“I intend to choose between Misaki, Moe, Ayano, and Yuuka.”

“Those are very specific. And you had them loaded and ready to go. I’m curious why.”

“Apparently, seventy percent of VTuber viewers are between the ages of ten and forty.”

“Ah, so this part of human culture is geared toward younger people! But what does that have to do with her name?”

“Out of that seventy percent, most monetary contributions come from financially stable men in their midtwenties to thirties. If I’m going to target them specifically, I think using a common female name from their age group will go a long way in gaining their affection.”

“Wow. That’s even sneakier than I imagined. Count me impressed!”

“It’s not being sneaky. It’s marketing, got it? I found out which baby names were most popular during the relevant years, then chose ones that aren’t too average, but also aren’t used by any currently famous VTubers.”

“From the design to the name—seems like everything is consistent.”

“Which name do you like best?”

“Huh? You want me to choose?”

“If you don’t have an opinion, I’ll go with Misaki. That was the most popular baby name at the time.”

“I mean, why not? This ‘marketing’ of yours suggests it’s the best choice, right? But that’s just the first name. You still need a last name. How are you going to pick that? Will you go for something familiar again?”

“If I did that, she’d be named Misaki Satou.”

“Oh, I just had a thought. If you pick something too common, won’t your page get buried in search results? If you’re aiming for views based on name recognition, that might prove fatal.”

“You’re pretty sharp.”

“So you really don’t have anything in mind?”

“To be honest, I figured it didn’t really matter. But I just changed my mind. The younger sister did a surprisingly good job of getting me all this equipment, so I’m thinking I should put in some real effort.”

“Then why not go with something especially unusual this time?”

“Understood. I’ll do a search for the rarest last names in Japan.”

I open a browser window on my phone and type in a few search terms—“last name,” “rarest,” and “Japan.” The info I’m looking for comes up right away. Rare names are apparently famous for being rare, and a lot of sites have info on them. But…

No, this isn’t going to work.

“I figured it out, Abaddon.”

“Really? That took you almost no time at all…”

“Her name will be Misaki Saemonsaburou.”

“Oh that’s quite…idiosyncratic. Excessively so, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, that one’s definitely out. It doesn’t roll off the tongue at all.”

Apologies to anyone from the Saemonsaburou family, but I simply can’t use that name for our product. I want something a little easier to say—a name that’s catchy, with a ring to it. Especially if it will add to the 3D model’s character.

“Well, why don’t we look at the model and think of something that fits?”

“You mean base it on what she looks like?”

Going by appearance, she seems sweet and cute. I’m not sure she’s the sort I’d feel comfortable speaking frankly to, but she’s definitely the type to have a lot of friends. She can probably move nimbly about the classroom, always staying one of the popular kids.

“She seems like a bright, friendly extrovert, so how about Misaki Hanano?” In Japanese, Hanano means “field of flowers.”

“That fits her personality to a tee! I guess her big keyword would be ‘flower’ then, right?”

“I think we can move things in that direction, yes.”

Even her name feels like a scheme. The whole thing is awfully calculating. But I suppose I’m the one who suggested it.

“Now that we have a name, let’s move on to her age, likes, and hobbies.”

“For someone who doesn’t know the first thing about VTubers, you sure have a solid game plan.”

“I did some online research about how to become one, and I’m just following the steps. Normally, you’re supposed to decide on a personality—and a name, obviously—before you even commission the 3D model.”

“Does that mean you have an idea about what kind of videos you want to make?”

“The how-to site I found suggested I start out with a character introduction.”

“Oh, so that’s why you need to figure out her age and hobbies in advance!”

“That’s right.”

Abaddon and I go down the list, deciding on a personality for the 3D model. But even coming up with a name was difficult, and it takes quite a bit of effort to pick her hobbies, likes, and quirks. A little under an hour passes before we finish filling everything in.

Misaki Hanano is sixteen years old and attending high school. Her interests include watching movies, reading books, and gardening. She likes pretty flowers, sweets, dogs, and cats. She dislikes crowds, violent people, and dirty jokes. Her dream for the future is to get married to a wonderful man and open a flower shop.

In short, she’s filth. Utterly magnificent filth.

All of this is the result of pushing the “flower” keyword to the forefront.

“Well, now we have a character whose likes and interests are all sweet, but I’m beginning to find her appearance a little drab. Simplicity isn’t bad, but I think we could go for a little extra appeal.”

“Yes, I agree,” I say, turning to look at one of the devices in the room.

According to the manufacturer, I can use vocal commands to communicate with the equipment. I lock my eyes on one of the many microphones and cameras scattered about the room and focus on projecting my voice toward whatever is on the other side.

“Excuse me. Would you be able to add decorations to the 3D model’s head? Like a flower clip? And if possible, could you add flower accessories to any extra space on her hands and legs?”

In response to my request, the 3D model on the screen begins to change. A hair clip shaped like a bunch of flowers appears in her hair. Then a schoolbag with another flower-themed accessory shows up out of nowhere to hang by her legs. Finally, a smaller flower badge is added to her chest.

While this kind of flower mania would be cringeworthy in real life, it’s tolerable on a 3D model. In fact, it seems perfectly natural. Mechanical life-forms have a sharper aesthetic sense than I’d imagined.

“Wow! Now that’s something.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

The 3D model on the screen gives a little bow in response. I figure the gesture is meant to tell me that the equipment is still listening. Once again, I’m shocked by how quickly it’s made the adjustments.

The model is perfect now, visually speaking. I think she’ll work well as a sort of flower fairy.

“But are you sure you can fully become this character?” asks Abaddon. “She’s very charming.”

“……”

His casual remark leaves me speechless. He’s right, I think.

“What’s wrong? You look completely flabbergasted. Like a pigeon hit with a pea shooter.”

“No, I don’t. It’s nothing.”

“Or wait, people use automatic rifles these days, right?”

“Stop. I feel bad for the pigeon.”

I’d decided on a persona based solely on prospective viewer popularity, but she’s no more than a puppet. Someone has to slip into her shoes and give her a voice. I bet Robot Girl could handle even that using her super-science, but then I wouldn’t be doing anything. But can I really bring such a bright, sunny character to life?

“Don’t tell me you forgot you’d have to speak through her.”

“I was so focused on the marketing side that I overlooked a rather important detail.”

“Is that right? I thought for sure she was a manifestation of your desire to change yourself.”

“……”

I was completely preoccupied with getting views and totally forgot about my utter lack of social skills. But maybe it’ll work out once I get started. VTubers are a dime a dozen. I just have to find another bright, cheerful character and do what they do. I mean, I can hardly back down now and ask to start over from scratch. That said, everyone seems to think I’m gloomy—even I agree.

Just as my heart rate is starting to pick up, Robot Girl’s voice echoes through the room.

“Elder Sister, Elder Brother, today is a day off, but the family is gathering at home.”

The voice comes from the laptop’s speaker. She must be using the microphones and cameras to monitor our location and chose to contact us this way instead of using the usual messaging app.

“I would like to invite both of you to join. If you wish, I can pick you up.”

“Is my neighbor there, too?”

“Your intuition is correct, Elder Sister. Father is indeed present.”

“Okay. Then I’d like to come with you, if that’s all right.”

“Acknowledged. I will be there momentarily.”

We’ve created the model, so I suppose that’s that. I’ll just have to do my best so as not to waste the younger sister’s show of kindness.

The following day was a holiday. That usually meant a hiatus for our pretend family, since it was technically part of our work. Barring any unreasonable requests from our boss, we could use that as an excuse to secure some private time for ourselves. Ms. Futarishizuka and me aside, Miss Hoshizaki lived with her little sister, so Type Twelve couldn’t ask her to give up any additional time.

Despite this, Ms. Futarishizuka’s contest was still on my mind. I sent her a casual message on our usual chat app asking what her plan was for the day, and she said she was going up to the UFO to set up some streaming equipment in the yard’s prefab shed—essentially working on the weekend. I was thunderstruck.

Knowing what she was up to, I couldn’t bring myself to spend the day relaxing, either; my legs moved of their own accord. Using Peeps’s teleportation magic, we left our Tokyo hotel and warped to the Karuizawa villa. There, we asked Type Twelve to bring us to the UFO.

The Starsage’s magic could probably have warped us straight there, but I didn’t want to accidentally set off some kind of defense system by heading in without the owner’s express permission. Once we arrived at the Japanese-style house, we found Ms. Futarishizuka in the yard, going back and forth between the shed and the main building.

“You’re here, too, eh?” she asked.

“I had nothing else to do, so yes.”

“But what strange wind brought you here? Today ought to be a day of rest.”

She was carrying a reel of electric cable in her arms. It wasn’t just a retractable extension cord for home use—it was clearly professional grade, intended for cutting up and modifying. A stepladder was leaning against the side of the shed, leading to a switchboard with the cover removed.

She had a tool belt over her kimono, too—a very eccentric look. Apparently, she’d been running electricity to the shed on her own. I supposed there were several electric poles in the neighborhood.

“Well, I’m the one who suggested this little contest, after all. I need to set a good example for the family, don’t I? And so I admirably gave up my holiday to attend to some pressing matters.”

“So there’s actually electricity running through the poles around here?”

“I’d assumed they were just for decoration, too. But I asked the robot girl, and she told me they’re packing six thousand six hundred volts and use standard three-phase power. The transformer’s the real deal, too. It delivers one hundred, two hundred volts right to the house.”

“That’s, um, very elaborate…”

Type Twelve had truly thought of everything when updating our home environment. Once again, I could feel her passion for our pretend family. A mechanical life-form would never need equipment like this. I felt a bit strange imagining her silently manufacturing all of it up on the moon and in other places beyond humanity’s reach.

“Won’t she be cross if you fiddle with things without permission?”

“Oh, I have permission.”

“Very well, then…”

“Back when I was fooling around with radios, I made my own base station. To do that, I put in a bit of effort and got certified as a class-three electrician. There’s no reason to this time, but I can even tap into a Tokyo Electric power pole with a transformer if I need to.”

“Doing electrical work is one thing, but isn’t a class-three cert going a little far for a hobby?”

“You think? You’d be surprised how many old folks get certifications like that just for pursuing their interests. When you learn about new things—even just things on your street—it makes you see the world a little differently. There are plenty of old folks who like that sort of thing.”

“I guess I didn’t realize.”

Ms. Futarishizuka had been ramping up the sexual harassment lately, so this sudden bout of seriousness was really throwing me. It was kind of frustrating. What next? Would she tell me she’d passed the bar exam or had a medical license? It didn’t seem that far-fetched.

“I am incredibly reluctant to agree with anything you say, but on this point, we are of one mind. Learning new things changes one’s viewpoint. And that isn’t limited to the elderly—any who value learning will surely continue until they die.”

“Well, well, little sparrow. Finally softening up to me?”

“However, whether someone has the intellect to take in what they learn is another matter.”

Sparks exploded between the sparrow and my coworker. I ignored them and took a look around.

That was when I noticed the shed’s sliding door was completely open. Inside, I could see new equipment littering the floor, as though Ms. Futarishizuka had simply shoved it all in and left it. There was a heavy-looking desktop computer tower, a large curved monitor, and a powered sitting-standing desk. All of it looked pretty expensive. It was a stark contrast to my single laptop.

“Is that your recording equipment? There sure is a lot of it,” I said, disrupting the threatening mood and changing the topic.

Ms. Futarishizuka replied immediately. “Curious, are we? I thought you might be. Boys will be boys.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s a mighty gaming machine of my own creation, made with parts handpicked from shops in Akiba!” she declared with enthusiasm, puffing out her chest.

The tower was pretty big, and it had a glass cover on the side, allowing you to see its innards. The well-organized rigid tubes for liquid cooling that looped past the central processor and graphics card spoke to her wealth of experience building computers.

“Is your plan to stream video games?” I asked.

“It is indeed. It’s a genre you can excel in based on gaming skill alone, you see. Too good an opportunity to pass up.”

Just like with music, there was always a demand for gaming streams. And depending on your skill, it was very possible to go viral. I’d considered the idea myself at first, but I’d given up on it; not only was I a poor conversationalist, I didn’t have any gaming skills to speak of.

“I see. Considering the two-week deadline, that does seem like the perfect plan.”

“Exactly. Plus, my charming, girlish voice will be like giving a metal club to an oni, or wings to a tiger—it’ll really clinch the deal. I can already see the red super chats flying in as I pull off a bunch of godlike plays in quick succession.”

“You’re a real materialist, you know that?”

I knew how often she’d searched her own name after her debut as the Masked Sailor. Maybe she was actually quite hungry for external approval.

“Besides, I’ve always wanted to try streaming video games! Some people are only good at chatting away and are total crap at gaming, and yet they still have tons of fans. When I see that, it really gets me hot under the collar.”

“I mean, I guess I understand the sentiment.”

Considering how much she loved video games, it made sense she’d have a lot of opinions about them. Maybe this was less approval-seeking and more a rebellion against society.

“Moving along, the world of DIY computers has grown quite desolate recently. You used to be able to get parts right in Shinjuku. But now you can barely find them outside of Akiba. For someone who wants to get out-of-the-box failures and compatibility issues resolved in a matter of seconds, there’s really nothing like a good, old-fashioned brick-and-mortar store.”

“Yeah, it does seem like there’s a lot fewer people these days who are serious about computers.”

As the two of us stood in the yard trading small talk, Miss Hoshizaki arrived. Type Twelve was with her.

They’d just turned off the lane and entered through the rough break in the yard’s block wall that served as an entrance.

“Huh?” Our senior coworker gazed at us, perplexed. “I didn’t know you two were here, too.”

“Hello, Miss Hoshizaki,” I replied.

“I see you have no problem leaving your sister behind,” remarked Ms. Futarishizuka. “She must be off from school today.”

“She said she was going out with friends, so I decided to spend my day here. There are too many distractions at home. This way, I can focus on recording my videos. All I need is my smartphone, after all.”

“Oh? Then what is that huge travel bag for?”

Miss Hoshizaki had a large Boston bag hanging from her arm. And for some reason, she was in her school uniform, despite it not being a school day. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, either, opting instead for her usual glasses. Of course, students often walked around in their uniforms even on the weekend these days. Maybe I was just overthinking it.

“That’s a secret. Speaking of, you’re dressed rather strangely. Are you doing electric work?”

“Sure am. And if any of you would like more outlets in your room, I suppose I could swing by on my way through.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass. I brought an extension cord from home.”

“My, aren’t you well-prepared.”

“Well, I want to get at least one video uploaded by the end of the day.”

Just as she’d said last time we met, Miss Hoshizaki seemed to have struck upon some juicy idea. I listened to her triumphant tone and began to grow anxious. I was now in quite a fix. It seemed I’d already been left in the dust.

Before long, my neighbor and Abaddon joined us, their faces popping out from behind the block wall. Abaddon was floating at my neighbor’s side, as usual.

“Hello, mister.”

“Oh, you’re right. Everyone really is here.”

They don’t seem surprised to see us. From Abaddon’s comment, it appears they already knew we were gathering. I hoped they hadn’t felt compelled because of my decision.

“You have the day off from school, right?” I said. “Are you sure you want to spend it here?”

“I didn’t have anything else to do, so I figured I would come work on my video. I don’t have to be anywhere in particular to think up a script. It looks like everyone else had the same idea, huh?” She glanced at the under-construction shed and at Miss Hoshizaki’s travel bag—exactly what we’d just been talking about.

“Hey, now. Don’t leak any intel on our video, even if it’s just small talk.”

“If that’s enough to lose us the contest, we probably didn’t have any chance to begin with.”

“A script?” said Miss Hoshizaki. “Are you making a video with a story to it?”

“Well, what’s your video going to be about?”

“Oh, that’s still a secret.”

“Then so is ours.”

My neighbor and Miss Hoshizaki were acting a little prickly. They’d never gotten along very well, and they soon broke off their conversation and turned their attention elsewhere.

My neighbor was now looking at the shed in the yard. She and Abaddon began to speculate about what Ms. Futarishizuka was up to; it went pretty much exactly how my earlier conversation with Peeps had gone. And Ms. Futarishizuka was only too happy to start talking about her hobby again.

“That’s a big computer,” my neighbor said. “Why is the side of it glass?”

“When it turns on, the parts inside light up in a rainbow of colors.”

“Oh, I see. You can monitor the inside by looking at the color of the lights!”

“Not exactly. They just light up.”

“There’s no other meaning to it?”

“What do you mean by that? It’s super cool! Doesn’t it get you excited just to look at it?”

“She says it’s super cool, Abaddon.”

“Mankind sometimes evolves in directions I can’t understand…”

Maybe I could give video game streaming a shot, too. I thought of a few titles I remembered playing in the past. If it was just a gameplay video, I could probably edit it myself. But depending on the game, it might take me a while just to play through it. I was glad I’d already made a video and had a grasp on how long editing would take.

Just then, I heard someone scampering around in the living room. A second later, Lady Elsa ran outside onto the veranda, dressed in an apron. “Um, Futarishizuka! Do you have a moment? I was wondering how much rice I should make for lunch… Huh?”

She spotted us and looked surprised for a moment. But her expression quickly changed into a smile.

“I didn’t know all of you were here, too!” she said. “I was in the kitchen the whole time.”

“Lady Elsa? And Prince Lewis. I didn’t realize you two were here, either,” I said.

“Well, of course they’re here,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “I couldn’t exactly leave them by themselves at the mansion.”

Prince Lewis was standing behind Lady Elsa. Just like before, he had on clothes from this world—and over that, he wore an apron just like Lady Elsa’s. The frilly design had quite an effect—it seemed like an odd choice but strangely suited him.

“By the looks of things, we’ll need about as much as dinner yesterday,” he remarked.

“Y-yes, sir!” agreed Lady Elsa. “I think so as well.”

(The Neighbor’s POV)

After watching a movie with our pretend family, Abaddon and I leave the UFO and head back to our house in Karuizawa. That night, I record my first-ever video as a VTuber and my first official submission for Futarishizuka’s view-count contest. As we planned, it introduces the fictional character known as Misaki Hanano.

Because we combed over the script so many times in advance, the actual recording goes by in a flash. We finish the video in a little under an hour.

The mechanical life-form’s super-science does all the editing for me; I imagine it would have been difficult for me to do by myself. I face my laptop and say out loud where I want captions or sound effects, and the program implements it all instantly.

I wonder if this counts as cheating. But it probably would have taken hours if I’d tried to do it myself, so I simply let the program take over.

When we’re done, I play the finished video.

“Hello. My name is Misaki Hanano. I’m a new VTuber starting today. I’d like to upload a video every day for a while. I hope you check them out.”

The 3D model of Misaki Hanano is putting on a one-woman show on my laptop, backgrounded by an endless field of flowers. The visuals are perfect. It looks great, even compared to the work of a professional. In fact, if you ask me, I think it’s even better. She has the appearance of an anime character, but the collision detection on everything from her hair to her clothing is precisely controlled, moving as though it were real.

The same goes for all the flowers blooming around her. Every so often, a gust of wind will blow through and ruffle the petals, so it looks like the real deal. Their stalks shift in tandem with the 3D model’s movements, and a few even get stepped on and ruined during the video.

“I’m sixteen years old and in high school. I like watching movies, reading, and gardening. I also like pretty flowers, sweets, and animals like dogs and cats. I don’t like crowds, violent people, or dirty jokes.”

The problem is her voice. Hearing it makes me feel sick.

“Abaddon, I know I asked this already, but do I really sound like that when I talk?”

“You sure do! That’s your voice! I know what I’m talking about. I listen to you every day.”

“Are you sure you’re not lying? It sounds like a complete stranger to me. Maybe there’s some kind of mistake. I’m certain my voice is a little more high-pitched than that.”

“How many times are you going to ask me the same question? I think this is number five.”

“It’s just…”

Abaddon sighs as he speaks, clearly annoyed. I guess I have forgotten how many times I’ve asked. But I can’t help it. It just doesn’t make any sense.

Even worse, the voice I’m hearing is supremely creepy. It makes me want to tell the speaker to enunciate, and yet at the same time warn them to stop getting so carried away.

All right, I’ll be honest: Misaki Hanano sounds like a true introvert. Like the gloomiest loner you can imagine.

Everything about this is embarrassing, and the voice only makes it all several times worse. Up until now, I’d felt the tiniest sense of accomplishment. But as soon as I heard my own voice, it all came crashing down. An urge to erase all the data and flee the room wells up inside me.

“I’m more worried about your lack of expression,” says Abaddon.

“You are?”

“Don’t you think she comes across as kind of unfriendly?”

“You really aren’t worried about the voice?”

“Ugh, drop it already.”

“I thought I remembered to smile here and there.”

“Smile? She looks like she’s sneering.”

“Don’t demons have any manners? Look, I’m doing the best I can.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding…”

Like her voice, I control Misaki’s movements. Motion-capture devices trace my every little gesture, from the movement of my fingers to the expression on my face—even down to when I blink—and reflect it on the 3D model. Because of the mechanical life-form’s super-science, it’s all absurdly precise.

But Abaddon has a point. Compared to how much my body is moving below the neck, my facial expressions do seem relatively subdued. I am still smiling, though, and using body language to convey my emotions. I think.

The sound of my voice through the microphone is still my primary concern.

“Hey, why don’t you record your voice, too, Abaddon?”

“Why would I do that?”

“We’re practically joined at the hip. Disciple and demon. I want you to feel what this is like.”

“I mean, sure. I guess I can.”

I set the 3D model to be linked to Abaddon, then have him read a few lines from the script. He stands in front of the microphone and puts on a show of indifference as he delivers Misaki Hanano’s introduction. It’s as if he’s saying, This is no problem for a demon. His pretentious act kind of irritates me.

But when he plays back his recorded voice…

“Wait, do I really sound like this? You didn’t do something to it, did you?”

“Understand now?”

“I heard there can be filters on devices like—”

“There aren’t any.”

“I’m pretty sure my voice is a little deeper than that!”

“Don’t worry. You’ve always sounded like a prepubescent boy.”

“Whaaat? Are you for real?”

“I can play it back again,” I suggest, resting my finger on the mouse pad. The cursor is hovering over the play button.

He sighs and shakes his head. “All right. I think I get where you’re coming from now. A little, anyway.”

