I May Be a Virtual Youtuber, but I Still Go to Work - Chapter 114

The next day, Monday, March 12th, dawned bright and early.

It was the first day of a three-month training program for the members ahead of their debut on June 15th.

You’d think that Ena, who had transformed into Serena, would be the first to arrive, but surprisingly, someone else beat me to it and was wandering around.

It was Han Bada, aka the Sea of Despair, Orca!

I had intentionally arrived an hour early just to beat the rush, but clearly, I underestimated the competition.

“Hello, you must be Han Bada?”

“… Ah, yes, hello.”

Just for reference, since I only attended half of the interviews for the second-gen members, Orca and Miho had never laid eyes on me before this moment.

This was also my first time meeting them in person instead of through a photo.

I only sat in on some interviews because I had so many things to juggle, including the broadcasts. Plus, the president and the HR director screened candidates beforehand, shuffling schedules if they found someone suspicious to make sure I wasn’t in the room when things got too tricky.

In fact, the two successful candidates were from interviews I hadn’t attended, proving just how thorough our president and HR chief are in their screenings.

Anyway, here we were, meeting for the first time…

‘Wow, she’s really tall.’

Among the members, Dora was the tallest at 171 cm, but Orca towered over her at 173 cm.

With her back straight and chest out, she made Dora, who always seemed to slouch, look like a hobbit.

Sporting a charming Hime cut and long flowing hair, she looked like a delightful girl, but her composed demeanor radiated a fierce discipline.

This was probably due to her previous three years of service as a non-commissioned officer before debuting.

She had even delayed becoming a Majia to serve in the military for four years, so I couldn’t tell if she was comparable to actual soldiers, but there was definitely a sense of stiffness.

Her body was rigid like a soldier waiting for orders from her superior, and I felt a bit sorry for her, so I stepped in and poked her in the waist.

“Eep!”

“Relax! You don’t have to be that stiff!”

“Ah, yes….”

This was one of the many perks I felt after becoming a Majia. During my first-gen training, we spent nearly an hour just trying to help everyone loosen up, and boy, was that a hassle!

Anyway, seeing Orca finally relax her stiff posture and drop her shoulders was a relief. The timing couldn’t be better for introductions.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Deputy Majia, and I’ll be here for the next three months acting as your homeroom teacher. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. But, to be honest, if it’s not about broadcasting, I might not have the answer, so if you can, let’s stick to broadcasting-related queries!”

Orca’s sharp eyes widened at my words.

“You really are the Deputy! I was skeptical since you look just like a wooden plank. It’s an honor to meet you! I heard a ton about you before I passed!”

“What did you hear?”

“Um, the other trainees said having the Majia’s support would make broadcasting a lot easier!”

“Gee, that makes me feel like I’m some kind of sweet nectar.”

“Um, that’s not what I meant!”

I playfully teased her, using something I’d seen in a military drama, and it worked like a charm.

“I know, I’m just joking.”

I smiled to reassure her. One reason for the three-month training was to catch these little habits early on. If I could create management guidelines based on that, it would be easier to react if any incidents occurred in the future.

And speaking of Orca, she had this odd way of deflecting compliments that I needed to address over time.

But hey, it was our first meeting, and we had to get to know each other better, right?

Unfortunately, the conversation went stagnant after that.

It was awkward between us, and while both Orca and I weren’t great at chitchat, her stiff posture of staring straight ahead made it hard for me to strike up a conversation.

So aside from asking where the restrooms were, where to sit, and what our agenda was for the day, we sat in silence.

However, I really liked Orca as a person.

The quieter they were, the less chance of leaks.

No leaks meant my workload was lighter.

Success!

Moreover, I was anxious she wouldn’t bring up my debut story, but she didn’t seem interested in doing so at all.

Yet the atmosphere felt way too stiff.

My only icebreaker skill was joking around, so I had to give it a shot.