“I’m happy to hear it. Mutual understanding is very important if we want to survive the death game.”

Seeing Abaddon flustered is a rare treat, and I begin to feel like all this was worth it. I’d like to play his voice recording for the whole pretend family while he’s forced to look on. I know it’ll feel great. I save the sound file to my phone.

My partner speaks up, probably guessing my thoughts. “Anyway, what now?” he asks, trying to change the subject. I can tell he’s talking about Misaki Hanano’s introduction.

“There’s nothing else I can do. Let’s upload this and go to sleep.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll like your voice a little more tomorrow!”

“I still don’t understand how a demon can be so optimistic.”

It’s already after midnight. For now, we’ll be doing our work late at night. I chose this time on purpose, hoping it would benefit us. Famous streamers are already vying for views during most other time slots. I don’t think there’s any space for a newbie to grab a slice of that pie.

I sit back down at my desk and upload the video. The process only takes a few minutes, and once I’m sure it’s up, I immediately close the laptop. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m staring at the submission page and someone leaves a mean comment about my gloomy voice.

I’ll check again tomorrow, when I wake up. There’s still plenty of time.

Telling myself that, I take a bath and get into bed.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

This is awful. I didn’t sleep a wink.

I tossed and turned, and the next thing I knew, the sky was starting to brighten. I feel like I’ve been having more sleepless nights lately, compared to when I lived with my mother.

My current environment is everything I could have wished for and more. So why can’t I sleep? I don’t understand myself. I thought I was made of sterner stuff than this.

“Maybe you should have just checked before going to bed.”

“Maybe. I’ll make that my policy from now on.”

“I wonder how your debut video is doing.”

“I doubt it has any comments. It probably doesn’t even have any views.”

It’s still early when Abaddon and I leave the bedroom and head into the studio. I haven’t even changed out of my pajamas. I can check the website on my smartphone, but the laptop has a bigger screen—that way Abaddon and I can both see it, and I won’t have to deal with him pestering me.

I decide to go back to bed after checking the video. It’s still the weekend, so I don’t have school; it won’t cause any problems if I go back to sleep, though I’ll regret having less time to talk to my neighbor.

With those thoughts in mind, I bring up the video. What have we here?

“Look, there are some comments.”

“The view count has gone up a whole digit!”

When I open up the page, the first thing I see are the numbers beneath the video. I start talking to Abaddon before I’ve even registered what I’m seeing. I wonder if this is how you feel when Santa Claus brings you presents for Christmas. One glance has me awfully excited.

The view count has gone from one to two digits. But once I read the comments, my mood begins to drop.

“The voice is just so unfortunate.” “You call yourself ‘Misaki Hanano’ with a voice like that? Talk about not living up to your name lmao.” “She’s indie, right? But she went 3D for her introduction?” “The model is super high-quality. Too bad the voice totally ruins it.” “Don’t need the one behind the curtain, just gimme the model.”

“Yikes. They’re really ganging up on you, huh?”

“……”

My tiny ray of hope dissipates instantly. It’s not that I wasn’t prepared for this—it’s just worse than I imagined. There isn’t even one positive comment; it’s all negative.

I couldn’t care less about criticism from complete strangers. But I do have another concern: What am I supposed to do now? The thing they don’t like is something I can’t change.

Maybe my neighbor hates my voice, too. Thinking about that makes my chest constrict.

“I think I’m going to have a hard time sleeping for a while.”

“Maybe you’re getting these comments because your 3D model is so good that the only thing they can pick on is your voice. At least, that’s what it seems like to me, looking at the criticism as a whole.”

Abaddon is being uncharacteristically nice. Maybe it’s because I made him listen to his little boy voice last night.

As we talk, a new comment comes in: “Everyone has really been laying into her, so I gave it a watch out of curiosity. But they’re right. She’s one of the gloomiest characters I’ve ever seen. The streamer must have genuine communication problems. She’ll probably regret this video forever.”

“……”

How could they bring themselves to spew such malice at a complete stranger? Can’t they imagine what it would feel like to read these comments? They’re being shockingly harsh. It’s this kind of frivolous cruelty that begins to erode the very rules of society and…

No, I’d better stop this tedious train of thought right here. They should all just jump off a cliff and die.

Propelled by a newfound sense of duty, I turn back to face the laptop.

“What are you doing now?”

“Just browsing.”

When I look at the commenters’ accounts, I find links to other social media sites. I don’t know what gender any of them are, but one of them seems to have found this video and spread the news to their friend group.

Checking the timestamps, I see that most of the comments were posted in the span of about an hour. I haven’t found every account, but my investigation so far points to this being the work of a specific group.

“Wow, you’re like a computer expert.”

“What? Anyone can do this stuff.”

“I don’t remember seeing a computer in your old apartment, though.”

“I used to use the computers at school for self-study.”

It was all to keep an eye on my neighbor’s social media and get a grasp on his everyday life. Finding his account based only on our conversations at my front door was backbreaking work. And then, after all that effort, he basically quit posting altogether. Checking his social media used to be one of my very few pleasures. Why did it have to fade away? As his fan, I was inconsolable.

“It looks like they shared my video on another social media site with a small group of friends,” I explain. “Without this sort of external action, I don’t think I’d have been able to get any views at all. In a way, just realizing that makes these comments worthwhile.”

“That’s what I like so much about you, partner. You know how to take a hit!”

“But I will remember the name of the account that gave me my very first comment.”

“And that dark nature makes you a perfect Disciple for a demon!”

“You will never be forgiven, @stickybrat.”

The deeper I dive, the more those on the other side of the screen begin to take shape. The outline is still vague, but even a complete stranger becomes someone real once I understand a bit of their background. I start to sense the edges of their personality.

“……”

Even the comments they directed at me begin to take on mass, and my emotional reaction sharpens. The more I think about them, the more I feel driven to defy these still-unknown haters.

“…Let’s record our next video, Abaddon.”

“Your sudden enthusiasm is making me anxious…”

“We don’t have a choice. We’re in this contest, for better or worse. Don’t you think it’s more productive to be enthusiastic? I think that will make Futarishizuka happier, too, since she organized this whole thing.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s based in anger or spite—I’ve found my motivation, and I’m going to use everything at my disposal to succeed.

“Starting now, I want to aim for three submissions per day—morning, noon, and evening.”

“Wasn’t the plan one video a day?”

“Haters still count for page views—and if they post comments, there’s a chance they’ll come back. It may not be totally aboveboard, but it would be a waste to let this chance slip by.”

“You’ve got a lot of willpower, you know that? I like it.”

“You don’t need to console me, Abaddon.”

“That really wasn’t my intention…”

And just like that, I decide to record several follow-up videos.

Since the mechanical life-form’s high-tech program handles all the editing, I just have to record myself talking and doing the motions, and the videos will be ready in the blink of an eye. I prepared several scripts yesterday, so I shouldn’t have to worry about tripping up in the middle.

With Abaddon as my adviser, the recording goes quickly. The next thing I know, I’m completely absorbed in the process, and I spend the entire day working on more videos.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

The next day is Monday. Despite my lack of sleep tormenting me, I go to school like always.

I maintain a facade of calm, but in the car on my way to school, the older gentleman who drives me asks if I’m feeling all right, which comes as a shock. What a professional, I think, impressed.

It’s a normal school day, or rather, what passes for normal these days. The awkward atmosphere Robot Girl left behind seems set to continue. The most popular students are paranoid, suspecting everyone, and there aren’t as many conversations as before.

Personally, I consider a quiet classroom a cause for celebration.

After eating lunch, I slip out of the room and behind the school building. No one else is around, so I seize the opportunity to pull out my smartphone and check the video submission site with Abaddon. Calling up the admin screen, I check the list of all our submitted videos. I can see the three from yesterday, my original introduction video, and the new one from this morning—a total of five. The number of views and comments for each are recorded to the side, allowing me to see everything together.

In chronological order, starting with my first video, the view and comment counts are as follows:

95 views, 7 comments.

60 views, 5 comments.

56 views, 4 comments.

40 views, 5 comments.

12 views, 3 comments.

Incidentally, my subscriber count is still zero.

“The same haters are still coming to comment. They even hit the one I had scheduled to go live this morning.”

“Maybe they’ve become fans,” suggests Abaddon.

“I think they’re just persistent. They didn’t subscribe, but they’ve been looking at the videos and posting comments for multiple days in a row. I get the feeling they’re not in a safe mental state.

“Yeah, we can’t discard that possibility,” says the demon as he peeks over my shoulder at the screen. He doesn’t sound worried at all.

Through our work the previous weekend, Abaddon has gained a broader understanding of modern video culture. He can now quickly grasp terms like “channel” and “subscribers.” He doesn’t act high-and-mighty all the time for nothing—he’s a pretty smart demon.

The haters’ recent comments read, “Still an amazing model and mo-cap, but the person inside is so gloomy it’s pathetic” and “Why not just restart as a downer introvert?”

“So what now?” asks Abaddon.

“Nothing. We upload our afternoon video. We recorded everything for today yesterday, so we’ll just stay quiet and keep uploading. Everyone in the contest is starting from square one, so maybe double-digit views will mean something down the line.”

“We should try to cleverly extract information during today’s pretend family time!”

“My thoughts exactly.”

From there, Abaddon and I discuss our strategy for our planned recording that night. The lunch break passes by in a flash. Then, once classes are over, it’s time to join our pretend family.

Back home, we meet up with my neighbor and everyone else, then Robot Girl ferries us to the UFO. In a little under an hour, dinner is prepared, and we all sit around the kotatsu in the living room to enjoy our evening meal.

The Japanese-style table is feeling a little cramped with the addition of the prince, who is supposedly an acquaintance of Blondie’s. Nevertheless, we all huddle together and enjoy our meal. If the magical girl shows up now, we’ll probably need to add a table. My neighbor is already trying to make himself smaller, out of consideration for everyone else, and I feel sorry for him.

A few minutes after we pick up our chopsticks, my neighbor turns to Futarishizuka and asks, “So, how is your let’s-play project going?” He must be curious about the contest’s outcome, too. The others shift their focus to the two of them, all seeming to share the sentiment.

“Oh, you want to know? Curious about how I’ve been getting along, are you?”

“Well, I’m not that curious.”

“I suppose we need a little progress report to keep the excitement going, eh? Since I’m the one who suggested it, I’ll reveal my account. I only uploaded my first video last night, though, so it won’t have many views,” she says, taking out her phone. She fiddles with it, and the TV in the living room switches from a variety show to the video submission website we’re using for the contest. When did she install the app on there?

Soon, we see the home page for a channel called Shizu’s Gaming Dojo. The top banner is an illustration of a cute young girl— one who looks nothing like Futarishizuka. The two-dimensional beauty wears an awfully provocative, alluring smile; she must be “Shizu.”

Just as we were told, the list of videos contains only a single submission. As far as I can tell, the thumbnail looks typical for a game stream. More striking is the number of views—it’s already over ten thousand.

“Spiffy header image, right?” she says. “I had an artist friend of mine make it for me.”

“Wait, that’s amazing,” says my neighbor, surprised. “It already has so many views!”

“Well, yes. I did sort of beat the national speedrun record.”

At that, Abaddon and I take a closer look at the screen. “Will you play it for us?” I ask.

“Oh, well, I suppose it’s time to unveil my godlike gaming abilities to the rest of the family.”

Despite her pompous attitude, Futarishizuka quickly plays the video. The big TV screen shows her playing a game. From the speakers, I hear both the game audio and her voice.

“I’m Shizu, a true gamer girl, and this is my channel! I’m going to do some speedruns of this rogue-like game, okay? I’ve never recorded myself before, including my voice, so I hope you enjoy this as if you’re actually with me. Now, let’s play!”

The voice, brimming with childlike enthusiasm, fills the room. My neighbor gives a start. “Wait. What’s going on?” he asks her nervously. “Whose voice is this? It sounds very strange.”

“What do you mean? It’s my playtime voice.”

It’s a lot higher-pitched than usual; this must be what people mean when they refer to “anime voices.” To be honest, it feels really out of place. This little child sounds nothing like Futarishizuka. It’s as if she’s a completely different person.

But when I consider that this is a game stream, it suddenly seems rather orthodox. A lot of streamers make a living off this sort of anime voice. Even female VTubers tend to use a similar tone and rhythm. I start to feel jealous, recalling how people dogpiled me for my gloomy voice.

“You’re not complaining about my voice, I hope?” says Futarishizuka.

“No, not at all,” my neighbor assures her. “It’s just so different from how you usually sound.”

“What? Don’t like my mesugaki persona?”

As we look at her in bewilderment, the video transitions to her starting the game. As she explained already, it’s a type called a rogue-like. Dungeons are created randomly, and you proceed through them one after another. I’ve seen VTubers playing similar games, so I just barely understand what they are.

“Oh, wowie! That’s a really strong weapon to get right at the start! Now I can one-shot all the mobs on the lower floors. Small fries, all of you. Come at me all at once if you dare! None of you stand a chance before Shizu. You’re about to be rust on my blade! W-wait—a rust trap?!”

The whole TV screen is taken up by the video game; you can’t see Futarishizuka’s face. It seems she isn’t using a face cam. Considering her background, I guess that makes sense. Instead, there’s a bust shot of the little girl from the header image in one corner. She makes little movements to show a range of emotions.

I’m not surprised, but I sense that she’s taken a lot of care editing her video. The fact that her anime voice makes her sound like a total stranger serves to perfectly mask her identity. If I saw this video out of context, I would have never realized it was her. In that sense, she’s killing two birds with one stone.

“I see you went for a cult classic,” my neighbor remarks.

“Games like these have a steady, eager fan base. Even if it’s a video made by some nobody, a punchy title will bring in viewers who want to go into the comment section and blast me with negativity.”

(The Neighbor’s POV)

Once pretend family time is over, Abaddon and I go back to our home in Karuizawa. We head straight for the recording studio in the guest room and start our strategy meeting in front of the laptop. We’re trying to figure out how we can win this view-count contest.

“Our views have really dropped off. Curious.”

“It’s probably because we’re not drawing in anyone new. Without a constant influx, subsequent videos naturally get fewer and fewer views. That’s why everyone is so desperate to advertise.”

“But it looks like we’re still getting comments.”

“I think that’s probably inevitable.”

The view and comment numbers on our videos are as follows:

120 views, 7 comments.

101 views, 6 comments.

86 views, 5 comments.

80 views, 6 comments.

77 views, 4 comments.

59 views, 4 comments.

41 views, 12 comments.

The newest video has an awful lot of comments. I check the posters’ accounts; they all belong to the same group that first found my channel and spread the word to their friends. The comments read: “Three updates in one day? How much free time does she have, lmao.” “She’s gotta be a NEET.” “Poor Misaki Hanano, she’ll never live up to her name.” “Her flower is never going to bloom, it already rotted at the root.” “Literally can’t stop laughing at how gloomy she sounds. She just can’t hide it.” “The visuals are still ridiculously high-quality, though.” “Isn’t the video editing on these super intricate?” “Could a single person really put out this much stuff?” “Maybe she just stole it all.” “But those motions are practically unreal.”

Once again, our video has become a topic among the members of their group, and they’re dominating the comment section. At this point, the video barely matters; they’re treating the comments as their own private forum.

Here and there, I see other users, seemingly unrelated to the group, making negative comments, too. Maybe seeing the others’ remarks diluted their sense of ethics. At any rate, I still can’t find a single positive opinion.

Such poor behavior. If this keeps up, I won’t be able to continue my activities as planned. My channel is completely at their mercy, and they’re treating it like a toy for their amusement.

I can’t let this go on, I think, firming my resolve.

If I continue as I have been, my channel will never be popular. And seeing how well Futarishizuka and Blondie are doing, and how confident Makeup is, I feel impatient and frustrated with my own failure. What’s more, I resent all this one-sided bullying.

It’s time.

“Abaddon, I’ve made a decision.”

“What is it?”

“Misaki Hanano will be retiring, effective today.”

“Are you going to stop uploading videos?”

“No, not at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s time to listen to the bullies.”

If I’m going to change tactics, I’d better do it quickly. The more time passes, the more effort it will take to make a major course correction. At this stage, I can still start over. In fact, you could call this a prime opportunity. Maybe I can even take advantage of the haters’ comments.

“Has all the negativity left you disheartened?”

“I’m not that delicate, Abaddon. It will take more than bullying from complete strangers to discourage me. I used to eat weeds to stave off starvation. This level of malice is nothing.”

“Your argument is extremely persuasive, but doesn’t it make you sad to admit that?”

“Aren’t you the one always calling me a depressing introvert?”

“Huh? Oh. Well, yeah… Um. If I hurt your feelings, I’ll apologize.”

“I wish you wouldn’t try to act nice. It creeps me out.”

“Then hurry up and tell me what the deal is.”

One moment he’s dejected, the next he’s in a huff. He’s probably just trying to hide his embarrassment, though—an unusual reaction for him.

I turn toward the laptop. This time, we’ll seize the initiative. If I don’t take risks, I’ll never get the views I need.

“The haters’ criticisms have all been very specific. So why not humor them? Effective marketing includes riding the waves of public opinion. Or at least, I think I read that somewhere.” I won’t let this end with my channel being a toy for haters. It’s time I showed them a thing or two. “The name ‘Misaki Hanano’ was too much for me to handle.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna reinvent your character with a different personality?”

“Exactly.”

First, I need to figure out a new name. I think for a bit, and one comes to me fairly easily.

“From now on, I will be called ‘Ochiba Kareki.’”

There’s a certain ring to it. I think it’s pretty good for something I came up with on the spot. The haters said I was a flower that withered before it could bloom, so I chose a first name meaning “fallen leaves” and a last name meaning “dead tree.”

“You came up with that a lot more quickly than the last one!”

“What are you trying to say, Abaddon?”

“Nothing at all!”

I’m well aware of what he’s implying. I’m a gloomy introvert, through and through.

Before, I wanted to hide my true nature and act like a sunnier character, but that was my first mistake. I’ll leave the role-play to professional actors; a newbie like me can’t pull it off. If I’m going to put on an act, I need to choose a role that will allow me to incorporate my authentic self.

“I won’t be able to stick with this model, either.”

“You want to change the design?”

“I’d like to adjust it, if we can get the younger sister to help.”

I bring up Misaki Hanano’s image on the screen and speak into thin air.

“Excuse me. I’d like to make some changes to my model. Would you be able to assist me?”

When I do, the model moves in response to my voice, holding up her arms in a big O shape to signal she’ll help. That settles the matter. I’m sure Robot Girl heard everything Abaddon and I were talking about through the room’s microphones, so she probably already knows what direction I want to go with.

“Thank you very much. To start…”

I don’t alter the base design at all, but I make adjustments in many areas. It feels a little like my character went all out to change her image when she entered high school, only to mess it up and get ostracized by her classmates. She failed to become the sunny extrovert she dreamed of, and now she’s a gloomy introvert. And so her polished pretense peels away, leaving behind only a painful, embarrassing memory.

Oh, that’s pretty good. I think I’ll make that her new background story.

“…Yes, that’s right. Can you make the bangs a little longer? Just enough to cover her eyes. And I’d like the expression to be more melancholy, to really show the contrast. Oh, I had a question about the moving parts in the model’s back. When she hunches over…”

“Ah, a miserable fate has befallen our lovely Miss Hanano.”

“Don’t be rude, Abaddon. This is what the market demands.”

My requests begin to steadily change the model’s appearance. Incredibly, the mechanical life-form’s high-tech program manages to accurately interpret my vague explanations as it makes various adjustments. This must be the result of her continuing efforts to learn about human culture. She’s working hard to understand us, gathering more information from the internet every day.

“Her hair is too bright. How about we say she was dyeing it before, and now it’s gone back to its natural black color? She can’t be bothered to get it cut, either, so it’s grown unnaturally long in certain places. I think that should work.”

I don’t know why, but as I look at her, I feel a certain affection. This feels right—as though the adjustments are clearing away all the things that were wrong about Misaki Hanano.

After a while, I say, “Okay, I think this is good. All that’s left is to do something about her flower accessories. I hate to ask, since I was the one who suggested them, but could you possibly get rid of—?”

“Elder Sister,” Robot Girl suddenly interrupts, her voice coming through the speaker; she sounds the same as always. “The younger sister finds this work a little upsetting.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve been making a lot of requests without considering how much work it must be.”

“It’s not that, Elder Sister.”

“Then what is it?”

“As a shut-in, I find that your negative emotions hit very close to home. I would like to encourage you to be more optimistic. In addition, this 3D model is blameless. I hope you will continue to cherish her for a long time to come.”

Mechanical life-forms can’t lie. This must have truly upset her.

But was I really being that negative? All I was doing was making adjustments to the model. I guess I got too excited about ripping away her sunny facade. Either way, I’d better apologize to Robot Girl.

“I’m very sorry. The work you do is so brilliant that I got a little carried away. I’ll try to be more optimistic like you said, so would you please keep helping me out until this is finished? I promise to cherish this new, improved version of the model.”

“Your high praise brings me joy. Understood. I will resume improving this 3D model. And I will remove the flower accessories as you requested.”

“Really sorry my partner’s asking so much of you. I’ll be sure to admonish her later.”

“Elder Brother, thank you for being so considerate of my sorrow.”

Seeing Abaddon so sincerely apologetic makes me feel a little guilty. Am I really that gloomy?

In any case, Misaki Hanano is soon reborn as Ochiba Kareki. Once we’re finished, Robot Girl leaves, pleading with me not to give up on life. Then the speakers go silent. I never dreamed she’d worry about me like that, so I’m not sure how to respond.

“Abaddon, I’d like to put the younger sister’s work to good use and record a new video before I go to bed. First, we’ll need another self-introduction. Since I’m switching out my model, I need to lock in the specifics.”

“If that’s what you want, then I have nothing to say. I’m just here to help you out.”

Still riding the excitement from redesigning my model, we start recording. Compared to when I was trying to be Misaki Hanano, this is far, far easier.

“Hello. I’m Ochiba Kareki. I apologize to anyone who came here looking for Misaki Hanano. She tried to change her image for her high school debut, but it didn’t work out, and now she’s a gloomy introvert. But she still wants to find her place in the world, so she decided to stay optimistic and keep working hard.”

Since the model’s appearance is so somber-looking, I don’t need to consciously try to make my voice cheerful. Everything goes much more pleasantly than I expected. It’s a walk in the park compared to recording for Misaki Hanano.

“I still dream of being truly bright and cheerful one day. And so I would like to continue my activities—not as Misaki Hanano, but asOchiba Kareki. First off, I would like to clear up all the lies Hanano told you, as well as retract her bland, uninteresting view of the world. I’ll start off with my hobbies…”

We make it through recording almost in one shot. I then remember to change my profile picture to the new 3D model.

Ochiba Kareki is sixteen years old and currently attending high school. She likes reading, browsing the internet, and gardening. She’s fond of quiet places, vegetables and mushrooms she’s raised herself, and edible wild plants. She hates crowds, loud classrooms, and gym class. In the future, she wants to be self-sufficient and move to a prefecture bordering the ocean.

It all comes very naturally to me. I’ve begun to take a genuine liking her. I get the impression I really will cherish her as I become the person in the costume, as it were.

“Kareki has the same basic appearance as Hanano and shares some of her likes, too. Are they supposed to be the same person?”

“Yes. I wanted to use her as part of this character’s history. Ochiba Kareki wants to bloom into Misaki Hanano one day. I figured if she had an easy-to-understand goal, viewers might feel a sense of purpose in watching her.

“Seems like her interests and preferences have done a complete flip-flop, though!”

“That’s why I put an explanation up front.”

“I wonder if you could phrase it in a slightly catchier way. One that has more consideration for the youngest daughter’s emotional well-being.”

“Maybe I should just say she’s the type to read books at her desk in class, even during breaks times.”

“Sounds like you’re introducing yourself, not her.”

“……”

I think it’s time to ignore this demon.

I upload the finished video, then close the laptop. I’ve done what I needed to, and now it’s time for bed. I get up and leave the room, paying my sarcastic partner no mind.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To take a bath.”

“You don’t want to watch the video you uploaded?”

Abaddon immediately floats into the air and follows me. He always waits in the changing room when I take a bath. One time, I suggested he join me. “I don’t mind, but you’d have to give me a reward,” was his smug reply. I never asked again, though I imagine he was just being considerate, in his own way. He’s never smelled bad, so it’s not really an issue.

“I’ll check it in the morning.”

“But what if you toss and turn all night again?”

“I have school tomorrow. If I don’t at least lie down and rest, class will be rough.”

I take a quick bath, then go into my room and climb into bed. For some reason—maybe because I finally just did what I wanted—I start to drift off almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. Maybe I was simply exhausted. Either way, I’m sound asleep before I know it.

I’ll have to thank Robot Girl again for indulging her elder sister.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

First thing in the morning, I head straight to the guest room, still wearing my pajamas. I open up the laptop and see the page for the video I uploaded the night before: Ochiba Kareki’s gloomy self-introduction.

Below the video is the number of times it’s been watched.

And that number, amazingly, is 53,012.

I take one look and exclaim, “We did it, Abaddon! I was right!”

“Wow, I guess things really can blow up overnight.”

I’m very pleased. I’m not quite as ecstatic as I was when I finally found my neighbor’s social media account after months of trying. But I’m about as happy as when I won rock-paper-scissors at lunch and scored an extra flan for dessert. Okay, maybe I’m not that happy. School lunches seem less pressing now that I have a steady supply of food and a roof over my head, but things were different back then.

At any rate, I’m feeling good.

“Hey, look at you. I almost never see you without some kind of sarcastic expression,” says Abaddon, as if he can read my mind.

“…Is that so?”

Ignoring him, I start checking the comments.

A significant percentage of people are making references to Misaki Hanano. They understand how we got here, and now they’re praising the Ochiba Kareki character. I figure that’s probably how the video got to 53,012 views.

“There was a girl in my class like Hanano who had a head full of flowers. A real idiot.” “Tbh, I prefer Kareki.” “What a difference from Hanano.” “Her depression is so real, it almost hurts.” “Hanano’s try-hard attitude was all foreshadowing.” “I hope this was intentional. Otherwise the people behind this channel must be really embarrassed.”

Suddenly curious, I type Ochiba Kareki’s name into a search engine. It seems we’re being talked about on an anonymous forum. I find a thread someone put up in the VTuber section making fun of our channel, and it has a ton of responses.

People on social media are talking about us, too. Not enough to trend, but the video’s URL is being posted all over, thanks to some accounts that like to follow new VTubers.

From there, blogs that compile news on this kind of topic put out articles summarizing the entire string of events. A gloomy VTuber, unable to fully sell her upbeat character model, has now switched her appearance. I assume a lot of the viewers came from those sites.

“They sure aren’t holding back in the comments.”

“Views are views. Let’s be content with them.”

“Omg, they changed the model instead of the person using it.” “I can’t believe they already redid the model. That was so fast. They’ve gotta have some crazy tech, right?” “The new model matches her depressing voice perfectly lmao.” “This model fits her way better.” “Can’t believe how natural she sounds.”

Given the context, I decide to take these comments as congratulatory.

They aren’t going to listen to me, no matter what I say, and it would probably take a lawsuit to shut them up for good. I can’t do that as a minor, and if it went to court, I’d have to reveal my identity—a lethal mistake for someone in the death game.

Getting bashed is irritating, but my only choice is to simply endure it.

“Hey, look at this number here. It was zero yesterday, but now it’s really high.” Abaddon points at the screen.

“Oh, that’s the number of people subscribed to our channel.” I didn’t have any yesterday, yet now I have almost a thousand. “A pretty high percentage of the people who watched must have subscribed. If what I read on the internet is right, it usually takes around one to two hundred thousand views to get a thousand subscribers.”

“I guess that means society thinks highly of what you’re saying.”

“Judging by the comments, their praise is mostly for the quality of the younger sister’s 3D model. If someone else had been playing Misaki Hanano, I think that alone would have made her popular.”

“You’re always so modest about these things. Are you embarrassed? How unusual.” As always, the demon focuses his efforts on lighthearted banter.

What’s wrong with being embarrassed? I’ve never experienced anything like this before in my life. I feel like I’m floating. The information displayed on the screen might as well be something from another world.

“This also means we meet the requirements for monetization,” I say, trying to change the topic.

“Oh, yeah. We can get money for uploading videos, right?”

“Yes. I never thought we’d make it this far.”

If we can earn some real money, we won’t need to rely on Futarishizuka as much. There are a lot of obstacles to overcome—like getting permission from a guardian and opening a bank account—but it seems worth looking into, at least.

If this goes well, my dream of leaving the villa and moving in next to my neighbor, wherever he ends up, could actually be feasible. Come to think of it, I wonder where he’s living right now. Last time I asked, he said he’d evacuated to a hotel close to our old apartment building.

“Talk about attractive prospects! We won’t have to bother the landlady nearly as much.”

“Yes. My thoughts exactly.”

It seems I have a new motivation to upload videos, aside from Futarishizuka’s contest. Maybe I can be more optimistic, just like I promised Robot Girl.

There’s no rule saying I can’t keep up my channel after the contest is over. If all goes well, and I start to see the potential for steady income, I can ask the landlady about monetization.

“I’m always surprised by the weird things human beings want,” Abaddon remarks as he watches Ochiba Kareki’s self-introduction.

I agree with him there. Personally, I thought Misaki Hanano had a much better chance of success. Of course, going against the grain is also a tried-and-true method, but unfortunately, those sorts of characters naturally wind up incredibly negative. Is the market really that saturated, and the viewers that bored with the status quo?

Well, I’ll probably start to see the bigger picture if I just keep uploading. I once read that the people producing a product often fail to appreciate its true value.

“I think we should keep trying to cater to niche demands,” I say. “We want to keep up the views, so let’s do our best on the next video. For now, I’ll work mainly on writing scripts during school.”

“I’d rather you pay more attention to your studies!”

There are more than ten days left in the contest. Maybe I should aim for first place. After all, there’s a reward on the line.

If my neighbor’s going to fall, I want to fall with him, as far as we can. And I can only do that by winning.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

Encouraged by our initial success with Ochiba Kareki, Abaddon and I quickly set about creating our next video.

That said, because it’s a weekday, I have to attend school. I briefly consider taking the day off, but since Futarishizuka is kindly providing a driver for me, I can’t bring myself to play hooky. I’m also pretty sure my neighbor wouldn’t approve.

I rein myself in, deciding to use my spare time between classes to think of a script. Eventually classes end, and I head home, holding in my impatience.

The older gentleman who always drives me asks if something good happened. I didn’t think I was acting any differently from usual, but maybe my excitement showed on my face.

Once we’re home, I decide that changing out of my uniform will take too long and head straight to the guest room instead. I sit down at the desk and turn on the laptop. Once it boots up, I see that I’ve received a message.

“What’s this? You’ve got mail! Wonder who it’s from.” It seems the sharp-eyed demon has noticed, too.

“Probably just spam or something.”

The pop-up disappears quickly, but urged on by Abaddon, I click the notification icon. It looks like the email is for the address I used to open up my account on the video submission website. I’ve made it public on my channel so third parties can contact me.

At the very top of the notification list is a notice that I received an email. And the sender is…

“Otherworld Productions Inc.?”

“Someone you know?”

“No, of course not.”

The topic reads, We’re sending you this email after seeing a video of Ochiba Kareki. Could this be a prank orchestrated by my haters? Or maybe it’s just spam.

I click on it, and my in-box comes up and displays the contents of the message.

Dear Ochiba Kareki,

My name is Kuga, and I’m from Otherworld Productions Inc. Please forgive the unprompted email.

I’m writing to you after watching videos for Hanano and Kareki. We do business in the domain of virtual reality entertainment, and we are currently planning to further expand our operations. We were extremely impressed by your video from yesterday.

While I know this may seem like a sudden proposal, would you perhaps be able to meet with us in person? We can be flexible with the time and place of the meeting, as needed.

I hope you will consider this request. Thank you for your time.

“I think I’ve heard of this,” says Abaddon. “It’s called being scouted, right?”

“That’s not exactly what it said, though.”

“Isn’t your country all about being indirect? I think that’s just the way people do things here.”

I bring up a search engine and look up Otherworld Productions Inc. They’re not hard to find. They’re an organization that runs a major VTuber group. I even referenced their videos when I was making ours, though I only knew them by the nickname OtherPro.

“Well, it looks like they really are a big company.”

“If they’re not trying to scout you, why would they reach out?”

“When you put it like that, I really don’t know what to say.”

For a moment, I suspect it’s a scam email. But the sender’s address matches the company’s real domain. Then I look up the business plus the name “Kuga,” and that checks out as well.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s assume for now that they are trying to scout me.”

The next question is whether I should meet with this Kuga person.

It’s not likely to help me much with the contest. After all, that will be over in only two weeks, and it might take even longer to come to an agreement with the company.

Still, it seems like a solid choice, considering the possibility for mid- to long-term income. Whether I end up accepting or declining, this is an excellent chance to hear from people who have succeeded in the field. I figure it’s worth it to respond.

“I think we should accept the request for a meeting,” I tell Abaddon.

“I can’t believe my shy partner is being so brave!”

“If we stand to benefit, then I don’t mind taking a step out of my comfort zone.”

There’s a problem, though—I’m a minor. A first-year in middle school isn’t all that different from an elementary school kid. I doubt they’ll take me seriously.

In addition, I won’t know what to do if they ask where the 3D models for Misaki Hanano and Ochiba Kareki came from. I wonder if they’d believe me if I said I made them myself. My motion-capture equipment is even better than the stuff professionals use.

Naturally, I can’t say anything that would imply the existence of mechanical life-forms. Maintaining that secret is an important part of my neighbor’s job, too. I need to do whatever it takes to keep it under wraps.

“Then you’ll have to study hard, eat plenty of food, and grow into a fit, healthy adult!” Abaddon quickly launches into banter; maybe he intuited my thoughts. But his words don’t seem very fitting for a demon.

“I’m your Disciple. If I were to take it easy and wait to grow up, Futarishizuka would abandon us.”

“Then are you going to turn them down?”

“I don’t think I have any other choice.”

“Maybe you can ask someone for help. What else is family for?”

He must be talking about the rest of our pretend family. Unfortunately, of its seven members, at least five look like children, and one is a bird. Regardless of their actual ages, the only one who could really pass for an adult is my neighbor. Essentially, Abaddon is telling me to talk to him.

“No, I can’t. I’d be bothering him.”

“But if you’re trying to do this monetization thing, don’t you need help from a guardian anyway?”

“……”

Abaddon really knows how to hit me where it hurts.

If I ever want to make money from uploading videos, then sooner or later, I’ll have to discuss it with my neighbor and Futarishizuka. And in that case, it makes sense to explain things now.

But my neighbor is pretty busy with his own videos. When I asked him yesterday how they were going, he looked at me with a pained expression. I’m hesitant to increase his burden on our account.

But then I reconsider. I can use this as an excuse to monopolize my neighbor’s time. It’ll drop him to last place in the contest, and with the company’s help, Abaddon and I will win. Then I’ll officially gain the right to make any request of him I want. Whether that all works out will depend on the company, but it’s certainly possible.

“Oh. You’re making that scheming face again.”

“Not at all. I was giving my partner’s opinion some serious thought.” It pains me to cause my neighbor trouble. But my desire for him is just as strong. And I’m still not sure if the company is really scouting me. “And I’ve decided you’re right. Let’s go talk to him.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. After school is pretend family time.”

I suspect Abaddon would rather not become any more indebted to Futarishizuka, either.

With our opinions in line, we leave the house. To get from Karuizawa to the UFO, I take Robot Girl’s saucer-shaped terminal as usual.

Once there, we head into the house through the front door, and a pleasant scent wafts past my nostrils. It’s coming from the kitchen, and I can hear Blondie and Hot Prince in there chatting. They’re probably preparing dinner.

When the view-count contest started, the two of them volunteered to handle all the cooking so the rest of us could focus on our videos. Even the newcomer prince seems opposed to freeloading. Thanks to them, we can concentrate on our work.

“I wonder what’s for dinner tonight. It must be like heaven for you lately, always having proper meals.”

“Why don’t you ever touch the food, Abaddon? I couldn’t afford to share back when I lived in the apartment, but now there’s enough for you to have some, too.”

“Angels and demons don’t need to eat, remember?”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t eat, does it? I’ve seen you eat all sorts of bizarre things when you revert to your original form.”

“If I don’t need to eat, then why make them cook more?”

“I guess you’re right.”

We usually head to the living room first, but today we go straight to my neighbor’s room. The floor creaks with each step I take. When I reach my destination, I knock lightly on the closed door.

“Are you there, mister?”

An immediate response comes from inside.

“Oh, yes. Come on in.”

With permission, I grip the door handle. Futarishizuka coated the sliding door’s track with wax, and it moves so smoothly, I can hardly believe it. We stay in the hallway, and my neighbor gets up and comes over to us.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” I say. “I know you must be busy.”

“It’s fine; I wasn’t doing much. Did you need something?”

“I don’t have anything to offer in return, but I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“What kind of favor? I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Really? All right. In that case, do you have a moment?”

“Sure thing. Want to go to the living room?”

“If possible, I don’t want the others to overhear.”

“Shall I leave, then?” asks the sparrow.

“Oh, um, no. You can stay.”

“Then can I ask you to come inside?” says my neighbor.

“S-sure…”

I take a step into the room, then realize something. This may be happening at our pretend family’s house, but it’s still a momentous occasion.

This is the first time in my life he’s invited me into his room.

I let my neighbor and Abaddon in and heard them out.

That was how I learned about my neighbor’s VTuber activities, and that she’d already been scouted by a company. It all came as a shock.

The view-count contest was all anyone in the pretend family had been talking about for the last few days. I knew my neighbor had already uploaded several videos, but I hadn’t realized she was a VTuber. I’d had no idea she had such talent.

“I think I understand,” I said. “So you need an adult’s help talking with them.”

“I’m really sorry for bringing this to you all of a sudden.”

“Not at all. It’s no big deal. I really don’t mind.”

It seemed Type Twelve had provided her with the necessary equipment. The alien had probably manufactured it on the moon, or on some other planet, just like the translators we used to talk to Lady Elsa. I could only imagine what kind of amazing videos she was producing with such incredible, high-powered technology.

“Are you sure it’s all right?” she asked.

“Well, can I see the email you mentioned?”

“Sure. Here it is.”

My neighbor nodded and reached into the skirt pocket of her uniform. She pulled out her phone and fiddled with it for a moment, then set it in the middle of the table. We sat down across from each other, and she pushed the phone toward me. Her email app was already open, and I began to read the text on the screen.

Though I felt a little bad about it, I’d suspected this was some kind of scam. However, the email looked genuine as far as I could tell. I even recognized the company and their web domain.

“We looked up Kuga and the business’s name and found them online. I think this is probably the real thing. But please feel free to correct me if I’ve gotten anything wrong.”

“No, you’re right. I think this is a real invitation.”

“I did wonder about how indirect the contents are, however.”

“Sorry to keep requesting things from you, but would you mind showing me the video you uploaded?”

“Oh, um… Well, uh, sure. Here you go…”

She reached out to the phone and closed the email app, then opened up the video submission site. I was impressed by how quickly she’d taken to using her first smartphone.

The screen showed the home page for what I assumed was her channel. She’d probably already had it open. She was so professional, I was starting to wonder if she was really just a middle school first-year.

Eventually, she pushed the play button, and the video started.

“Hello. Ochiba Kareki here. In this video, I’d like to introduce a book to you all. If you want to survive—er, improve—your breaks at school and other time spent alone in the classroom, this is the perfect book for you. Making this choice is crucial, so…”

I gave the whole video a once-over. My neighbor watched from across the table, seeming unusually nervous.

“Hmm? Oh, are you embarrassed?”

“Please be quiet, Abaddon.”

Abaddon floated right behind her like always. He was sitting on his knees, just like my neighbor, but his legs bobbed about twenty centimeters above the tatami. The way his whole body was tilted to one side was very cute. Usually, he didn’t assume such a formal, polite posture. They’d come here to make a request, so he must have been on his best behavior.

“…Thank you for watching to the end. Next time, I’ll tell you how to get through gym class when the teacher forces you to pair off with someone, including a breakdown for each specific situation. I hope you tune in again. I’ll see you then.”

After several minutes, I’d finished all the videos.

“A stark difference from the ones you submitted,” commented the distinguished sparrow atop my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Really brings home my own lack of ability.”

“Um, I’m sorry, mister. It’s all because the youngest daughter helped me.”

“You’re doing all the voices and motions, right?”

“Yes, I am…”

“To be honest, I’m not surprised someone would want to scout you.”

(The Neighbor’s POV)

Thanks to my neighbor’s help, Ochiba Kareki is now a member of a major talent group.

That afternoon, after our meeting, an email arrives from someone at the company—not the director we met earlier, but someone doing managerial work. They explain what I need to do next.

Most of it is just paperwork—my employment contract and other formalities. When my neighbor sees Abaddon and me struggling with it, he swoops in and handles it all. Since we lack any corporate experience, a lot of it is beyond us, and he proves a huge help. All I do is set up a new social media account.

That gives me time to record and upload a new video that afternoon, just like I did yesterday. I’m following the email’s instructions, which said to continue my current uploads as much as possible.

The next day, Ochiba Kareki is officially announced as a new member of the company. I suppose they’re trying to strike while the iron is hot. Internet trends come and go in the blink of an eye, and Ochiba Kareki might well be at the highest instantaneous wind speed of her VTuber career right now. Lots of people debut with a major agency only to quickly lose momentum and disappear.

“Look! The number right here has another digit!”

“You sure do like numbers, Abaddon.”

After the official announcement, my channel’s subscriber count surpasses ten thousand. It seems big companies have a frightening amount of influence. The video I uploaded to go along with my debut now has close to one hundred thousand views.

The previous videos have gotten more views as well. All in all, I think I’ve managed close to three hundred thousand. At this point, I could very well win the contest.

“I mean, isn’t that the best way to measure Kareki’s popularity?”

“I’m surprised you know that.”

“I borrowed your smartphone while you were asleep and studied up!”

“I’m still near the bottom of the company’s rankings, though.”

“Just goes to show how much you humans have multiplied in the last hundred or so years.”

The company I now belong to is the best in the industry. It employs over a hundred talents, and even the worst performers have tens of thousands of subscribers. From what I hear, even casual live streams regularly get over ten thousand views. It’s going to take more than a bit of exposure to approach their level.

There are comments from the haters, too.

“Joining an agency? What timing. I bet they set the whole thing up.” “Yeah, I knew there had to be more people behind all this.” “It was I who raised the Ochiba Kareki girlie, you know.” “But in that case, why didn’t she get more views on her earlier videos?” “Ugh, I’ve lost interest. I only support indies.”

They can say what they want. Almost a hundred comments have been posted to the video already. At this point, their abuse is just white noise.

“Hey, check out this person. Doesn’t their user icon look familiar?”

“Isn’t that the character the landlady is using for her video game streaming channel?”

“Yeah! That’s the one!”

It seems even Futarishizuka commented. “Wow, huge congrats! You’ve got Shizu’s full support! Are you ever gonna do a live stream?”

“Are you gonna do a live stream?”

“I didn’t have any plans to.”

Thanks to the younger sister’s help, editing my videos takes zero effort. In effect, the mechanical life-form’s super-science means that, while live streams might be easier for the rest of society, the opposite is true for me.

Above all, my introvert nature makes me resistant to talking to an audience for an extended period of time. And I’d have to check everything in advance to avoid leaking any personal information. Plus, I have school on weekdays and pretend family time after that. I can write scripts during class, so it makes more sense to maintain the quality of my videos that way.

Two days later, the company asks me to record a video alongside some other group members at a studio in Tokyo.

Among the participants, I see a few names I recognize from my trip to the office the other day. When I look them up on the internet, I can tell they’re famous in the industry. I compare our number of subscribers; their count has two more digits than mine. They must be some of the top VTubers in Japan.

It seems like this recording was already planned, and they’re bringing me in as a last-minute addition. My neighbor thinks they’re trying to use it to promote Ochiba Kareki, and that it’s a sign they have a lot of faith in my success. For that reason, I agree to take part. It’ll get me out of the classroom and all its chaotic interpersonal relationships, too—two birds with one stone.