“Do you dislike talking to me, Orca?”

“What? I didn’t hear that?!”

After unleashing a barrage of rapid-fire questions for about half an hour, the second member finally arrived.

“Um, hello… is this where the second-gen training takes place?”

With a vibrant ash-blonde hair that contrasted sharply with Orca’s ink-black locks, the newcomer had an aura that screamed ‘I am trying to be cool’, yet she moved in like a nervous deer caught in headlights.

It was An Si-ho—definitely the type who wanted to fit in!

“Come on, make yourself comfortable!”

“Ah, yes!”

Yet for someone who wanted to be an ‘in-crowd’ member, she was moving like a tortoise approaching its shell for cover.

Naturally, she chose the leftmost seat among the three available, leaving the middle seat wide open since Orca sat on the right.

Latecomer Ena was bound to be the glue holding us all together.

When teams are odd-numbered, someone usually gets left out, but with Ena sandwiched in the middle, we could all relax.

However, unlike Orca, who was glued to her spot staring ahead like a statue, Si-ho was glancing around nervously but kept returning her gaze to me.

Both Orca and Miho were clearly on high alert, but Si-ho’s timidness had an extra level of adorableness about it.

I figured I needed to break the ice and repeated my introduction to Si-ho.

Once she heard it all, her response was:

“Whoa… I didn’t expect this… you look just like a plank!”

“Uh, if you want to be in the cool crowd, you shouldn’t say that!”

You’ve got to say it with flair!

But the video she submitted for her application was pure mayhem, as described by the president!

Apparently, she was trying to impersonate some fiery character she’d seen, and her thoroughness was so impressive that when I called her in for the interview, she couldn’t even meet my gaze. It was a bit ridiculous.

Perhaps having some experience as a voice actor, there was quite the gap between reality and online personas.

I couldn’t help but wonder where on earth they conjured up these kinds of talents. The hurdles for becoming a VTuber were truly high!

“Uh, by the way… will you also be debuting with us, Deputy?”

Did she just forget that I said I’d be playing a homeroom teacher role?

I briefly skimmed through the president’s evaluation, where it noted, ‘She occasionally forgets what she just said.’ While I hadn’t been diagnosed with ADHD, it was apparent I could get a bit scatter-brained.

“No, I’m here to help you debut, not to debut myself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

She mentioned that she thought maybe I was one of the four candidates because there were three of them, and with the four of us, things didn’t quite add up. So, she wondered if Jia was also debuting.

Miho wasn’t dumb, just a bit timid.

She had a knack for deduction—when watching detective stories, she always cracked the case before the final reveal.

This time, she even looked me straight in the eye and confidently articulated her thoughts like a poised prosecutor.

However, while she enjoyed piecing together clues, she didn’t pay too much attention to the accuracy of the evidence.

So, I had to keep reminding them not to venture into conspiracy theories regarding other VTuber groups, political or socially significant issues.

Still, she didn’t become one of the successful candidates for nothing. When the president and HR director grilled her with an endless barrage of tricky questions, her finesse in navigating her way out with grace was nothing short of artistry.

In the end, she may have shed a tear, but she managed to escape their traps five times before getting the pass.

So Miho seemed well-oiled to become a versatile entertainer who could charm the audience and deftly slip out of the limelight.

That’s why the president mentioned she’d require special monitoring.

Adding to the roster of unique talents in the company, after the leak expert Maru, now they had another one to keep an eye on.

But I dismissed it since that was my job anyway.

‘… Surprisingly, they all seem to believe me without question?’

The perspectives of men and VTubers are indeed different.

As far as the viewers were concerned, as long as it was entertaining, they were all in a frenzy about me debuting. But for the VTubers, whether or not I debuted mattered little. They would just want their broadcasts to flourish, their peers to succeed, and the company to thrive.

The first-generation members kept watching me closely, but none dared to suggest I should debut.

It seemed they enjoyed the fact that I was looking after them and promoting their broadcasts.