As always, we use the mechanical life-form’s saucer-shaped terminal to get to the office. It brings us to the right neighborhood in Tokyo, and we head through the throngs of suit-wearing office workers toward our destination. The building doesn’t look like anything special from the outside; there are plenty of others just like it nearby. But apparently, this one contains a recording studio.

As we stand there, in front of our destination, my neighbor glances at his wristwatch and says, “I’m sorry. It looks like we arrived a little early.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reply immediately.

That’s right—my neighbor is with us once again. I told him Abaddon and I would be fine on our own, but he insisted that it would look bad to send a minor here by herself and asked to come with us. Of course, I’d rather spend as much time with him as possible. I give him an apologetic look, but on the inside, I’m filled with joy.

“I read online yesterday that as a rule, newcomers should arrive about thirty minutes early to this kind of job,” I explain. “I don’t know if that applies to this specific industry, but getting here early shouldn’t pose any problems.”

“Then, if you don’t mind, why don’t we spend the extra time at a nearby café?”

“Huh? Really?”

The idea of going with my neighbor to a café makes my heart leap. This has never happened before.

But just as the thought crosses my mind, he vanishes.

It’s not just him, either; every passerby around us and every car on the street disappears, too. All the endless city sounds fall silent.

We’re in an isolated space.

“Reveal thyself, Abaddon.”

“You got it, partner!”

Fortunately, my neighbor wasn’t caught up in this.

Abaddon’s body, floating next to me, begins to transform at my command. His flesh expands from within, splitting his skin apart. His short, boyish figure is swallowed up in an instant. This metamorphosis shocked me the first time I saw it, but I’m used to it now. I barely even notice the meat juices dripping off him and onto the ground.

“I think I detected something from over there. Just for a moment, though.” Abaddon, now a hunk of flesh, turns to look in a specific direction. Or at least, I think that pointy area is his front. I, too, felt the presence of an angel’s Disciple from over there, though it disappeared right away.

“If this was a coincidental encounter, we can’t take the initiative and attack.”

“We’re concealing ourselves, too. Should we wait and see what happens?”

“Yes, I think so.”

The best scenario would be for the isolated space to collapse without incident. Plenty of cars and trains run through this area; it’s very possible a Disciple traveling through the city suddenly came within range of us.

We wait around for a little while, but my neighbor never reappears. And I can’t sense the angel or their Disciple at all.

“Considering we just got out of the mechanical life-form’s terminal, I doubt they were tailing us,” I say. “If they were lying in wait, that means someone at the company is involved in the proxy war.”

“Not a pleasant notion. And just when you found a way to earn some money, too.”

“Yes. So I would like to identify them if possible.”

There’s also a chance that a third party, aware of our movements, has approached us—just like the mess that happened when Robot Girl transferred into my school. It’s easy to envision a different group or organization—separate from the one my neighbor negotiated with—coming to attack us.

“If they provoke us, we’re free to fight back. But I don’t want to kill their Disciple if we can avoid it, so aim for the angel as much as you can. Our first priority is learning who they are.”

“Gotcha!”

We hurry toward our destination, then head into a tiny alley between the studio building and the one beside it. We hide in the shadows, watching for movement.

“If they really are with the company, they should approach the studio building. That’s our chance. I believe in you, Abaddon. I know you can pull this off.”

“You got it. I agree wholeheartedly!”

After our little strategy meeting, we focus on the area around us for a while. Eventually, two people appear in front of the building. I can see them across the road, hiding between two buildings in a space so narrow, it can hardly be called a street. One of them has wings protruding from her back; even from a distance, I can tell she’s an angel.

In fact, I recognize both her and the Disciple.

“Well, hey, now. They look familiar, don’t they?”

“You noticed, too?”

I believe the Disciple’s name is Himegami, and his angel is called Eriel. They picked a fight with my neighbor and the others once and were beaten to a pulp. Ever since, we’ve been using this pathetic pair as spies for our side. Back when the big sea monster appeared in the Pacific Ocean, we even asked for their help creating an isolated space. But what are they doing in a place like this?

“Did you hear anything about this from my neighbor or the others?” I ask Abaddon. “I just want to be sure.”

“Nope, nuh-uh.”

“Then our plan doesn’t change.”

It appears they still haven’t noticed us. After taking careful stock of their surroundings, they seem to come to a decision and burst out onto the road, speeding toward the studio building. The Disciple must not be able to fly yet; the angel is carrying him in her arms like he’s a princess.

They shoot through the building’s front entrance in a matter of seconds. It’s time to make our move.

“Let’s go, Abaddon.”

“Right-o!”

We follow, rushing out of the alley—and end up face-to-face with them the moment we set foot inside.

“Wha…? Wait, uh, what the heck are you two doing here?!” exclaims the Disciple. His angel stands in front of him, ready to defend him at a moment’s notice.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say.

“You’re not here to…finish the job, are you? Uh, just so you know, we haven’t done anything to harm you! In fact, the angel group kind of kicked us out, and we haven’t been in any death games since then, and—”

“Then let me ask you this. Are you and that angel the only ones here?”

“Uh, yeah! No one else!”

“You’ll regret lying to us.”

“I’m telling the truth! So please, stop that disturbing demon of yours!” The boy looks like he’s about to burst into tears. His gaze flicks back and forth between me and the hunk of flesh floating to my side. He’s right; the sight of that fleshy membrane, glossy with unknown fluid as it pulses irregularly, is quite menacing.

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask. “It’s a weekday. I can’t believe we’d run into each other here, of all places, unless you knew where I’d be.”

“Well, I, er…”

“Nothing good will come from keeping secrets.”

“Ngh…!”

Uh-oh, this might be a problem. It feels really good using violence to intimidate him. No wonder bullying never goes away. If I got used to it, this feeling would totally ruin me.

“What is it?” I demand again. “Confess.”

“…Fine. All right,” he says, resigned. “I have a job here today. So I took off school to come.”

“……”

What is that supposed to mean? Could this Disciple be the same as us? He did run inside the studio building as fast as his feet could carry him. I saw it.

If he planned to escape the isolated space by hiding himself at his destination and waiting it out, then his actions make sense. He could always be lying, but it would be a clumsy lie. It wouldn’t stand up to our questions.

“Doctor Nakada, Kuon J. Glen, Doradragon.” I start listing the male participants for today’s recording session listed in the email.

The Disciple looks shocked. “Hey, wait just a minute! You… No, you can’t be…”

“I apologize for being selfish,” I say, “but would you pull out of today’s session? With two Disciples from opposite factions in one place, this isolated space will never disappear.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be…Ochiba Kareki, would you?”

He must already be acquainted with the other participants, because he only needed one guess to figure out who I am.

“If you tell a single soul, we will chase you to the ends of the earth and remove you from the proxy war by force.”

“I… I won’t say a word! I’ll keep it a secret, I swear!”

I’m certain now. This Disciple is a VTuber, too. And he belongs to a famous agency, at that. The three names I listed all have hundreds of thousands of subscribers—practically gods to someone like Ochiba Kareki.

“I promise not to tell,” he continues. “So, uh… Would you maybe, um, let me have this recording day?”

“Why should I?”

“I’ve worked so hard to get here. Ever since I entered high school, I’ve been doing everything I can, and a big agency finally approached me. Now, after three years, they’ve started calling me a mainstay of their lineup. I can’t cancel at the last minute! It’ll ruin my image at the company!”

“Is your image worth your life?”

“Mgh…”

I feel guilty, of course. But this is part of the proxy war. It definitely isn’t because I’m feeling good about a bunch of people on the internet fawning over me. I’m nothing like that buggy mechanical life-form.

Yes, this is fundraising—a necessary means of securing money to help me survive the death game.

“…Okay, fine. I’ll go home,” he says. “Is that what you want?”

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

The Disciple sounds deeply disappointed. He must sincerely want to attend the recording.

His angel sees this and speaks up, sounding apologetic. “I am so sorry, Master. My weakness is to blame for all of this.”

“No, it’s not your fault, Eriel. Don’t blame yourself. The real problem is humans like me and her—smugly basking in the attention of online strangers. We’re despicable, trampling all over the efforts of others who have put in so much work.”

“Don’t lump me in with you, please,” I correct him.

“Hmm… If you ask me, there’s not much difference.”

“Whose side are you on, Abaddon?”

Well, things could be worse; at least no one’s started asking questions about who’s funding me. If a third party destroyed my relationship with Futarishizuka or my neighbor right now, we’d be in deep trouble. In particular, I’d like to avoid having to publicly disavow my connection to our current landlady. I think Abaddon considered that, too, and deliberately interrupted us with his banter.

“When I surpass you one day, I promise to do everything I can to promote you,” I tell Himegami.

“Are you saying that’s already set in stone? Sorry for being blunt, but was this all rigged in your favor from the start?”

“I will leave that to your imagination.” I can’t afford to tell anyone about the mechanical life-form’s super-science, so I decide to respond ambiguously. “In any case, I’m glad to have acquired a convenient senpai like you.”

“Please, have mercy…”

“I’m sorry, Master,” says his angel. “This frustrates me, too. I feel we must retaliate somehow.”

She’s still standing in front of her Disciple, facing us as if ready to fight. The way she uses her small frame to shield him, combined with her adorable face, make this whole scene quite heartwarming. Her hands are curled into tight fists, as if she might start punching at any moment. She’s clearly a loyal servant.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

We start recording at the studio. I end up standing in front of a microphone in place of the Disciple we drove off—Himegami, was it? At first, I was only supposed to be participating as a guest, but they rewrite the script to make me a main member.

Either the staff is really good at writing scripts, or Ochiba Kareki is a good fit to replace this Kuon character. Whatever the case, they’re able to adjust some lines, and we began recording.

“Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! What luck, drawing such a good item! Then again, I would expect nothing less from someone of my caliber! Now, who’s driving in front of me? Oh, Rolling? Yes, just stay right there. Perfect.”

“No! No no nooo! Don’t shoot! You’re not allowed to use the red ones behind meee!”

“Oh, sorry. My shell is going for Kihouin…”

“Hwaaahhh?!”

In order, that was Kihouin, Rolling, Kareki, and then Kihouin again.

Kihouin’s 3D model is a rich-girl character with a distinct, high-pitched laugh and an appearance to match. She wears an extravagant dress, her hair falls in big, silver sausage curls, and she has dramatically large breasts. I assume the character is supposed to be around twenty years old.

Rolling, on the other hand, is playing a little girl who looks like she could be in elementary school. She appears European, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She’s wearing gothic lolita clothes, mostly black, including a frilly one-piece dress. Now I’m sure their strange speech and behavior is an extension of their characters.

As you might guess from our chatter, we’re currently playing a video game. It’s a new one that just got released, in which a certain company’s various characters ride in go-karts around a looping racetrack. Several people can race against one another at once, and today’s script involves us all duking it out.

I remember playing this game at my classmate’s house during the welcome parties they threw for Robot Girl and the other magical girl, so I already know how to work the controls. Otherwise, I probably would have caused a lot of trouble for the other participants.

There are ten people taking part, including myself. About a third are top earners, while the rest are newcomers who only recently debuted. This event seems to be the company’s way of promoting the latter group—particularly the ones who are having a hard time getting ahead. At least, that’s what I heard from my neighbor. I figure that’s probably why they asked Ochiba Kareki along.

“Kareki, darling, are you sure you’re paying the proper respect to your senpai?”

“I’m sorry. I promise I wasn’t aiming for you.”

“And yet just before, you tossed a banana right in front of me. You aimed very carefully, and I slipped on it. I won’t forget about that! At least not for the next six months!”

“Actually, I just threw that at random. Oh, not again. I’m sorry, I—”

“Haaahhhhn! That explosive—I’ve been bombed! Nooo!”

The attack items I launch seem to be hitting Kihouin an awful lot. I’m really not aiming for her, though. Her character is known for her comedic overreactions, and it seems like a lot of work for her to keep putting on a show for the viewers. But the staff members are really good at supporting us, so I probably don’t need to worry too much.

Eventually, the recording reaches the halfway point, and we take a break.

We head out of the recording booth and into the break area. The two popular girls sit down near the center of the room and relax, while the newcomers stand off to the side in their own group, like prey trembling under the gaze of terrifying predators.

I follow suit, making myself small in the corner. My neighbor must have gone outside; I don’t see him around.

After a few moments, Kihouin gets up and walks over to me. “Do you have a moment, Miss Kareki?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I was just surprised at how calm you are, despite your recent debut.”

“You think?”

“This is your first time recording, isn’t it? Most people would be at least a little bit nervous.”

She’s right—I’m not nervous. It doesn’t feel very different from when I played the same video game at my classmate’s house. In fact, it’s a lot more pleasant, since Robot Girl isn’t with us.

But I know why I’m so calm. I think about the wicked demon hovering next to me, even now. My experiences with him, fighting in the death game, have toughened me up mentally. If I fail here—well, it’s not like I’ll die. Of course, if I make enemies of influential people, that might be the death of my career in this industry. Abaddon came into the booth during recording, too, floating close enough that I could reach out and touch him.

“You clearly stand out from the other second-strings.”

“……”

I look over at the other participants.

When Kihouin says “second-strings,” that’s no metaphor. The company I’ve joined divides its talents clearly into two ranks. The favorites and top earners are the first-strings, and the others are second-strings. Naturally, as a newcomer, I’m a second-string, and Kihouin is a first-string.

She and her ilk are sitting down and chatting, while my group is standing around watching them. I was trying to make myself small like a second-string should, but apparently, I hadn’t convinced Kihouin.

“Oh, I do hope you’re not getting full of yourself just because your family has money.”

“I wasn’t…”

Is this what I think it is? Is my senpai picking on me? Maybe she simply wants revenge for how many attack items I hit her with in the video game.

“I hate to even suggest this, but could Kuon’s absence today have been…purposeful?”

This woman’s pretty sharp, I think. We ordered the angel and her Disciple to stay silent, threatening them with punishment if they divulged our identity to anyone else. I doubt they’d ever tell her the truth. And if she suspects us purely on instinct, then she has to be obsessed.

“Don’t you think that’s going a little far?” I reply.

“Winterfest, perhaps? Is that what you’re after?”

Every year, this company holds two major events: one in summer, and one in winter. After our meeting with Kuga, I went fishing around on the internet and read an article about how they went in previous years. The attendees apparently number in the hundreds of thousands.

I figured that was what she was talking about. But why would she bring it up now?

“Winterfest?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, no need to play dumb, darling. Second-strings like you require a certain number of votes in the advance poll to participate at all. I believe you may have used your influence to pull some strings. It’s possible you even have Mr. Kuga on your side.”

“……”

Oh, I think. Is that how it works?

Kihouin continues to speak at length, evidently taking my silence as affirmation. “I’d rather not be forced to go along with a rich girl’s idle amusements. This is our job. We work hard to provide our fans with hopes and dreams. And I can guarantee you the others will be just as annoyed.”

I’m pretty sure what she’s really after is status, money, and fame. It might not be true of everyone, but even a kid like me knows there are plenty of people in the world whose only goal is to squeeze money out of the socially vulnerable.

Compared to them, my neighbor is amazing. He is “content” meant only for me, and I am meant only for him. Together, the two of us alone complete the cycle of production and consumption. We couldn’t be a more perfect couple. I need nothing and no one else.

“Excuse me, but are you finished?” I ask.

“See? You’re doing it again.”

“…I apologize.”

What does she want from me?

Should I suck the life from her with the demonic power Abaddon gave me? A little bit won’t kill her. I’m sure of that based on how many times I did it to my late mother. She only felt a little woozy.

Then again, I’d be causing trouble for the staff.

Just as I begin to think about it, Rolling—unable to ignore her colleague’s behavior—calls out to us. “Don’t bully her, Kihooo. You’re being meannn.”

“Bully? Why, I’m doing no such thing. I’m simply expounding on the proper mindset for a talent—from one senpai to her kouhai. These things are best done early, are they not?”

“Nooo, you were definitely bullying herrr! I’ve been watching the whole tiiime!”

Compared to the brusque Kihouin, Rolling is kind and caring. It’s a little scary, having her talk to me while she’s dressed as a little girl. But as I watch her start to huff in her gothic lolita outfit, I think that maybe she’s a good person at heart.

“Thank you, Miss Rolling,” I say. “But you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Are you suuure? Reeeally sure? If there’s ever anything bothering you, you can come straight to meee.”

“That’s very considerate of you. Thank you.”

A short while later, our break ends, and we all return to the recording booth. No particular issues arise after that, though a bunch of the items I use hit Kihouin, and I’m sure she hates me now.

Recording takes the entire day, with a break for lunch in the middle. During the break, I go to a nearby restaurant with my neighbor. That alone is enough to make the whole thing worth it. The other second-string members all invite one another to lunch, but no one asks me. They clearly want nothing to do with me.

We film the final cut just as the sun is setting. Words of thanks and appreciation echo through the studio. A staff member leads us out of the recording booth and into the break area, where I see a few people around that weren’t there during the day. One of them is familiar to me: Kuga, the company’s director. What’s more, he’s talking to my neighbor. The two of them notice me and walk over.

“Good work today, Miss Kareki,” says my neighbor.

“I really have to thank you for agreeing to do this on such short notice,” Kuga adds.

Naturally, the others turn to look at us, and the first-string members quickly speak up.

“Mr. Kugaaa! We did really good today, toooo!” “Good day at work, huh, Mr. Kuga?” “Might you have been watching us perform?” “I can’t believe you came all the way to the studio! I’m pumped!” “Do you still have work after this?”

Kihouin and Rolling are both part of the group. Everyone gathers around Kuga. It’s probably a great chance for them to promote themselves.

Kuga deftly handles all of them, then turns back to us. “Do you know about Winterfest, Miss Kareki? Our company puts it on every year.”

“Huh? Oh, um, yes, sir. Actually, Miss Kihouin told me about it…”

“I explained the details to Mr. Sasaki already. If you’re willing, you can be part of the big poll. It might be tough for you to pull through, but with your current momentum, you may just have a chance to get in.”

“The viewers vote for who they want to participate, right?”

“Yes. Mr. Sasaki here already gave me his seal of approval, so it’s up to you.”

“You’d be in front of people, right? Are you sure about that?”

Abaddon’s question is reasonable.

My neighbor immediately gives me more information. “If it turns out that you can participate, you won’t have to show your face publicly, so don’t worry about that. While you would go to the event venue, you’d essentially be doing the same thing you do online. Do I have that right, Mr. Kuga?”

“Yes—though I doubt it would pose any problem if someone like Miss Kareki were to show her face.”

Incidentally, I’m beginning to feel a lot of pressure weighing down on me. The source is the collective gaze of the other talents, especially Kihouin and Rolling. It’s not just the first-string members, either—the second-strings are paying close attention, too. I can see a few scowls. They probably don’t appreciate some random little kid being pampered by the boss.

That said, I can’t refuse simply out of consideration for them.

“I think I understand,” I tell Kuga. “And, um, yes. I’d like to take part, if possible.”

For now, Ochiba Kareki’s new goal will be to achieve victory in the Winterfest poll.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

With Ochiba Kareki now somewhat famous, my life becomes hectic. One of the bigger changes is how I spend my weekday mornings.

“Abaddon, I don’t have time to make anything for breakfast, so I’ll eat on the way to school. Would you mind going to the kitchen and grabbing me a piece of bread? Just one is fine.”

“I saw that coming, so I made breakfast for you while you were asleep!”

“What? Is that some kind of joke?”

“Hey, now! Of course not. It’s in the dining room. Go on, grab some grub!”

I dedicate all my time after our pretend family sessions to video recording, and it’s cutting into my sleep. What’s more, my alarm clock is now set to go off thirty minutes earlier.

“I’m just surprised. I didn’t realize you were so resourceful.”

“Well, I’m reluctant to leave your bedroom while you’re sleeping. This house is big, you know? But you were already sleep-deprived before. It would break my heart to see you skip meals and get sick.”

“Then I’m sorry for troubling you. I appreciate it.”

It’s thanks to my partner that I’m still functioning day-to-day. Despite what you might think, he’s great at housework. Not only does he help me cook whenever it’s my turn to make dinner for the pretend family, but he also pitches in with laundry and cleaning, all voluntarily. I’m scared that if he helps me any more, I’ll never be able to repay him.

On Sunday, two days after our recording at the studio, the video goes live. Abaddon and I head to the guest room and watch it together on my laptop. When Ochiba Kareki talks in the video, she sounds a bit more like a stranger than usual.

“Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! What luck, drawing such a good item! Then again, I would expect nothing less from someone of my caliber! Now, who’s driving in front of me? Oh, Rolling? Yes, just stay right there. Perfect.”

“No! No no nooo! Don’t shoot! You’re not allowed to use the red ones behind meee!”

“Oh, sorry. My shell is going for Kihouin…”

“Hwaaahhh?!”

As I listen to the recording, I find my attention drawn to Kihouin and Rolling; they have a lot of presence. Their voices are sharper and ring better than Kareki’s. I’m really starting to understand why they’re the highest earners of the group.

“Listening to us side by side really makes it clear how much longer they’ve been doing this.”

“Kareki is reserved when she talks, so you’ll have to focus on your tone of voice if you want to compete. That said, even though you’re muttering for most of the video, I think it still leaves an impression.”

“You don’t need to force yourself to compliment me.”

Comments start popping up as soon as the video goes live. The response to Kareki is mixed.

“This Kareki girl is kinda annoying, isn’t she?” “She’s bothering Lady Reika too much.” “Nah, Lady Reika is practically asking for it.” “This can’t be ad-libbed. She’s too new for that.” “They must have had a script. Otherwise, how would so many items be hitting her? Lmao.” “This is more of an event for the second-strings anyway.” “Lady Reika is such a good person!” “I kinda like her, personally.”

We’re being talked about, even if it’s only as an aside to Kihouin. That was the point of the stream, so in that way it’s a success. But when I think back to our exchanges that day, my feelings become more complicated. Also, those attack items constantly hitting Kihouin really was pure coincidence!

I see one or two comments with familiar icons and usernames: They’re from the group of haters who have been bothering me since the days of Misaki Hanano.

“Kareki picking a fight with her has gotta be ad-libbed. As someone who loved Hanano fr fr, I can tell.” “God, how much does she hate Kihouin?” “It’s so obvious she’s gonna lose her place in this group soon.” “I bet she didn’t have anyone to eat lunch with on the day of recording and didn’t know what to do with herself.” “I have a feeling she’ll graduate because of bullying at some point.” “Suddenly, I’m really looking forward to this.”

Sadly, they’re exactly right.

Either way, just as the company hoped, our channel gets a whole bunch of new subscribers, thanks to the stream. I was hovering around ten thousand before, but the day after the stream it’s doubled, reaching a shocking twenty thousand.

Abaddon is all smiles. “You did it! You got more subscribers on Kareki’s channel!”

“Does it make you happy that she’s getting popular?”

“Of course it does! The more popular she gets, the more income you have. She’s an important partner for achieving financial independence. And I’m sure our younger sister will be happy about her success.”

“You’re right about that.”

I’ve already spoken with my neighbor and Futarishizuka about monetizing our activities. We decided to open a bank account for that purpose in my name. But my neighbor said he’d set things up so that any financial exchanges would go through Futarishizuka’s corporation.

If I can keep up my current views, I can expect tens of thousands of yen per month. I asked Futarishizuka if I could start paying for my own living expenses right away, but she turned me down, saying she would rather I save it for the future. The amount is a drop in the bucket for her, and paying for everything, including rent, is well outside the realm of possibility for me. I would only have been satisfying myself. And besides, Futarishizuka probably expects rewards, not money, in return for her kindness.

“At this rate, we’re definitely in the running to win the view-count contest.”

“I hope so.”

I pretend to be calm as I answer him, but inside, I’m the happiest one here. I’m certain my neighbor will place last, and, if things work out, he’ll have to grant my request. Lately, whenever I get into bed, I can’t stop fantasizing about it.

The only problem is the poll. The day when everyone votes for their favorite second-string member is fast approaching, and there’s barely any time to canvass. Winterfest is scheduled for next Saturday, only two days after the poll. The vote is an important part of the event, too, probably meant to build up hype for it.

And if I win, will I have enough time to prepare? Of course, the second-string members aren’t expected to draw in viewers on their own, and I can’t imagine they’ll be entrusted with any major tasks. The first-string members are supposedly the core of the event.

Either way, being able to participate at all is much better than the alternative.

Ever since our studio recording, I’ve been calling for votes every day.

“Hello. It’s Ochiba Kareki. I want to talk about the second-string voting I told you about yesterday. I’m sure you all think asking for votes is being cocky for such a gloomy loser. But think about what it’s like at school and in the workplace. Sunny characters can only exist where there are depressing ones to contrast with them.”

While the channel has gotten more subscribers, it’s still sitting around the bottom of the group’s rankings.

“Think of me as the garnish under the sashimi—the fresh cuts of fish on top only look appetizing because I’m here. I know you have other favorites in your hearts, but if you have any votes to spare for a little strip of daikon like me…”

By our estimation, I’ll need at least one hundred thousand subscribers to ensure my participation, based on past years’ performance. At the moment, I think we stand a fifty-fifty chance.

Abaddon is already raring to go. “If you do get in, that angel’s Disciple will be so disappointed.”

“If it comes down to it, we’ll just make them cry again.”

“Oh, how coldhearted. You’re so cruel.”

“Me? I think you angels and demons are to blame for having this proxy war in the first place.”

“Ha-ha, guess I can’t argue with you there!”

The day after our studio recording, Kihouin and Rolling contact me and invite me to a collaboration stream. They say it’s a live stream, and we’ll both share the same screen online.

I’m not sure what they’re after. I think maybe this is their way of performing a public execution on a detested kouhai. Nevertheless, this is the perfect chance to access their established fan base. I can’t say no—not if I want to win the poll. I ask the youngest daughter about it, and she tells me that equipment-wise, there shouldn’t be a problem.

“A live stream, huh?” asks Abaddon. “I don’t know. Anything you say will instantly be heard by the whole world, right?”

“I don’t think we can avoid doing things like this if we want to make money in this business.”

“What if people form an internet mob and come for you, complete with torches and pitchforks?”

“That’s quite the visual.”

“I’m just worried. You’re already kind of unfriendly.”

“A job like this, with lenient rules and working conditions, is a great choice if I’m going to be continuing in the proxy war. The only careers with more freedom are things like author or investor. Personally, I think we should be happy with what we have.”

“Well, I won’t press the issue if your mind is set on it.”

Obviously, I’m anxious, but the benefits of collaborating with Kihouin and Rolling are too great to ignore. I’m well aware of how good it feels to milk a couple of famous streamers for extra viewers. While I sense a fair bit of danger from the phrase live stream, I decide to accept.

This is probably how a person gets addicted to politics.

The stream is scheduled for the very next evening. After our pretend family time is finished, Abaddon and I head home.

The theme of the stream is ASMR. When Kihouin and Rolling first explain this, I’m confused. I don’t know what the abbreviation means. But since the meeting is being held over video chat, Abaddon—who knows the term, for some reason—explains it to me, and I’m able to skillfully play along.

According to Abaddon, it’s a really good way of getting views. That said, I have a lot of hesitation about doing it on a live stream.

“Allow me to massage you. Right around…here? It feels nice there, right? Well? Are you tired? If you want, I would be glad to keep massaging you forever and ever.”

The script they send me beforehand includes a lot of directions besides just spoken lines, like “gasp a little here” or “now pretend you’re blowing into someone’s ear.” It seems really stupid, so I ignore it all and just read off the script.

When I do, Kihouin immediately breaks in. “Ah, one moment, MissKareki. You seem to be doing nothing but mumbling into the microphone. You must have more allure, more appeal, to make the viewers happy. Do as Miss Rolling does—a little flirtation, without any shame about how you may look or sound.”

“I’ll try, Miss Kihouin.”

“Heeey! I think you’re being a little too mean, Kihooo!”

“Go ahead and give it another try, Miss Kareki.”

“All right. I will.”

“Kareki’s agreeing to everything so easilyyy. Do you think she has a crush on meee?”

The two of them ad-lib remarks that aren’t in the script. I have it easy; I just trade banter with my two senpai as appropriate. The stream ends after about an hour.

Though it took place on Ochiba Kareki’s channel, it had over twenty thousand simultaneous viewers. That same day, after being archived, it accumulates over two hundred thousand total views—easily more than all of my previous videos.

My subscriber number also increases, going up by another eleven thousand. The amount of influence famous streamers wield is astonishing. But what really has me curious is the conversation I had with the others after the stream ended.

“I know you have your own style, Miss Kareki, and it isn’t our place to criticize you for it. But I do think you could stand to think a little more about how those around you view your actions.”

“Uh, Kihooo, I don’t think you’re getting your point across at allll.”

“Um, are you threatening me?”

“If that’s how it sounded to you, then maybe so.”

“Ughhh, geez! From my point of view, you’re basically no better, Kihooo!”

“Didn’t you promise to keep silent, Miss Rolling?”

“Urk.”

Their strange back-and-forth makes it even harder to trust what they’re saying.

Actually, I should stop making excuses. Ever since I entered the proxy war, I’ve stopped being able to trust anyone whose interests aren’t clearly aligned with mine. And even when our interests are aligned, I’m constantly suspicious. In my eyes, rivals within my group are nothing more than enemies.

I nod noncommittally in response to their advice.

I continue to upload new videos every day, sandwiching more special events like this in between.

On weekdays, I go to school, using free time during class and breaks to work on my scripts. After school, I head home for our pretend family session, then record until midnight. I don’t think my life has ever been so busy.

Before, I was sluggish and inactive. Now I spend my days rushing around, as though someone pressed fast-forward on my life.

But I have to admit, it doesn’t feel bad at all.

Time passes in a flash, and eventually, the day of the poll arrives.

My neighbor had been working nonstop for several days.

After I went with her to the meeting with Mr. Kuga, checking on her videos became a daily task for me. She seemed to be tackling her job with great enthusiasm, and she always uploaded at least one new video every day.

Their quality, too, was faultless. In fact, it was better than the work of a lot of professionals.

I had no doubt that the 3D model and all that advanced equipment provided by Type Twelve was the foundation of that quality. But even so, her scripts and staging made use of that quality in astounding ways—so astounding, you’d never guess it was the work of a middle school student.

Maybe she’d gained such impressive skills at so young an age precisely because she’d holed herself up in her school’s library for thousands, or even tens of thousands of hours. In fact, most of her viewers’ comments read like they assumed she was a grown woman.

It warmed my heart, just a little, to think that my neighbor’s life until now hadn’t been a waste. And it reminded me that in all things, repetition was key.

Above all, I was happy that she finally had something she could immerse herself in after having led such an empty life. Perhaps it was rude to put it this way, but it seemed to me she was nurturing a reason to live like a little bud, and I wanted to make sure it never withered.

“How goes the view-count contest?” asked Peeps.

“I tried uploading a 4K recording of the Karuizawa scenery, but that didn’t work, either. I saw an online article that said foreigners might be interested if I added English subtitles, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s watched it.”

“…I see.”

I, on the other hand, had no clue how to progress. I’d headed to the Japanese-style house in the UFO again today and was now in my room there, racking my brain.

Currently, I had only seventy-eight views in total. Escaping last place seemed hopeless. Just as I was groaning in frustration, my distinguished sparrow came in to check on me.

“Is this that girl’s video?” asked Peeps, looking at my laptop screen.

“Yeah.”

It was one she’d just uploaded yesterday—a collaboration stream, on her own channel, with two of her senpai from the office. I was watching the archived version. It looked like she was trying out ASMR.

“Miss Kihouin, was I able to flirt properly, like Miss Rolling does?”

“Oh, yes! You’ve gotten so much better! Keep on showing them just how coquettish you can be.”

“Argh! Stupid Kihooo! Stupid Karekiii! You’re both mean, and it’s making me maaad!”

“Oh, but I wasn’t making fun of you. I must acknowledge your superior skills in buttering others up. It’s exactly what people want from Miss Kareki, who has just debuted recently!”

“Wellll, okay then. In that case, I’ll show you both how you reeeally butter someone up!”

My neighbor held her own, unafraid, even against her senpai. It reminded me a lot of her thorny back-and-forth with Miss Hoshizaki during our pretend family time. She had a lot of grit, thanks to her role in the death game—not even the most famous people in her industry could scare her. In fact, it was giving me chills just watching.

Naturally, I hadn’t meddled in her video production work in the slightest. I was merely her manager; I responded to business queries from Mr. Kuga and others and performed minor duties like signing contracts and managing her official social media account. She and Abaddon did all the creative tasks, including outside recording.

“The way she speaks is every bit as powerful as her precursors. Very impressive.”

“I’m more concerned that people at her workplace will say bad things about her.”

“No need to mind that. These vee-tuber people depend on public favor and popularity, yes? As long as they can bring in the views, pecking orders will be quickly overturned. She is courteous enough, so I doubt we need to worry.”

The Lord Starsage was as aggressive a go-getter as always. But without that level of pluck, you probably couldn’t survive in a competitive industry like this. People who are not only confident but have the incredible talent and achievements to back up their attitude are just so cool.

“By the way, Miss Kihouin, don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?”

“Oh? Whatever do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s because of your rich-girl character, but…compared to the instructions you gave me, you don’t seem that coquettish, as you put it. Could you show me how it’s truly done? Think of it as part of your kouhai’s education.”

“Urk! Are… Are you telling me to become a plaything for the masses?”

“Please don’t confess to things like that without any warning. You’re spoiling the moment. And a lot of other things, too…”

“Very well, if you insist. I will show you a kind of charm opposite to yours—the sunlight to your doom and gloom. Just don’t blame me if they ban your account because of how incredibly sexy this stream is about to become.”

“Okaaay, Kiho, now that’s just immatuuure.”

My neighbor was getting along well with her two senpai, Miss Kihouin and Miss Rolling. I didn’t really approve of them inviting a minor to join an ASMR live stream, but aside from that, they were doing a good thing for her. Ochiba Kareki was managing to stay in character, and the reactions from the comment section were positive.

Peeps offered a similar impression. “It is always a thrill to watch a spirited newcomer make their mark.”

“Seems like a lot of other people agree.”

“I believe the others will benefit from it as well.”

“Maybe that’s why they approached her for the collab.”

Typically, a newbie couldn’t get away with acting like this toward her seniors. Perhaps it was different when you were working off a script, but everything my neighbor was saying was totally ad-libbed. Normally, she’d probably get bullied for such behavior.

But thankfully, it seemed her senpai were more interested in using her to their benefit than in fanning their own meaningless pride. That was how it looked to me, anyway, and so I decided not to meddle for now.

Either way, the result was that my neighbor was doing extraordinarily well for a newcomer. Not even ten days after her debut, her channel had almost fifty thousand subscribers. Despite starting out as a nameless nobody, she was now getting as much attention as idols with solid corporate backing. Her subscriber count might still lag behind the others in her group, but given how recently she’d started, it seemed like she was making a very respectable effort.

Ultimately, it was another fruitless day.

The sunlight pouring in through the window shifted to crimson, then eventually began to fade. As it did, I heard a voice from the kitchen letting me know dinner was ready. I left my room and headed to the living room, where the other members of our pretend family had already gathered.

But when I looked closer, I saw that we had a guest. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Magical Pink had joined us, sitting small and quiet at one end of the low, round table in the middle of the room.

As I settled into an empty spot of my own, I asked the question on my mind. “Ms. Futarishizuka, has something happened?”

“I went back to Karuizawa earlier to get some things for dinner, and there she was, right at the front door. I couldn’t very well leave without inviting her, could I? One extra guest shouldn’t cause any problems.”

“I see.”

The other day, during the school ski trip, Magical Pink had a big argument with Ms. Futarishizuka before the two of them ultimately reconciled. The magical girl had even pledged to abstain from her work of killing psychics for a while.

With her here, the table was packed. Going clockwise, the seating order was as follows: my neighbor and Abaddon, Miss Hoshizaki, Type Twelve, Lady Elsa, Prince Lewis, Ms. Futarishizuka, Magical Pink, and Peeps and me. Thanks to Peeps’s size and the fact that Abaddon refused to eat with us, we’d just barely managed to fit everyone at the table. If anyone else showed up, we’d need to upgrade.

Personally, I found it strange how well Prince Lewis had adapted himself. Despite his former extravagant lifestyle as royalty, he never raised a word of complaint. His clothing choices had also shifted to fit modern Japan, just like Lady Elsa’s. Anyone looking at him would simply see a trendy young man. His flexibility was truly commendable.

“Our low table is starting to feel very cramped,” I noted.

“Do you think I should get a bigger one?” asked Ms. Futarishizuka.

“Grandmother, if we require household goods, then the youngest daughter would be pleased to handle it for you.”

“I’d rather you build a room for your grandmother here in the house first.”

“Building an addition demands intricate planning. We must approach such a task only after adequate preparation.”

“Oh? I wonder where all that mechanical life-form super-science went off to.”

Once I’d taken a seat, everyone dug in. Tonight’s dinner was laid out on the table, once again courtesy of Lady Elsa and Prince Lewis. Fried rice, shrimp stir-fried in chili sauce, spring rolls, mapo tofu—it was a veritable buffet of Chinese cuisine. The juicy pot stickers were just as tasty as the ones you might get from a specialty shop. I figured they’d had some help from Ms. Futarishizuka, but it was still impressive.

“Hey, Sasaki, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” said Miss Hoshizaki.

“What is it?”

Once we’d finished about half of the food, my senior colleague spoke up. The next thing out of her mouth was a rather unexpected acronym.

“Do you know what a DMCA is?”

“Well, yes. I know of the concept… Why?”

The Digital Millennium Copyright Act was a federal law enacted by a certain allied nation. It dealt mainly with the control of digital works, such as those on the internet; the legislation had also amended copyright law in that country. They’d enacted it in the late ’90s due to the proliferation of pirated works.

It was also famous in our country as a type of complaint lodged against major search engines. You might use it in a sentence like, I’m filing a DMCA complaint against such-and-such a site. You saw it a lot when specific information was removed from a search engine.

“They’re pretty complicated, huh?” said my colleague.

“You’re referring to takedown requests aimed at removing certain search engine results, right?”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

It seemed Miss Hoshizaki had the same understanding of the term as I did. Was there some information on the internet she wanted to get rid of?

“You have to enter so many things into the online request form,” she continued, “your real name, your address, everything. And if you lie about any of it, you can get fined, right? That’s what I heard, anyway. Plus, you have to do it all in English.”

“That’s because in the country that made the law, it’s generally a lawyer’s job to handle those things. The name and address would then be the name of the attorney and address of the office handling the matter. I don’t think the form is meant for end users.”

“Wait… Wait, really?”

“Well, that’s just what I read on the internet,” I said casually, “but I think I’m right.”

“……”

Miss Hoshizaki was at a loss for words. I was concerned—her expression looked awfully grave. Was she dealing with some kind of problem?

“If something’s troubling you,” I said, “then I could try to help you out.”

“Huh? Oh, um. No, it’s nothing important! I’m perfectly fine.”

“You are?”

“Of course! I just asked out of curiosity.”

Now I was very suspicious. There was no way she was just curious.

But she said she was fine, so I didn’t want to pry. Maybe that leaked photo of her from a while back has started making the rounds again. But wouldn’t Type Twelve have taken care of that right away?

“Mother, if a problem has occurred, I would like to state my intention to be of service to you in any way I can.”

“No, it’s super minor. Really, you can just ignore me.”

“I have detected an increase in Mother’s heart rate and a significant change in body surface temperature compared to your baseline. If you are not undergoing mental or emotional stress, then it is possible you are suffering from a bacterial infection or a virus.”

“All that aside, the view-count contest is almost over, right?”

“Mother, ignoring the youngest daughter’s conversation so blatantly makes her feel terribly lonely.”

“Urk… Then, um, let’s stop talking about me right now! Okay?”

“Acknowledged. I understand that topics related to Mother are hereby ended.”

She sure changed the topic with gusto, I thought as Miss Hoshizaki’s gaze shifted to Ms. Futarishizuka.

“Yes, indeed,” replied the girl in the kimono. “If we’re ending at two weeks like we initially agreed, the day after tomorrow will be the last day.”

“Right? So we have two whole days until the deadline.”

I’m glad she brought that up now, I thought. I had my own suggestion for everyone. “Regarding that matter. I have a proposal as well—or, rather, a request.”

“What is it?” asked Ms. Futarishizuka.

“My neighbor’s activities have grown beyond the scope of this contest, and as things stand, she may be asked to work on the final day. If it’s all right with everyone else, I’d appreciate it if we could push the deadline two days later.”

If she won the second-string polling, Ochiba Kareki would participate in Winterfest. A rehearsal was scheduled for the day before, and Mr. Kuga told me he’d like her to take part. I wasn’t sure if she’d have time to play pretend family with the rest of us—and I imagined the event period would give her a generous view count boost. Plus, as her manager, I wanted to let her participate.

Ms. Futarishizuka nodded. “Ah, yes. OtherPro’s Winterfest, perhaps?”

“You know of it?” I replied.

“Well, of course. They throw a big party each year. Rent out a huge venue and everything.”

“Apparently, there will be a big vote held tomorrow to decide which second-string members get to take part. If my neighbor wins, she’ll be formally allowed to participate in Winterfest with the first-string members. The day after that, there will be an all-day rehearsal.”

“If I recall, the voting results are live streamed, yes?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

In effect, this was our current schedule: tomorrow, the advance poll; the next day, the final day of the view-count contest as originally planned; the day after that, Winterfest day one; and after that, Winterfest day two. It was one event after another.

“Wait, VTubing? I had no idea you were doing that.” Miss Hoshizaki sounded surprised.

“It’s all thanks to my neighbor and the youngest daughter.”

“Wait, what’s Sasaki helping you with?”

“He’s my manager.”

“Really asserting yourself today, huh?” said Abaddon.

With that, we took a vote, and the majority agreed to move the final day of the view-count contest to the last day of Winterfest. Miss Hoshizaki was the first to raise her hand and agree, which made me a little curious. What did this have to do with her?

“My, that’s a surprise,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “Even the youngest daughter agrees.”

“Grandmother, as I explained previously, a human can never hope to beat a mechanical life-form on an electronic battlefield. Also, my elder sister’s work brings me joy. I am more than happy to acquiesce to this proposition.”

“Oh, right. You’re surprisingly close with her, aren’t you, dear?”

“Grandmother, your remark is incorrect.”

“Incorrect? Which part?”

“The youngest daughter is steadily growing closer with every member of the family, except for you.”

“Hmph! Be that way! I have the magical child anyway. I don’t care!”

That fact rather frightened me, to be honest. We knew we had to convince Type Twelve to return to her home planet one day, and yet, slowly but surely, she was winning over those she interacted with. It wasn’t just the incredible might of her UFO, still sitting out in space, either. She was bonding with us on an emotional level. At least to me, that seemed like a very dangerous situation for humanity.

“Might I have a word, Futarishizuka?” asked Lady Elsa.

“What is it, dear?”

“Will the girl in that charming outfit be joining our pretend family?” She was looking across the table at Magical Pink.

Personally, I was more concerned about where she was living at the moment. I felt sure she was still homeless. We should probably bring her to an orphanage, but would she accept that?

“Well, the youngest daughter is the boss around here,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “What do you think?”

“I will never yield my position as youngest daughter.”

“Yes, yes, I know that, child. Perhaps you could tell us what other positions are available.”

“I heard that this human has lost her parents. Is there a problem with treating her as an orphan who has settled down in our family’s neighborhood?”

Maybe Type Twelve felt Magical Pink—a girl even shorter and more youthful than she was—was a threat. She had no mercy for outsiders, a reminder that she was a mechanical life-form. As always, we were forced to adjust to her values.

“Come, now. That’s a little brutal, even for you. Our warm, cozy family drama would suddenly turn into some gloomy social awareness piece. You know, the kind that gets hit with a bunch of complaints these days the moment it’s broadcast.”

When I looked back at dramas from the late ’80s and early ’90s, they seemed quite stimulating, compared to modern fare. Perhaps I’d grown too accustomed to them, and that was why I always felt unsatisfied with more recent works. I wondered if that was why a lot of people had gravitated toward anime and manga instead.