The same went for Miho and Orca.

… But it was quietly tense in here.

How was it that having three of us made it even quieter?

I might have to turn my attention to Miho and pepper her with questions.

* * *

Just as the prolonged silence became unbearable, Ena was the last to arrive.

And right as she walked in, the rumors about my debut reignited.

“Ah, I see! The president was in such a hurry to get things rolling; something must’ve been up…”

Her line of reasoning was similar to Miho’s, but she originally aimed to be a third-gen member.

Although she had been offered the chance to debut as a second-gen, I’m sure she’d concluded there must have been a good reason for it.

With Majia in the room, the numbers had matched perfectly with four attendees. She might have thought that the president had called her in to fill a gap.

“Does that mean when you say you’re not debuting, you’re just lying because you’re still not in Parallel?”

This was more of a natural deduction than wild speculation.

Majia shook her head, insisting it couldn’t be true.

“If I debut, Ena, you’ll simply hate me, right?”

But in response to Majia’s comment, Ena shook her head and refuted,

“I never said I hated it… whether you debut or keep working a regular job while streaming, it shouldn’t make much difference to us.”

Once again, Majia referenced Maru’s earlier words, concluding that being a VTuber or a worker was incredibly cool because you couldn’t precisely categorize it.

“The question is, unlike us, Jia doesn’t need to feel compelled to stream. The atmosphere with the viewers has already settled. So streaming just once in a while seems perfectly acceptable.

Plus, wouldn’t it be great to have a VTuber promoting their business while supporting their fellow company members? Or is that not a thing?”

Yet, Majia had never seen such examples.

You’re either an idol or an office worker.

An office worker acting as an idol was a bit weird, right?

‘… Or am I just thinking too narrowly?’

VTubers were on the rise, and the role-playing was expanding exponentially.

From Joseon officials to Renaissance nobility to martial arts sects…

At this rate, it seemed like every sort of role-play imaginable had already emerged, making me curious about what new ones could possibly crop up.

“Moreover, plenty of people in Bachu Bachu do their streams like a monthly event.”

“That’s only because they have to expand their music activities.”

“That matters for them, but for Jia, she’s taking on VTuber management, you know? If work piles up, there’s not much you can do. And even if the breaks are long, the people who care will always watch. Why? I’ve dabbled in idol fandom myself, and in the end, if it’s not your person, how can you keep your focus?”

That line of reasoning made Majia rethink a comment that Cheon Dohui had casually thrown around a few weeks back about debuting.

Regardless of the joke, it was evident that there was practically a crisis situation with only two candidates accepted.

In that emergency, Cheon Dohui acknowledged Majia as a ‘wildcard’ of sorts.

Perhaps it was for the reasons Ena had just spoken about—that even if one were to do things halfway, there would be supporters who would at least give them some credit in the conversation.

In other words, had Ena not had a positive outlook about joining right after graduation, it was clear Majia might indeed have debuted.

This meant Cheon Dohui was thinking about Majia as a backup plan of sorts.

‘Shouldn’t I be mentally prepared for this?’

Meanwhile, recognizing Ena’s identity as the graduated Serena, Miho and Orca’s eyes sparkled with curiosity about the details.

Both of their glances seemed to convey, “What’s going on? Is this true? Is Jia really debuting?”

In essence, it shaped up to look like the three of the second-gen commuters all believed Majia would be launching their debut.

Whatever the direction taken, it played out just as Cheon Dohui had predicted.

Typically, in situations like these, Majia would always respond with a resounding ‘no’, but today was a bit different.

Although she wouldn’t be debuting right away, she realized that receiving training with the current members could only benefit her in the long run.

And in case something happened, getting to know them better wouldn’t hurt.

Without having any thoughts about debuting, Majia flicked on her inner bad-girl engine as usual.

“Well, if you’re all so excited. Maybe I’ll give it a go.”