“I don’t care if you make me an orphan,” said Magical Pink. “It’s the truth.”

“Grandmother, she agrees.”

“In that case, you’re more than welcome to sleep at my place, dear. Two others already live there, and I have an extra room or three. One more resident won’t make much of a difference. We can discuss your role in the pretend family some other time.”

“…Really?”

“Of course. In fact, there is even one—an adult, old enough to know better—using my home as a temporary residence because he finds moving too much of a pain. I was shocked—shocked, I tell you—when he started having his mail forwarded to my address. The gall!”

Ms. Futarishizuka was looking directly at me as she spoke.

When she put it like that, there wasn’t anything I could say. I knew I needed to find a new place to live soon, but I just hadn’t had the time. I felt bad about not making any progress. Besides, if I wanted a place in the city with proper security, it was going to set me back hundreds of thousands of yen in rent each month, at least.

For a former corporate drone, the psychological barrier to paying that much a month in rent was almost impenetrable. Was it okay for me to live so indulgently? That was the life of an aristocrat. I might have the money, but it seemed wrong somehow.

“Um… Thank you, Futarishizuka,” said Magical Pink.

“Oh! That’s the first time you’ve called me by name. You’ve moved this old woman to tears, dearie.”

Meanwhile, it seemed the magical girl had secured a place to live for the time being. Whether or not she’d really move in remained a question, but I was happy she at least had a place to go. At this rate, maybe I should stay in Karuizawa, too. I could rent an apartment.

“While we’re on this topic,” said Prince Lewis, “may I have a role to play as well?”

“I recommend the position of Elsa’s elder brother. If we treat you two as siblings who live nearby, it will not harm the setting. Entire families can be friends with other residents in their neighborhood—I have seen much literature describing such a relationship as normal in this country.”

“Ah. Very well, then.”

“No, Your Highness!” exclaimed Lady Elsa. “While it may be only temporary, I would never presume to share blood with you, sir!”

“I fear I would be a feckless elder brother, but will you accept me anyway, dear sister?”

“O-of course, sir! And that’s not true at all!”

As always, Lady Elsa seemed to be struggling with how to behave around the prince. Count Müller had probably warned her not to act out of turn around her superiors. I wondered how she would react if we ever revealed Peeps’s identity to her.

“By the way, Elsa, in what manner are we treating the good bird?”

“The bird? He’s our family pet, sir.”

“Indeed. That is my role. You may feel free to address me casually—as simply Peeps.”

“O-oh, my. Chaos indeed…”

The same went for Prince Lewis. His expression betrayed how odd he felt about treating the Lord Starsage as a neighbor’s pet.

After we were done with the pretend family, Peeps and I headed to the otherworld. We’d been going once every three days lately. Unlike in Japan, where I was always rushing around, I’d been blessed with relative comfort in the otherworld. Recently, however, I’d been spending most of my time there searching for a good video idea.

During our last two trips, we’d only managed to make our routine stops—updating Count Müller and delivering diesel fuel to the Kepler Trading Company. I’d tried to practice my magic, but I couldn’t focus, and my results were meager. I’d only managed to memorize the words for a few more spells.

This time, we once again headed to Allestos to deliver Lady Elsa to her father, then warped to the Republic of Lunge and completed our transaction with Mr. Joseph. Once we’d finished our main tasks, we returned to our regular lodgings in Baytrium. We’d probably stayed there for more than a year straight, in this world’s time.

“The change in the flow of time between worlds seems to be slowing of late.”

“A day in my world is about a week in yours, right?”

“Yes. I believe it will continue to stabilize.”

“Do you think it’s related to how frequently we travel?”

“We have also stopped bringing so many large, heavy items along with us.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Before, we would bring a few tons of sugar with us every trip, and that was just one of the goods on our list. We’d also been selling chocolate, manufactured goods, and everything else that caught our eye. To transport it all, we’d had to spend a lot of time making multiple jumps for a single trip.

These days, we only ever brought a few tons of diesel fuel at a time. We stored it in two-hundred-liter drums, and brought it from the warehouse all in one go. We would have had to spend almost an hour operating a forklift to move it all normally, but levitation magic made the task trivial.

“Personally, now I’m wondering if it’s reversible.”

“As am I.”

“Should we try making fewer trips? Just for a little while.”

“I don’t mind, but what of your trade with this world?”

“Oh, yeah. If we reduce it any more, it might cause problems. I don’t want to worry Mr. Joseph.”

“A difficult quandary indeed.”

The fact that Peeps had been collecting data from the start allowed us to investigate the matter quickly. If I’d been alone, I’d probably just be starting to take notes.

“Did you plan on checking the tunnel’s progress?”

It had been over half a year in the otherworld since we last visited the tunnel. I should probably make an appearance, or things could turn ugly.

“Right. Would you mind taking us there, Peeps?”

“Very well.”

With that, Peeps teleported us straight to the Alterian region. A little settlement had formed at the site; aside from the now-familiar lines of tents, we saw several houses and buildings assembled from wood. Structures that had been half-built during our last visit now stood completed—and many more construction projects had begun.

A number of carriages were parked nearby. Facilities had been set up for the horses, too, and they were now tethered and grazing on hay from a trough.

I was able to meet with Mr. French’s father and younger sister right away. In fact, Mr. French himself was with them.

“Sir! Thank you so much for coming so far! Please allow us to welcome you!”

“I didn’t realize you were visiting, Mr. French.”

“I had an errand in Rotan, so I decided to stop by. I’m so happy I was able to get out here. I’ve wanted to come see my father and sister for a long time.”

“I’m glad.”

We were in a wooden building near the middle of the settlement. The tidy room was set up as a reception office; it even had a sofa set, and judging by the fresh woody scent, it was probably produced right here on-site. The two sofas faced each other, and Mr. French sat down across from me, with his father and sister standing behind him. I tried asking them to take a seat, but they stubbornly refused.

“Rotan is brimming with life now, thanks to you,” said Mr. French. “I was in town to meet with Count Dietrich, who is there taking charge of the kingdom’s finances. He told me repeatedly how much he wanted to thank you.”

Wow, I haven’t heard that name in a while. Come to think of it, he’d assumed the post of finance minister at the same time Count Müller became chancellor, giving him control over Herz’s wallet. House Müller and House Dietrich had put their past disputes aside and now handled the country’s affairs in solidarity.

“Sir, Rotan’s renewed prosperity has led to unprecedented levels of trade with the Kingdom of Blase across the border. Herz’s sudden boom seems to have shocked all our neighbors.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“And it’s all thanks to you, sir!”

Despite Mr. Joseph’s pessimistic view of the excavation, everyone in Herz seemed to be pleased with it. When Mr. French told me what the workers on-site were saying, I began to feel like it was all worth the trouble.

I glanced at the distinguished sparrow on my shoulder, and he bobbed his head. My work here must pale in comparison to the Lord Starsage’s feats of statesmanship, but I hoped I’d managed to wash away a needless apprehension or two in the bird’s mind.

“Actually, Dad—how is the project going?”

“It is proceeding according to schedule, Viscount French.”

“H-hey! Quit doing that in front of the boss!”

Mr. French’s father bowed reverently before his son, like a subordinate addressing his superior. Actually, it seemed even more formal than that. His son looked shocked.

The father, however, continued to speak in great earnestness. “Our family was elevated to peerage starting with you, Viscount. Before His Excellency, I cannot disrespect the very first Viscount French. And it is only thanks to you and His Excellency that I have a job here.”

“But look—the boss doesn’t know how to react, either!”

“I would ask your forgiveness and tolerance in that regard, Viscount French,” I replied.

“Heh. Maybe you should just get used to it,” his sister cut in.

“How the heck am I supposed to get used to this?!” he exclaimed.

The son’s sudden promotion seemed to be a challenge for the family.

Once we’d finished talking, I decided this was a good opportunity to help out with the excavation. Menial labor felt pleasant after all the mental work I’d been doing lately. I was able to focus solely on using my golem spell to expand the hole. And before I realized it, it was time for us to return to Japan.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

It’s finally time for the poll. Today, one of OtherPro’s second-string members will be elected to participate in Winterfest.

My neighbor asks to come along with Abaddon and me, and the three of us board the mechanical life-form’s saucer-shaped terminal and head to a district of especially tall buildings in the heart of Tokyo.

We enter the same studio as last time. The poll actually started a few days ago, but today is the big reveal of who won. Ochiba Kareki’s participation was announced midway through the voting, putting her at a slight disadvantage. But if I can’t even overcome a tiny problem like that, I won’t make it far in this industry.

The results will be revealed via a live stream broadcast on the video submission site. The idea is to let viewers enjoy watching the various contestants ride an emotional roller coaster as the results come in. To make the program more exciting, the losers are usually assigned punishments, like having to do impressions or participate in rap battles.

Right now, I’m standing against the wall of the recording booth, waiting. The rooms are laid out like a bento box with three partitions. The two smaller areas, where you’d put your side dishes, are the recording booth we’re standing by, and the control room where the staff are busying themselves in front of various audio devices. Across from both of those is the break area, which includes the main entrance. This is the bigger space, where the rice would go.

There are a lot of other people in the recording booth. I figure they’re all other second-string members. Everyone is standing against the wall, just like I am. It’s not that there aren’t any chairs—the staff gave us even more than last time. However, because of the number of participants, we all got pushed to the corners. There are over twenty of us against the wall.

“Wow, there are a lot more people this time.”

“……”

Then who is sitting in the chairs, you ask? The first-string members, of course. Our seniors in the industry will be the stars of the show, serving as emcees and guests. Apparently, it’s customary for the second-strings to stand at attention behind them.

I see Kihouin and Rolling among the former group. It’s obvious to me that we second-strings are only here to serve as a backdrop for them.

Incidentally, it’s easy to tell the second-string members apart; they’re wearing lanyards emblazoned with their stage names. The staff probably had to do this, since there are so many of us and we’re not as well-known. Mine reads, “Ochiba Kareki.”

“Wow! So all these people are your rivals now, huh?”

“……”

My sharp-tongued demon floats next to me, as always. People are everywhere—so close, I could reach out and touch them. I can’t exactly speak to Abaddon in this environment, so he’s free to say whatever he wants.

Originally, Kuon J. Glen was supposed to take part as well, but when it became clear I’d be joining, he announced he’d have to participate remotely. When I sent him a message explaining the situation, he cursed me, praying I’d lose the vote.

Now I really want to get in.

My neighbor is out in the break area; I can’t see him from the recording booth.

“Hey, her lanyard says ‘Ochiba Kareki.’” “She’s still a kid. Middle school, by the looks of her.” “I assumed she’d be older.” “I wonder if the rumors about her sleeping her way into this are true.” “They have to be. They never would have let her collab with Kihouin and Rolling otherwise.” “A little bit of fame, and now she’s getting cocky.”

The other second-string members are very hostile toward me. They glance at me from a distance, whispering to each other. I hear some of them; they probably don’t care. Most of them are female, from teenage girls to women in their thirties.

“Apparently, that man with the side-parted hair outside is her manager.” “Huh? A second-string with a manager?” “I heard he’s exclusive to her.” “How is that even possible?” “If you’re right, then the rumors are definitely true.” “Look, you can even see it on her face.” “Bet she’s fucking her manager, too.” “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

They’re not entirely wrong, of course. I’ve spent my entire life trying to sleep with my neighbor.

“Being hated by all her coworkers is totally in character for Kareki!” says Abaddon with a smile.

Whose side is this demon on, anyway?

“……”

Either way, there’s no point in worrying about it. VTubers may be new, but they’re still part of the entertainment industry. I read some celebrity’s autobiography in the library once that described the profession as a filthy tempest of envy and greed.

I pretend not to hear the others. Eventually, the first-strings make a move—two of them get up and start to walk toward me. They’re both familiar faces—Kihouin and Rolling. Once they reach me, they start up a casual chat.

“Miss Kareki, would you like to join us at that table for some conversation?”

“Kihooo, you sound like a delinquent telling her kouhai to meet her behind the school buildiiing!”

Rolling is right on the mark. What on earth does she want from me?

“I apologize if this sounds rude,” I say, “but why do you want to talk to me?”

“Oh, I simply wished to chat with my dear kouhai,” Kihouin assures me. “Unless such a thing would displease you.”

“It wouldn’t, but I’d rather just wait here.”

The other second-strings already have a bad impression of me. I don’t know what they’ll do if they see first-strings acting friendly with me. I already have enough haters, I don’t need any more.

Or is that what they’re after? Maybe they’re bothering me on purpose to fuel the others’ dislike.

“Well, if you’d rather not, then I won’t force you.”

“Whyyy does literally every word you say sound so meeean? There’s just no helping you, Kihooo.”

At my refusal, the two of them quickly back down. When they arrive back at their seats, they resume chatting with the other first-strings.

I don’t want to tell my manager this when he’s working so hard, but I don’t think getting along with the other second-strings is in the cards for me. Of course, like Abaddon said, that’s perfectly in character for Ochiba Kareki, so it shouldn’t hinder me at all. And if I’m primarily interested in making bank, my best bet is to be recognized as a solo talent.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

After a few minutes of waiting, recording begins.

The plan is to read out the names of the winners in order from fewest to most votes received. The second-strings will go up to the microphone as the hosts call their names and give a delighted reaction. Rinse and repeat.

There are twenty-two participants, and ten of them will get into the festival. Between the emcee’s comments, announcing the votes, and the time given to each winner to speak directly to their viewers, each person will get about ten minutes of airtime. It will take over an hour to get through everyone.

Meanwhile, we all have to remain standing. I understand why, since the first-strings have to stand for the entire stream, too. But since all the second-strings are doing is waiting, it feels especially difficult, and it wears me down mentally in a way that simply talking to people doesn’t.

None of us were told the results ahead of time, so there was no rehearsal. Last night, I thought of something to say if I win, but punishments for losing are decided randomly, and I don’t even know what the options are. I looked at past events, but I have no idea how much that will help.

“Hah-kyooon! Hi, everyone! Thanks so, so much for giving Chiruchiru so many voootes! Your votes mean that Chiruchiru can take part in Isefest! Let’s all have a super-duper good time during the event! You gotta promise me, okay?!”

Someone whose name I’ve never heard before raises her voice in jubilation. She sounds really happy.

To be blunt, a lot of us shudder watching this. The gap between each person’s charming 3D model and their real-life appearance is stark. A lot of them are ten or twenty years older. I see a few second-string members averting their eyes.

I’m no different, of course. Suddenly curious, I look over at the control room. There, separated from our recording space by a thick pane of glass, I see staff members stationed at a variety of audio devices. Everyone looks serious as they handle the behind-the-scenes work, and I sense a drive from them that I can only describe as an intimidating level of professionalism.

The announcement of each person’s votes proceeds without issue according to the original schedule. Eventually, with only the top three left, we take a break. They tell us all to meet back in the recording booth in twenty minutes. They still haven’t called Ochiba Kareki’s name.

“You’ve been standing a long time. Are you feeling all right?”

“……”

I nod slightly, then we leave the recording booth behind.

I find my neighbor standing in the corner of the break area, fiddling with his smartphone. After seeing the other second-strings begin to pour out of the adjacent room, he looks up and raises his hand. I get a glimpse of his screen; it shows the very program we’re currently recording.

“I’m sorry for making you wait here for so long, mister.”

“Don’t be. Seems your name hasn’t been called yet.”

“That’s right. I’m starting to feel bad for bringing you along.”

“Actually, I thought you might be in the top three.”

“I sure hope so…”

“I found a discount store near the studio, so I bought a folding chair. Would you like to sit? You must be tired after all that standing. I think you should at least rest your legs during the break,” he says, looking down at a small chair, folded up against the wall at his feet.

It seems he went out of his way to get it for me. It’s the type of chair you might see in an office, with a noticeably round seat. It has a back, too, though it’s small.

“I appreciate your kindness, but since everyone else is standing, it wouldn’t be fair. I’m sorry.”

“In that case, I have a taxi waiting outside. Would you like to rest in there?”

“Huh? Where would we be going?”

“When I heard you’d be taking a break in the middle, I found a nice quiet spot where we can take a rest.”

“Oh, um, you… You really didn’t have to…”

My neighbor really does excellent work. Would a normal VTuber’s manager go this far? Very unfairly, I’d always thought of my neighbor as an office worker with a dead-end job and no real chance of getting anywhere in the world. I was completely mistaken, however. He’s an incredibly talented working adult.

I wonder what he’d do if I asked him to massage my feet. Would he touch me? Fantasies flood my mind, and it’s difficult to keep them at bay. Unfortunately, our chat quickly comes to an end.

“Miss Kareki, do you have a moment?” someone says, interrupting. I don’t know when she got there, but she’s standing right next to me.

Judging by the lanyard, she’s a second-string participant. A woman, visibly several years older than I am—in her late teens or early twenties. Her hair is dyed a striking pink. Her name has already been called—she ranked tenth in the voting.

“What is it?” I ask.

“As a fellow second-string, I wanted to be your friend. The others are all older, and I haven’t been able to approach them. Would you like to go with me and get a drink at a nearby convenience store?”

Tenth-Place gives me a bright, affable smile. The invitation inwardly shocks me, as a gloomy introvert.

“Sure, I guess I wouldn’t mind…,” I reply, glancing at my neighbor. He gives me a little nod.

“Great! We don’t have much time, so let’s get going!”

“I’m sorry, mister. I’m going out for a bit.”

“Do you have your wallet?” he asks.

“Yes, thanks.”

I leave the break area, and my neighbor watches me go.

Tenth-Place and I head to the elevators. I know from my previous visit to the studio that there’s a convenience store in a nearby building. Ten minutes is enough to travel there and back. The elevator comes right away, and we ride it down to the ground floor, then exit the building.

There’s a taxi parked on the shoulder of the road outside, just like my neighbor said. He must have paid a lot up front. The driver doesn’t seem upset; he just gazes idly out the front windshield.

Passing him by, we walk toward the convenience store. A moment later, the other girl turns to me and asks, “Kareki, would you mind coming over here for a moment?”

“What is it?”

At Tenth-Place’s behest, we head to an area between two buildings. The alley is maybe two or three meters wide. It’s deserted, despite the early time of day.

We head down it and turn onto another street about as narrow as the first. Surrounded by tall buildings, the area feels far removed from the hustle and bustle of the main thoroughfare.

Someone has gone to the trouble to park their car back here; it’s a black minivan. Next to it are several people I recognize—all of them are second-strings participating in today’s live stream. Unlike Tenth-Place, though, none of their names have been called. All of them are women. There were more women than men in the recording booth, but this still seems quite unbalanced.

“I don’t love this atmosphere.”

I don’t need Abaddon to tell me that I’ve been dragged into something tedious.

“What is the meaning of this?” I ask.

“Well, I just happened to see the director’s copy of today’s script.”

“And?”

“Congratulations, Miss Kareki. You got second place in the vote.”

“……”

I had no idea she was about to drop a huge spoiler. Fortunately, it seems I’ve avoided the various punishments.

“But none of us are really in the mood to celebrate,” she continues.

“I’ll ask again,” I say. “And?”

“See? That right there. That’s what pisses people off.”

“I’ll apologize right now if I offended you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re making fun of us, aren’t you? You must be.”

I don’t know what she means. What does this woman want from me? Isn’t she embarrassed, acting this way toward a child?

“I’ll cut to the chase. I want you to go home. Now. Make up a reason—maybe you’re feeling sick. Then stay at home for the next few days. I’m sure stuff like that comes naturally to an introvert like you, Kareki.”

“……”

I suppose this means some people don’t want Ochiba Kareki to win, or they want to take her place. Physically, I’m a child. They probably see me as weak. Maybe they thought they could make me do whatever they wanted if they had enough people.

The whole thing seems immature, but they’re risking their careers on this, so they must be pretty desperate.

I’ve often had grown adults come after my life in isolated spaces. Plenty of kids die there, too. It taught me that when fighting for your own interests, age doesn’t matter. A little ploy like this would never make me cede my now-certain victory.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Acting like a big shot now? Look around you.”

“I think that’s my line.”

“What a little brat. God, you piss me off.” She huffs, incensed.

A moment later, her attention shifts to the minivan parked in the road. She reaches out and lightly raps on the rear door window. What is that supposed to mean? I don’t see any response from inside the car.

“I hope you won’t regret ignoring us.”

All the women move to leave. That must have been intended as a parting shot. They head for the main road, back toward the studio.

I stand there, watching, not doing anything. What was all this about?

Just as I ask myself that question, though, I get an answer.

The door of the black minivan slides open, and two people step out. They’re both large men, about two heads taller than I am. One is in his twenties, wearing a jet-black down jacket and jeans; the other looks to be in his forties and has on a long black coat over a suit and pants.

Their tattoos are of particular note. I can see lines of ink peeking out on almost every visible patch of skin. They look like criminals.

“Excuse me,” I say. “Do you need something from me?”

“Wanna take a little drive with us, missy?”

“We’ll get you home before next week. Promise.”

Their responses are what I expected. Clearly, those other second-strings want to force Ochiba Kareki to lose by any means necessary. The woman from earlier must have called these men here as soon as she saw the director’s script. I find her decisiveness impressive—skills like that are crucial for surviving the proxy war. I ought to take a page out of her book.

“I apologize,” I say. “I still have work, so I’ll have to turn you down.”

“Well, not like it matters. We’re taking you either way.”

“You’d better do as we say—unless you wanna get hurt.”

If they were carrying guns like Makeup does, this might have been dangerous. But for now, they’re both unarmed. They see me as a weak child and casually walk right up to me.

I quickly decide to use the powers granted to me by a certain ill-natured demon. When the younger man grabs my arm, I strike.

“Rrgh… Wh-what the hell is this…?” he stammers in surprise as he feels the change in his body.

His knees give out, and he collapses to the ground. He doesn’t even twitch.

It’s all right—he’s not dead. He’s only unconscious. I did it to my mom all the time back when she was alive, so I’m really good at holding back just the right amount. I bet the scene would really scare a bystander, though.

I pretend to be shocked; then, as if to deny I had any part in this, I ask, “Excuse me, are you all right?”

The other man, who until now had been calm and collected, looks utterly baffled. “Hey! What…? What happened?!”

No answer.

“Um, shouldn’t you call an ambulance?” I suggest.

“Did you do something, kid?” he demands.

“How could I do anything? He might have had a stroke. Or maybe he’s been taking some dangerous drugs. Either way, I don’t think you should leave him like this.”

“……”

The man goes quiet, as if he’s thinking, Actually, you might have a point. I almost want to laugh.

The older man bends down and reaches for his fallen partner’s neck, probably to take his pulse. While his attention is diverted, I go behind him and glance at my partner. Abaddon nods, and I touch the older man’s neck.

“Ngh…”

He loses consciousness and crumples to the ground, too, right on top of the other one.

Not a moment later, I hear a deep male voice. “Hey! What’s goin’ on over there?!” as another man climbs out of the minivan’s driver’s seat.

This one is probably around thirty. His hair is tapered at the sides of his head but long in the back and gathered up in a round loop. I think they call this style a “man-bun.” His sunglasses make him look like a real tough guy, and his arms and face are covered in tattoos.

“You brat! What did you do?!” he shouts.

“Urk…”

The man pulls a knife and thrusts it toward me. He’s even more short-tempered than the first two.

I hastily pull out of the way. At the same time, I reach over to touch his outstretched arm. I manage to get the timing just right, and my fingertips brush the back of his hand as his arm is fully extended.

The moment I touch his skin, he drops his knife. Then he falls to the ground faceup.

I look to the side. Abaddon is hovering very close to me, ready to jump in if things go south. I didn’t notice, but he has his palm out, as if to block the tip of the knife before it hit my shoulder. Fortunately, the blade stopped just a few hairs away.

“Wow. That was amazing for someone who doesn’t like to exercise.”

“I get regular training, thanks to the proxy war.”

Lately, I’ve started following other people’s movements with my eyes, even casual ones. It’s probably because I’ve been blessed with so many opportunities to go up against people with blades and guns. I think back to the foul-mouthed grade-schooler we fought on Miyakejima.

“I’ll have to subtract a few points for not considering there might be another guy, though.”

“I agree. I’ll do better next time,” I say as I check the minivan.

They don’t seem to have any other allies. Now that I’m safe, I check to make sure there are no security cameras or other people within view. The woman probably picked this place to avoid being seen. I’m grateful to her for that. Now we won’t have to trouble my neighbor.

Feeling lucky, I reach for the pockets of the fallen men.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

As originally planned, I buy a drink at the convenience store and go back to the studio.

When I enter, some of the second-string members, including Tenth-Place, look at me in absolute shock. A single question is written on their faces: How are you here? Several others are also clearly surprised.

Wearing a mask of nonchalance, I walk over to the chief culprit. I don’t like always letting others set the pace. Plus, I need an excuse to give my neighbor.

“I’m sorry for sending you back early when you were nice enough to invite me. The person behind the register was just so slow. I could’ve used the self-checkout, but my phone wallet is nearly empty, so I had no choice.”

“Huh? Oh, uh… No, it’s fine.”

I speak loudly enough so my neighbor can hear my made-up story. I don’t want him to wonder why we came back separately. Then I lower my voice to a whisper.

“This will not happen again, Miss Noriko Satou.”

“…Urk!”

Tenth-Place blanches.

Seeing her so obviously panicked satisfies my thirst for revenge. But maybe I should have considered our surroundings and toned it down a little. I’d gone out of my way to whisper, and yet we were still getting a lot of attention.

“…Y-you… How did you…?”

“You were in their smartphone’s call history, so I noted down your name and phone number. I don’t know what your relationship is, but letting them photograph you in such an indecent state seems rather reckless, don’t you think?”

“Wha…?”

That should be enough of a threat to hold her off for the time being.

I decide not to report her to the police. Otherworld Productions probably wouldn’t appreciate it, and my neighbor would worry. I have all the men’s personal details, courtesy of their smartphones and ID cards. It’s so convenient how phones these days let you unlock them with just a fingerprint.

Aside from their call histories and phone numbers, I found several photos and videos on their phones’ internal storage showing Tenth-Place having sex with them. Looking at them disgusts me, but I copy the data to my phone anyway.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

We leave the east exhibition hall where the backstage area is located and head for the conference tower. The tower is located in the middle of the facility’s four inverted triangle structures, sandwiched between the east and west exhibition halls. The area features the large international conference hall at its center, as well as a reception hall and several conference rooms of various sizes.

OtherPro’s management is borrowing several of these conference rooms for VIP use, and the man we’re searching for was using one of them.

We quickly find the room we’re after. The facility’s map calls it the “special reception room.” We head straight there, and everyone begins calling out and knocking on the door. There’s no response. Normally, that would mean he isn’t inside. The only things we can hear are our breathing and the whoosh of the air conditioner.

Unlike the east exhibition hall with its endless noise, the conference tower is quiet. It seems there are no other events scheduled today, and the area is utterly deserted. We haven’t bumped into a single person walking through the halls.

“How long has it been since you lost contact with Mr. Kuga?” I ask.

“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since right before the festival began,” says Kihouin.

Rolling agrees. “Yeppp. Since we saw him this morning, he must be here sooomewhere.”

Aside from me, my neighbor, Abaddon, Ms. Futarishizuka, Robot Girl, Kihouin, and Rolling are here, along with our contact from the facility who came to deliver the duplicate key—though Abaddon is hiding himself so that nobody but our inner circle can see him.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much time to waste,” says Kihouin. “Shall we check inside?” She takes a step toward the door and uses the spare key.

The lock unlatches with a click. At the same time, my neighbor—who is standing next to her—speaks up. “Excuse me, but would you allow me to take the lead here? If there’s some kind of situation, I can’t allow either of you to be harmed. You still have a lot to do at the event. Not that I think it’s likely, of course.”

“Your manager is very sensible, Miss Kareki,” says Kihouin.

“He is. Sometimes I feel like he’s wasted on me.”

After having my neighbor act like my manager for the past few days, his respectful attitude makes me feel warm inside. Unsurprisingly, my head is full of delusions of forced sexual intercourse.

“Thank you,” he replies. “Then, if you’ll excuse me…”

As Kihouin backs away, he goes up to the door and firmly grasps the knob.

The door opens toward us, and we can see a bit of the room’s interior past my neighbor.

“…Does anyone smell that stench?” he says immediately, taking a half step back. His hand leaves the doorknob and covers his mouth.

At that, the rest of us stop in our tracks and tense up. Even Kihouin, who was waiting right behind my neighbor, takes a step away from the entrance.

“You don’t say,” muses Ms. Futarishizuka. “I smell nothing at all.”

“You must be congested,” my neighbor replies.

“I think you’re just smelling your own boogers.”

The two of them stand side by side in the doorway, and their banter only lasts a few moments.

“Well, if you insist, then I’ll go in first,” says Ms. Futarishizuka.

“Oh, wait. At least let it vent a little…”

Futarishizuka ignores my neighbor and eagerly heads inside, and he follows her. If he’s going, then there’s no reason for me to hesitate, either. Abaddon and I make our way into the conference room next. My partner glances at me, as if he has something to say, but there’s no way we can have a discussion in front of everyone else.

The room is divided into two sections. A reception space waits for us right inside. It’s about thirty square meters and features a clothing rack, sofas, and an exclusive restroom. Farther back, a set of double doors leads into the second section.

“Back here, perhaps?”

Futarishizuka, in the lead, pushes the door open with hearty enthusiasm.

The interior is suddenly right there, before our eyes.

The room itself has a simple design. A set of black sofas set in a sea of white. Between them is a low glass table, with a few more side tables located around the sofas. The decor is very spartan.

“…Ah. Found him.”

There, by the window, hangs the director.

The large row of windows spans an entire wall of the room, providing a nice view of Tokyo. High up on the window frame is a series of hooks used to operate openings for ventilation. From one of those hooks dangles a rope with a loop at the end.

And there, hanging from the rope like a coat, is the director.

The room has a fairly high ceiling, and the window sashes are quite tall. The rope holds his body suspended well off the floor. Near his feet, a short distance away, is a sofa that appears to have been kicked away.

He hanged himself. We stand witness to the aftermath of a suicide.

Kihouin and Rolling enter the room a moment later and cry out in anguish.

“Wha…? Wait, what is going on here?!”

“How did…? But why…?”

The facility manager arrives last and has a similar reaction. The sight has brought us all to a standstill only steps into the room.

“Mr. Kuga!” My neighbor is the first to act; he runs over to the director.

He gets his arms around the man’s waist, then lifts, as if carrying him. I follow, rushing over, and help him with what meager strength I have. Through his clothes, I feel the man’s skin; it’s still warm. The rope slackens and slips from his jaw.

We lay his body down underneath the rope, faceup, without changing his position. He doesn’t move at all.

My neighbor bends down and puts his hand to the man’s neck. He’s probably checking for a pulse.

“…He’s dead,” he concludes.

That doesn’t surprise me. I knew he was in bad shape; his face is sheer white, utterly devoid of life. His eyes are dim and unresponsive, half-open as he stares into the distance.

Kihouin and Rolling are in shock.

“How…? How did this happen to Mr. Kuga…?”

“He never seemed the type to do this…”

Both of them are always in character, but now they seem to revert to their true selves. They can’t seem to believe what they’re seeing.

Futarishizuka, however, is calm as she assesses the situation. “The room was locked. Judging by the situation, it’s probably a suicide.”

She’s right; there’s only one entrance to this office. And that door was locked from the inside. We weren’t able to get in, either, until the facility manager brought us a spare key. I even watched Kihouin undo the lock.

“Yes, that seems likely, given the state of the room,” says my neighbor, looking around the office. Everyone else follows suit, glancing about.

There’s no incriminating evidence. Unlike the east exhibition hall, which was filled with various equipment for the event, this room is only for high-ranking staff; there are only a few coats and bags.

“Well, in any case, I’ll call for the police and an ambulance.”

“Oh, right. Thank you, Ms. Futarishizuka.”

One thing does grab my attention, though—a laptop on the glass table between the two sofas. It probably belongs to the director. The screen is open and shows a desktop. I peer at it and see it’s still logged in to his account.

“……”

His email is open and shows prominently on the screen. Behind it are sub-windows meant for composing new messages. In fact, no other programs are open. The whole screen is full of windows related to the email program—and every single one of them has text in it.

“What’s up? You look troubled. Something wrong?”

As I begin to move, Abaddon floats over to me. He puts his face next to mine and glances at the screen with me. Then he looks between me and the laptop a few times.

“Don’t tell me you’re put off just from seeing a dead body.”

I might have been once, before I met Abaddon. Now, though, this is an everyday occurrence. No different from peeking into an alley and seeing a stray cat. I’m not sure that’s a healthy attitude, but if I let every little thing shock me, I won’t make it through a week.

“……”

A mouse rests next to the laptop. I pull down my sleeve, so it sits between my hand and the device. Then, ignoring my partner’s banter, I move the cursor around and look at the text in the smaller windows. Every single one has the exact same message in it.

It’s a suicide note.

It looks like he addressed it to a number of different people. They’re only drafts; none of them have a destination. Instead, the subject lines contain names of people and organizations—likely who they’re intended for.

One of them is meant for us. The subject line reads, “To SC Industries.” My name and my neighbor’s name are both written in the message, so there can be no doubt.

The message is as follows:

To Miss Kareki and Mr. Sasaki of SC Industries,

I am sorry things turned out like this so soon after we began to work together.

My incompetence is to blame for everything.

I have no apprehensions about taking my own life. But if I have one regret, it’s that I wasn’t able to be present for the moment Miss Kareki’s talents bloomed.

I will pray from the afterlife that her future is bright.

Regards,

Kuga

As I read it, my neighbor calls out, “Is there something on the laptop, Miss Kareki?”

“Just something I’m a little curious about.”

“…Curious?”

Everyone comes over to me, and I move out of the way, gesturing for them to take my spot.

Kihouin and Rolling scramble over, followed by Futarishizuka, Robot Girl, and the facility manager. After a few moments, my senpai speak up.

“Is this…? My goodness! Could this be this a suicide note addressed to us?”

“This can’t beee! I can’t believe he reeeally did this…!”

Kihouin gingerly gazes at the display, her face tense. Next to her, Rolling is crying. It seems the director was well-loved by his subordinates. He certainly wasn’t disliked, at least.

Even so, something about this note bothers me. I’m no doctor, so I can’t examine the corpse. I can’t tell if the rope matches the mark on his neck, or when rigor mortis set in, or any of that other stuff you hear people talk about in detective fiction.

But there’s something off about this suicide note.

“I feel like something’s off about Mr. Kuga’s suicide,” I say to my neighbor casually.

“What on earth?! Do you mean to say it might not be a suicide?!” exclaims Kihouin.

Rolling joins in. “Wh-what do you mean, Karekiii?”

My two senpai are instantly interested in my remark, despite the fact I was clearly talking to my neighbor. His response is subdued, perhaps out of consideration for the two of them.

“Can you explain your reasoning?” he asks.

“Look at this message here.”

I bring up the email to SC Industries and wiggle the cursor around some of the text to show where I’m looking.

“You mean the suicide note for us?” he asks. “Or I suppose it’s more like an apology.”

“That’s what it feels like to me, too. And it’s written out to the company on the business card you gave him. But I can’t help but wonder if Mr. Kuga really wrote these messages.”

“…What are you getting at?”

“If you remember, Mr. Kuga has used boku to refer to himself in every email conversation we’ve ever had with him. There hasn’t been a single exception. But in this note, he uses watashi.”

Once everyone’s attention is on the text, I highlight some of it—a short sentence near the middle.

“Are you sure he’s not just being more formal?” my neighbor asks.

In Japanese, a man can refer to himself in various ways. Boku isn’t exactly rude, but watashi is certainly more formal.

In response, I bring several other sub-windows into the foreground. “Well, this message here basically says the same thing, but he uses boku instead. And in this one, he uses ore. It really seems like he’s consciously making a distinction about how to refer to himself.”

In all the messages going to people outside the company, he uses boku. In messages to coworkers, he uses ore—a rougher and less formal pronoun.

“Yet he only breaks the pattern in the message to us. That’s what’s suspicious.”

“It hasn’t been long since we met him. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”

“I agree that’s likely, but it still bothers me.”

I let go of the mouse and move away from the laptop. I can’t explain why this bothers me so much, but it does. My neighbor is right—we did essentially just meet him. Maybe he forgot to stay in character for a moment. I have no way to prove otherwise.

But after hearing our conversation, the others begin to respond.

“Karekiii! Wait, wait, waaait. That’s it!” exclaims Rolling in her high-pitched child’s voice. She sounds hysterical as she reaches for the mouse and pulls up one of the windows. She grasps the device barehanded and starts clicking. She’s going to leave fingerprints; I bet the police will be angry.

“Seeee? Look at the message for me and Kihooo!”

“What about it?” I ask.

“Whenever Mr. Kuga emails us, he uses oira insteeead! Even in text messages, he usually uses oira. But thiiis message says ore!” Rolling’s face has gone pale. Combined with her poorly enunciated child’s voice, it gives her words a strange intensity.

Kihouin is back in character, too. The fact they’re able to keep it up even now is proof that it’s become part of them. They’re the real deal.

“You may be right,” I say. “If he’d just used watashi for all of them it could make sense, but choosing ore when he’s never even used it before seems odd. And using a rough pronoun like that in a formal suicide note is even weirder.”

“Karekiii, you don’t meeean…,” says Rolling.

“There could be other reasons, though. If Mr. Kuga was distressed enough to consider suicide, perhaps he wasn’t composed enough to think any of this through. But if that isn’t the case, it’s possible someone else wrote these letters.”

“W-wait just one minute, Miss Kareki! Doesn’t that mean…?”

“Or it could be that Mr. Kuga wrote these specifically to imply someone else was involved. In either case, he probably didn’t intend to wind up like this.”

From my point of view, I’m just pointing out the facts.

But at that moment, I hear everyone around me gasp.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

We found the director of Otherworld Productions—or at least, we found his corpse.

Putting that aside, the message left behind at the scene bothers me. We found him hanging from a rope from the window frame, with a note on his laptop lamenting his incompetence. But was he really the kind of person who would take his own life?

No. The reason behind his suicide doesn’t matter. The important thing is keeping the company going.

Our activities at OtherPro as Ochiba Kareki are an invaluable chance to earn a real income and end our dependence on Futarishizuka. I’ve been putting in a lot of work to cover the cost of my room and board. If the company is having problems, I want to alleviate their misgivings.

That’s why I keep talking.

“They could have worn a mask. Then at least their identity would be safe. Fortunately for them, a lot of people are attending the event today. I think it would have been easy for them to blend in with the crowd and escape.”

“Oh? Hmm? I—I see what you mean.”

Now I’m saying this and that, like I’m some big shot who knows everything. But then, after thinking through it all, I come to a realization.

“If nobody shows up on the cameras, then I think we can assume this was a suicide,” I said. “I still have doubts about the messages on his laptop, but I don’t believe that’s enough evidence to point to murder.”

When I hear my neighbor’s words, I’m sure of it.

“Oh…”

My neighbor and Futarishizuka must be the ones behind this.

When I make a noise, he turns to me and asks, “Is something wrong, Miss Kareki?”

“No, um, w-well, it’s just…”

If that’s the case, their most important piece of evidence will be the security camera footage. I bet it won’t show anything.

Judging by how quickly my neighbor suggests we check it, there’s a high chance they’ve gotten the youngest daughter’s help. If they got assistance from their workplace, a psychic might even have helped out—maybe one with the power to turn invisible.

“……”

My attention automatically turns to Robot Girl. She hasn’t said much of anything since we met up.

“…Elder Sister, why do you stare at me so?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

I can’t ask her. That would be careless. Mechanical life-forms can’t lie—she would give everything away in an instant. The way she starts fidgeting with her fingers as soon as I speak to her deeply concerns me.

“I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself and started saying nonsense. What happened to Mr. Kuga is really unfortunate, but I think he probably did commit suicide. We don’t have to check the cameras. I sincerely apologize for disrespecting the dead.”

In haste, I recant all of my theories.

The director committed suicide.

It was suicide.

Even if it was homicide, it was suicide.

It can’t be anything else.

“Hold on one moment, Miss Kareki,” says Kihouin. “I, for one, believe your deductions were right on the mark.”

Rolling agrees. “Um, yeeeah, me too! I believed the whole thing, you knooow!”

“I’m sorry,” I insist. “It was all childish nonsense in the end. I hope you can overlook it.”

(The Neighbor’s POV)

We part ways with my neighbor and Futarishizuka in the staff area beside the main stage and stay behind to wait. Our job is to provide backup if something goes wrong.

Abaddon is with me, as are Robot Girl and Makeup. In front of us, one of Robot Girl’s semitransparent displays floats in midair. It shows the main stage from above the audience seating, allowing us to keep an eye on the proceedings. Thanks to it, we have a vivid understanding of the situation even from backstage.

“Hold it right there, Demonic Middle Manager!”

“I will do no such thing, Masked Sailor.”

The two of them burst out from behind the audience and run toward the stage. As they move, the display shifts from the cameras positioned at the wings to one behind my neighbor, who stands in the middle of the stage.

A man is visible behind the curtain off to the side. He’s holding a gun. Next to him are staff members, probably the hostages. He must be the terrorist.

“Sasaki did a good job getting close to the guy,” remarks Makeup.

“Abaddon, can you go and back him up?” I ask.

“I can’t leave my Disciple’s side. Not in a situation like this.”

We all discussed what would happen onstage beforehand. As planned, my neighbor uses the fake laser beam effect to withdraw to the edge of the stage.

Suddenly, Robot Girl speaks. “Mother, Elder Sister, Elder Brother, I’m detecting a disturbing response in the motion of atmospheric particles. Something optically indiscernible is traveling in our direction from a two-o’-clock position relative to the youngest daughter. As a mechanical life-form, I recommend we immediately assume alert status.”

“Huh?” Not a moment later, Makeup floats up into the air.

Considering the situation, it has to be a psychic attack.

“Abaddon, intercept whatever’s heading toward us!”

“Sure thing, buddy!”

Could it be some kind of telekinesis? My neighbor told me psychic powers that make things float are relatively commonplace. If the psychic is of a high rank, they will be extremely hard to deal with, and considering they’re venturing into enemy territory, they almost certainly are.

“Elder Sister, the youngest daughter wishes to aid you.”

“If you’re willing to help, then go for it.”

“Acknowledged.”

Robot Girl nods, and a moment later, there’s a loud bang followed by a flash of light. A beam strikes down like a lightning bolt. It shocks us all. But what is it?

Immediately, people appear out of thin air.

“Rgh!”

There are three of them, hands joined, huddled together with us backstage. One of them falls to his knee and collapses—a man of medium height and build, probably in his twenties. His looks are ordinary, and he’s wearing jeans and a black down jacket. I don’t see any wounds on him. He seems to have lost consciousness; he lies on the floor facedown and doesn’t move at all.

Apparently, Robot Girl did something.

“Shit, I knew it wouldn’t work!” spits one of the other two. “Let’s get outta here!”

A moment later, they disappear, leaving the one who collapsed behind. They must have decided it would be too hard to take him along and abandoned him.

“Target signals have disappeared from our coordinates. They have moved elsewhere.”

A person can only possess one psychic power at a time. Applying that rule to our situation suggests the intruders had three powers: telekinesis, camouflage, and teleportation. Considering the situation, the one Robot Girl struck must have been the one using camouflage.

When our enemies withdraw, Makeup falls back to the ground, landing skillfully on her feet. “Hey,” she says to Robot Girl. “What was that flash just now?”

“Mother, that was a nonlethal directional energy weapon. It is designed to disable medium- to large-size mammals, such as humans. During normal usage, it delivers a nonlethal wound. It also leaves very little in the way of aftereffects. I developed it to help fend off Grandmother.”

Apparently, it was a weapon loaded onto one of the terminals she brought to the event. The grandmother sure had it rough dealing with such a naughty granddaughter.

“Motives aside, that’s a super handy weapon. You really caught me by surprise!”

“Elder Brother, your younger sister feels joy at your continued high appraisal of mechanical life-forms.”

The fallen psychic is completely still. According to Robot Girl, he’s not actually dead. And if we want to find out who these terrorists are, it’d be better to capture them than to kill them. I glance at Makeup; she’s already talking to someone on the phone.

“I’m sorry to make you do all the work, but do you know where they ran?” I ask Robot Girl.

“Elder Sister, I have detected something via the onstage cameras.” As she speaks, the midair display moves in front of us as though gliding along the air itself. It’s almost comical.

On the screen, I can see the two psychics who just fled at the sides of the stage. Are they trying to recover the one my neighbor is dealing with?

But in that case, why did they abandon the camouflage-using psychic so easily? I bet it has something to do with the power of the man onstage.

The shrill noise from backstage only lasted a split second before two people appeared in the wings. The others contacted me via my earphone to update me.

“Two psychics are heading your way, mister!”

“Sasaki, they’re a teleporter and a high-ranking telekinetic!”

They must have tried messing with the girls, then had the tables turned on them. Albeit fragmentary, I’d heard some of their exchange backstage via the earphone, helping me put together what was going on.

“My guess is they’re trying to stay in front of the audience to keep us from attacking them,” suggested Miss Hoshizaki.

“Please let me go over there, mister!”

“You all stay where you are, please. It seems the psychic on the stage can influence people’s minds. I suspect he can knock you out with just a glance.”

“Wait, then are you going to be okay, mister?”

“I believe there’s an upper limit on how many targets he can affect at once, so I think I’ll be fine by myself.”

Otherwise, he would have hijacked my mind at the same time as Ms. Futarishizuka’s. In fact, it was possible he was already in my mind—but then he wouldn’t be setting her against me like this.

My guess was that the enemy had decided that, as a psychic, I was inconsequential. After all, everyone in the world was treating me as the fake family’s weakest link.

But if the girls showed up now, I didn’t know how he’d react. If he somehow took over Type Twelve or Miss Hoshizaki, we’d have an even bigger problem. And if the terrorists took them away, we’d lose all our leverage.

“This way!” the hostage psychic called out, launching into a run.

He had escaped the hands of the Demonic Middle Manager, thanks to the actions of a renegade Masked Sailor. I wouldn’t be able to fence him in with my gun—not while dealing with her assault. If I carelessly pulled the trigger and hit an audience member, that would be the end of Winterfest.

The two who had just shown up in the wings joined the hostage and made to flee the stage. It would look to anyone else like the Masked Sailor had just liberated the hostages.

Incidentally, I recognized one of the two newcomers. He was a bureau member I’d been told was kidnapped at today’s event and had gone missing. His psychic power was teleportation—he could warp to other locations within a set distance, capping out at a few dozen meters. But in a crowd like this, that was incredibly handy. A few warps, and I’d lose sight of them.

“Found the target backstage,” said the telekinetic. “Can you do anything with your power?”

“Don’t be stupid,” barked the mind-stealer. “We don’t even know if my power works on mechanical life-forms. Why the hell do you think we were asking to negotiate? Engaging her in combat now would be suicide.”

Both of the men were speaking in a foreign language I couldn’t identify. I wouldn’t have made out their conversation at all if not for Type Twelve’s translator device.

Unfortunately, I had no time to deal with them. I had my hands full with Ms. Futarishizuka. Capturing them now would be impossible.

“Futarishizuka’s coming at you for real, isn’t she? Are you sure you’ll be all right, Sasaki?”

“I’m managing to hold out. If they throw anything else at me, though, I won’t be able to handle it.”

I dodged and used my barrier spell to block her punches and kicks. It probably looked like a scene from an action film, where the actors stopped right before making contact. Good thing my colleague’s psychic power lent itself so well to stage acting.

I heard Type Twelve mumble something. She was probably watching us via the cameras.

Then, a moment later, I heard my neighbor speak up. She sounded confused. “Huh? Wait, what’s this?”

“You handle the voice and motions. I will handle coordinate translation and attacks.”

“You’re putting her onstage?”

“I will utilize the directional energy weapon from before. Your physical form does not need to be present.”

I could hear them talking through the earphone, though I wasn’t sure what they were doing. It sounded like they’d come up with some kind of plan.

“…All right. I’m ready when you are.”

“Thank you for your consent, Elder Sister. Now deploying Ochiba Kareki.”

Deploying? What does she mean by that?

The question lingered in my mind for only a moment before the event venue underwent a remarkable change. Something flew onto the stage from behind and began to fly over everyone in the audience.

It was partially transparent from behind—a 3D model projected with midair displays, perhaps? It showed a pretty girl I was now quite familiar with: my neighbor’s VTuber persona Ochiba Kareki. It seemed as though Type Twelve was projecting her into the venue with the help of her terminals and pods.

“Wait, what the heck?!” “Are you seeing this?! It’s crazy!” “Oh, it’s that girl, right? She made a stir online.” “Couldn’t they have gone with someone else?” “Uh, this is kind of incredible.” “How are they projecting her up there?” “Look at how smooth her movements are!” “Isn’t it, I don’t know, bad that we have a full view of her panties?”

The audience began to cheer.

You might expect something like this at an amusement park attraction, but this was a makeshift stage set up in an exhibition hall. There was no equipment visible nearby capable of projecting images like this. The performance was made possible only by the mechanical life-form’s super-science, and it was producing a lot of excitement.

I had a feeling we’d be excusing this as a climactic unveiling of some cutting-edge technology developed by OtherPro.

As the crowd watched, Ochiba Kareki—flitting around in the sky like a bird—eventually stopped in midair a few meters above the audience.

She turned back toward the stage and glared at the terrorists.

“You depend on the goodwill of others but don’t offer anything in return. Fools like you are not virtuous—you are nothing more than parasites, hungering insatiably for what personal gain can be had from the disputes of others.”

My neighbor’s voice boomed over the stage speakers. Her words were bizarre. Meanwhile, I could still hear their conversation backstage through my earphone.

“Elder Sister, I would like you to strike a slightly cooler pose.”

“You mean that wasn’t enough?”

“I have seen data on the internet suggesting that some exaggeration is suitable in a situation like this. If you wish to truly convince the audience of the story, then I recommend you adopt more flamboyant gestures.”

“…Fine.”

After their exchange, the floating 3D model seemed to change position slightly. From what I’d heard, it seemed my neighbor was in charge of Ochiba Kareki’s movements and voice. After their exchange, the 3D model took action once more.

“For the sake of my beloved Demonic Middle Manager, I, Ochiba Kareki, will end this farce. Scurry away in fear like the insignificant insects you are. But know that wherever you run, you remain dancing in the palms of our hands.”

She held her arms out in front of her, straight all the way to her fingertips. The pose reminded me of a dictator or religious leader giving a speech. She was clearly playing a villain here; otherwise, she wouldn’t have said those things to hostages.

Despite her villainy, her act was pretty cool. She was like an evil female general from some TV show.

Just then, her entire body shone with light—and a moment later, her outfit changed. Before, she’d been wearing a student uniform. Now she was dressed flashily in a black getup with a lot of exposed skin. Essentially, it was bondage gear.

“Um, I can see you changed Ochiba’s outfit…”

“Yes. I have adjusted it to be more appropriate to your lines and the situation.”

“Huh. Well, I think it does a good job of showing who you are on the inside!”

“You be quiet, Abaddon.”

Now her appearance was also giving off the “evil female general” vibe. The audience let out more cheers.

The terrorists seemed shocked at this series of events. They’d been trying to get off the stage disguised as hostages, when a 3D model had stopped them in their tracks. They seemed to realize that the 3D projection was no act.

(The Neighbor’s POV)

On the second day of Winterfest, I finish my work in the hall and head to the staff area to take a break. I didn’t have much to do; I was only a background character livening up one of the first-strings’ stage events. I’d been chosen for the role despite being a second-string only because I had my own 3D model. I was given almost no lines.

“Is that it for today?”

“That’s everything on the schedule.”

Abaddon is next to me, as always. He bobs up and down in the air, carefree, standing out like a sore thumb around all the staff members hurrying about nearby. Now that I think about it, this demon spends way more of his time floating than he does standing on his own two feet. Won’t his legs atrophy?

“What now?”

“I want to find my neighbor and the others.”

“Oh, they said they’re cosplaying!”

As I whisper with Abaddon and think about what to do next, someone calls out to us. We’ve barely been sitting for two minutes.

“Miss Kareki, might you have a moment?”

“Thaaanks for coming up onstage with us before!”

It’s Kihouin and Rolling. They must have come straight here. They were on stage with me right before this, but unlike Ochiba Kareki, they were the stars.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask.

“I heard that the police decided it was a suicide,” says Kihouin.

“I still can’t belieeeve it, and I even slept on it,” adds Rolling.

Without asking, they sit down across from me at the table and start talking.

“That’s how it would seem,” I reply.

“If you ask meee, I think your logic had some merit to it,” says Rolling.

“I’m just a kid speaking nonsense,” I insist. “You don’t need to take what I say seriously. If that’s what the police decided, then we shouldn’t question their investigation. After all, you have a lot of pull with the public.”

“You never mince words, do you, Karekiii?”

“I’m sorry. That’s just how I am.”

“Well, that is why we keep pestering you,” says Kihouin.

What could they want? Are they just here to chat? Aren’t they busy?

“Would you mind if I asked you something, too, Miss Kihouin?”

“What do you wish to know?”

“Why do you keep pestering me?”

“Goodness! You came right out and asked!”

“I thought you wanted me to.”

“Did I? Perhaps. I suppose that could be…”

This is exasperating. Which is it? Is she finally trying to give an impudent newcomer some “guidance,” as a senpai? I’m fully aware that I’m not a very affable person. Do they think a little poking and prodding will scare me?

“If you consider me an eyesore, I would rather you just come out and say it,” I tell her. “I’m really not trying to cause any trouble for anyone. If there’s something I can fix, I’d like to do so. Do you have any advice for me?” I ask boldly.

“Nooo, that’s not it,” says Rolling quickly. She glances at Kihouin.

Kihouin seems worried about something. After hesitating for a few seconds, she straightens up. “Well, you see how we stay in character even offline, right, darling? It’s amazing, don’t you agree?”

“Yes. I imagine it must be quite difficult at your age,” I respond honestly.

“Y-you don’t have to point that out!” she cries. “I’m well aware.”

If she knows, why doesn’t she just stop?

“That’s exactly why we wanted to use someone like you to finally put an end to it,” she continues. “If we kept provoking you, we figured you’d eventually point it out in front of other people.”

Ugh. What an annoying woman. She’s pushing everything onto me. “I don’t see why I need to do that. Can’t you wake up tomorrow and just stop?”

“We’ve been doing it sooo long that it’s kind of a matter of priiide,” explained Rolling.

I wish they wouldn’t get a total newcomer involved in their stupid issues. Won’t I run the risk of being ostracized if this goes wrong? I suppose I’m already hated by all the other second-strings, but still.

“I don’t think anyone else will care that much,” I say.

“They most certainly will. They’ll start whispering behind our backs!” Kihouin insists.

“I meeean, I’m fine with the way things are nowww, but whatever,” Rolling comments.

“You’re quite the strange one, do you know that?” says Kihouin.

Rolling’s composed demeanor makes me think she’s already in it deep. Despite the newness of the VTuber industry, it’s still part of the entertainment business. I get the feeling weirdos like her crop up all the time.

Kihouin is probably concerned precisely because she hasn’t yet lost her common sense. But then, why is she bothering a newcomer over something so stupid?

“I really apologize, but I don’t think I’ll be able to meet your expectations,” I say.

“A-and whyever not?”

“You two are my senpai. You’re so far above me. I would never be able to say something so rude to you in front of other people. If I ever become successful enough to speak up to you, maybe we can revisit this idea.”

“W-well…”

How can she expect me to agree to this? Wipe your own ass, lady.

“I’m sorry. I need to meet with my manager, so I’ll be going now.”

“H-hold on just one moment! You’re the only one we can ask!” Kihouin barks, getting louder.

I ignore her, stand up from my seat, and head straight out of the staff area.

“Are you sure talking to them like that was a good idea?”

“We don’t stand to gain anything from helping them.”

“Blunt and frank. That’s Kareki for you!”

“……”

I know what Abaddon is implying, he doesn’t even have to say it. He’s right—I’m a gloomy introvert character, through and through.

After a lot of hassle, Winterfest finally came to a close.

The staff were planning a grand wrap party, and they naturally invited my neighbor and me, as well. We politely declined, then returned to our nearby hotel. Party or no, we had to show up for pretend family time.

We explained to the others that we needed to pick up our things before heading to Karuizawa, then we stopped by our rooms at the hotel. When I used the card key to unlock my door, however, I found a group of people already inside.

“I didn’t know you were here, Peeps.”

“You require transportation, do you not?”

“Yeah. Thanks for being so considerate.”

Beyond the short hallway at the entrance, I could see Prince Lewis sitting on the bed with Lady Elsa standing next to him, my distinguished sparrow perched on her shoulder. I was a little surprised; I had thought the room would be empty.

“I do apologize for entering while you were out, Baron Sasaki.”

“No need, Your Highness. In fact, I’m sorry for making you wait in such a small room. If it pleases you, I can arrange a larger space for us.”

“No, no. Such reverence is uncalled-for.”

Peeps must have brought them here with his teleportation magic. We’d told him where we were staying. In fact, he’d come before to see us off.

“Something urgent?” asked Ms. Futarishizuka. She was standing beside me, along with Type Twelve.

My neighbor and Abaddon were staying in a separate room, so they’d gone there instead. Once they’d packed their things, they were supposed to meet back up with us here. I expected it wouldn’t be much longer before they arrived.

“As I said, we only came here to pick you up.”

Peeps took flight, leaving Lady Elsa’s shoulder and alighting on mine. His casual decision to switch perches made me oddly happy.

“And this one has been cooped up in the mansion ever since he arrived,” the bird pointed out, glancing at the prince. “I thought it might be a good time to show him a bit of the outside world.”

I thought back. Peeps was right. We hadn’t yet gotten the chance to bring Prince Louis anywhere aside from the Karuizawa villa and our pretend family house in the UFO. The most he’d done was take a few strolls through the villa’s yard and play sports on the property.

“That was very inconsiderate of me, sir,” I said. “I apologize for putting undue stress on you.”

“No matter. Compared to before, this may as well be heaven. And I understand you all have your reasons.”

Eventually, my neighbor and Abaddon knocked on the door and we let them inside. My neighbor had a rather large travel bag in her hand. I thought she’d take a little longer to pack, but it seemed she’d rushed. I had the idea girls usually took their time with such things, but my neighbor’s speed seemed very in line with her character.

“I’m sorry for the wait, mister.”

“Well, look at this!” exclaimed Abaddon. “Are we throwing a party in here?”

Once they were inside, Ms. Futarishizuka spoke up with a proposal. “Why don’t we all go out for dinner tonight as a family? We’re already in town. We can have a nice little look around the city from a taxi, then splurge a bit on a good restaurant.”

“Oh!” said Lady Elsa. “So that’s why you said we wouldn’t need to prepare dinner tonight.”

“Yes, we have been making the two of you do all the work for a while now.” Ms. Futarishizuka seemed to have the same things on her mind as Peeps. She shifted her gaze to my shoulder. “Though I assure you, it was not my intention to agree with the sparrow there.”

“I should say the same, whelp.”

We took a vote and unanimously decided to eat out.

“Excellent,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “Now, since all the participants in the view-count contest are present, why don’t we unveil the results? It will make for great dinner conversation. We don’t need to make a big show out of it or anything, of course.”

“Huh?” said Miss Hoshizaki. She seemed surprised at the casual suggestion. Everyone turned their attention to her.

“What is it?” asked Ms. Futarishizuka. “You have an objection?”

“Mother, I am seeing an increase in your heart rate. Does something concern you?” asked Type Twelve.

“I, uh… No! No, it’s nothing.”

“Well then, boys and girls, without further ado, it’s time to reveal the results of the contest!” Ms. Futarishizuka thrust her index finger toward the ceiling.

We settled in to hear the results. Lady Elsa and Prince Lewis were sitting on the edge of the bed with Miss Hoshizaki in the desk chair. I, Ms. Futarishizuka, and my neighbor remained standing near the bed. Abaddon, as always, floated in the air next to my neighbor.

“I’m fine with that,” I said. “But do you know whose accounts are whose? I don’t think anyone has figured out Miss Hoshizaki’s or Type Twelve’s yet.”

“We’ll be self-reporting, obviously! First of all, anyone with under ten thousand views, raise your hand!”

The room fell silent at Ms. Futarishizuka’s instruction. No one moved.

“What? Nobody?” she murmured.

“It would appear that way,” I said.

“I thought for sure you would be under a thousand.”

“I’m not surprised you would think that.”

Until just a few days ago, I had been. Getting ten thousand views had been a pipe dream, and I’d said as such during our family gatherings. I wondered if the others were suspicious, too.

“Well, all right,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “Next up, anyone under thirty thousand.” She looked around the room, gauging everyone’s reactions.

But once again, nobody raised a hand.

Her gaze turned to me right away. “Are you taking this self-reporting thing seriously? You’re not lying, are you?”

“Trust me, your concerns are quite reasonable, but I do indeed have over thirty thousand.”

“If we count them up and find that you were fibbing, you’ll be subject to a penalty.”

“I assure you that won’t be necessary. Let’s continue.”

“Fine. Anyone under fifty thousand?”

Nobody moved. I didn’t, either.

Once again, Ms. Futarishizuka fixed me with a reproachful stare. “Really? Are you serious? You passed fifty thousand?”

“We’ll be revealing our accounts when we learn our placement, right?” I returned. “In that case, I ask that you wait until then to pass judgment. If it looks like my views are lacking, you may levy any punishment on me you wish.”

“Rgh…” She looked at me as if she wanted to say more. The reason became clear along with her next announcement.

“Fine. Next, anyone under one hundred thousand!” As soon as she’d said this, she immediately and energetically raised her own hand. “Me! Me, me!”

Nobody but her had their hand in the air.

“Wait, seriously?” asked Miss Hoshizaki, shocked. “Futarishizuka came in last?”

“How about you, my esteemed senior? Did you really get over one hundred thousand views?”

“I tallied them up so many times, I can’t possibly be wrong.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding… Shizu’s Gaming Dojo got last place…,” muttered Ms. Futarishizuka weakly, looking aghast.

Her meek attitude seemed very out of character. She was usually so nonchalant and easygoing; it was rare to see her disheartened. Contrary to my expectations, it seemed she’d been taking this pretty seriously.

“Could you not make it so obvious that you expected us all to lose?” said Miss Hoshizaki.

“Come on, I thought I had it in the bag! I never even dreamed you, or this guy, would beat me. I thought I’d make streaming games my life’s work for a while!” Ms. Futarishizuka said bitterly.

Our senior clearly thought this was in no way her problem. “Hey, nobody’s saying you have to stop. If you like it, then keep doing it.”

“Well, let’s take a look at Ms. Futarishizuka’s channel, shall we?” I suggested.

The hotel room contained a wall-mounted TV, so I turned it on and fiddled around with the remote. I’d already confirmed that we could use it to view the video submission site; once I had it open, I searched for Shizu’s Gaming Dojo and called it up on the screen.

She’d uploaded several more let’s-play videos since the last time we’d checked. I added up the view counts from top to bottom. She was right—there were a little under a hundred thousand in total.

“Your self-reporting was correct,” I said. “It looks like you have a total of ninety thousand and change.”

“My first stream went off, but ever since, I’ve been struggling to get views,” she explained. “I should have brought out every big title I could get my old hands on. Ultimately, it’s the title that draws in fans. The gameplay itself doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, don’t be so discouraged,” I told her. The results had come as such a shock that she’d started sulking, so I took over the announcements. “Now, let’s see anyone with one hundred fifty thousand or less.” I looked around at those present.

That was when Miss Hoshizaki’s hand went up. “Me. I got a little over one hundred thirty thousand.”

“Ah, so you’re up next,” I said.

“Do we, er, really have to show our accounts?”

“Of course you do, girl,” chided Ms. Futarishizuka. “You waited until after I was out of the running. You didn’t inflate your view count just to dodge the last place penalty, did you? I’d rather you stick to inflating your age.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Then what’s the problem? Hmm?”

“Please bring up your channel, Miss Hoshizaki.” I offered her the remote.

She seemed to resign herself and pushed a few buttons. Soon, the screen showed a channel called Currently Enrolled High School Girl’s Dance Class.

“Sheesh. Talk about an embarrassing name for a channel,” remarked Ms. Futarishizuka.

“Sh-shut up! Who cares?”

“And your thumbnails look rather obscene, wouldn’t you say?”

“Rgh…”

What piqued my curiosity was the text introducing her channel. Right up front were line after line of warnings forbidding reproduction and clipping. The wording was quite firm, even threatening legal action on a case-by-case basis. Weren’t introductions supposed to be a little, well, friendlier?

We had her play one of her uploaded videos, just to see. It began by showing Miss Hoshizaki dancing along to a recently popular song. She’d even gone to the trouble of assembling an outfit to wear; she’d clearly put a lot of effort into this. Her face was hidden behind a mask, but her youthful energy was on full display.

Suddenly curious, I searched the name of her channel. The results answered all my questions.

“I see you’ve incited a bit of criticism online, Miss Hoshizaki,” I pointed out.

“Ngh!” Her shoulders went up and she cringed. Very conspicuous. She seemed to be aware of the situation. “It’s… It wasn’t my fault! Someone cut up my videos and re-uploaded a compilation of clips that emphasized all the, um, sexier parts! Now the whole internet is bullying me. I keep taking down the re-uploads, but they keep cropping back up…”

That was apparently the reason for her interest in DMCA complaints. The kind of anonymous malice you encountered online was difficult to handle for a teenager with limited experience. I understood; once when I was still in school, I’d browsed a porn site and gotten a computer virus.

“But to put it bluntly,” said Ms. Futarishizuka, “you lured them in using that very appeal, didn’t you?”

“No! I was just, um, dancing! I wasn’t thinking about that stuff. I didn’t mean to upload lewd videos or anything. It’s just, well, there are always people who, uh, will view you that way, so…”

Your eyes are wandering, I thought. It was easy to imagine her doing a little dance and getting a bunch of views, then letting the success get to her head and going overboard. She knew what the viewers were there for, but kept telling herself she wasn’t playing up to them.