Chapter 1 : Three Years Ago

“Why didn’t the Child Hunters show up today? Did they finally get caught and locked up? LOL”

ᄂ “Please correct that to Child Lovers, not Child Hunters.”

ᄂ “Arin, Eunbi, and Yeonbora are all taking a break during class time.”

ᄂ “Wait, this wasn’t just a crazy concept? It’s real? Someone report them all.”

ᄂ (Not a human emoji)

ᄂ “Kidding, LOL”

“Child Lovers, get out! This place is ruled by the mature charm of virtuals.”

ᄂ (Chicken coop emoji)

ᄂ “This boomer platform is perfect. How dare underage kids try to share space?”

ᄂ “Why are the aunties cuter than the kids?”

ᄂ “To survive is to be strong.”

ᄂ “There’s beauty in mature skin!”

“These guys are going nuts again today,” I muttered with a chuckle.

It’s said that dumb people enjoy just looking at each other’s faces.

That’s exactly what I’ve felt after three years of browsing this gallery.

I recite that common excuse:

“Sure, our kids act like brats, but deep down, they have good hearts.”

Ah, of course. The great Jiboro-sensei once said, “If five humans gather, there’s always one piece of trash.”

Still undefeated wisdom.

Sometimes, you get people who go absolutely nuts behind anonymity.

• “Nguyen, stop deleting my posts! What, you discriminate against furry virtuals too? Wanna die?”

Each time that happens, the mod strikes like a sword, keeping the PanV-Gallery peaceful as ever.

Huh? You don’t know what PanV-Gallery is?

It’s short for the virtual streamers gallery of PangaeaTV, one of Korea’s two major streaming platforms.

Among the many virtual-related galleries, this one was relatively well-managed and active, so I used it a lot.

“I really went all in, huh.”

When I checked my profile, the sheer number of posts and comments over three years was overwhelming.

Truly a gallery addict life.

Originally, I joined to get virtual info and promote my “oshi” (fav streamer), but I ended up sticking around whenever they weren’t live.

I should’ve put this much effort into real life.

A belated regret.

Something everyone already knows deep down.

With a sigh, I slowly typed:

“Still, after three years, I’ve built some attachment. I should say goodbye.”

-Must-read for newbies before I leave the gallery

“Kids, I’m heading back to real life. But before that, here are a few tips for newbies looking for their home base:”

1. Avoid virtuals with health issues

Seriously, this’ll drive you crazy.

They cancel streams every time they feel unwell.

At first, you’ll worry and feel bad, but if it keeps happening? It’s better to give up.

Think of them like athletes.

No matter how talented they are, if they’re always benched with injuries, they’ll end up being seen as flakey.

2. Avoid virtuals with mental health issues

Similar to the first.

They get hurt by chat, DMs, emails, and collabs—everything.

Breakdowns and frequent hiatuses are the norm.

Sometimes they snap and cause real drama.

These types also quit easily.

3. Avoid “mun-dam-pi” virtuals
   (Details skipped. Just avoid them.)
4. Avoid virtuals who often play off-stream

They repeatedly game after turning off the broadcast? That’s no coincidence.

50% chance it’s a private clique, 50% it’s a boyfriend or fling.

If they avoid doing on-stream what they could, there’s probably a reason.

5. Avoid virtuals who are stubborn and self-centered

They constantly fight with viewers.

It just hurts both the streamer and the fans.

Best to bail early from these kinds of streams.

“Now that’s a real veteran’s guide.”

Because of the character limit, I stopped writing for now.

Just as I was about to write part 2, comments started flooding in.

ᄂ “?? Are you whining about leaving again? Why are you like this lately?”

ᄂ “No seriously, I think he’s for real. Didn’t he just shut down his main base a few days ago?”

ᄂ (Side-eye emoji)

ᄂ “Need a TL;DR, seriously!”

ᄂ “Why not take this chance and move to the Bluebee fandom?”

ᄂ “LMAO look at him hyping up Bluebee”

ᄂ “Another gallery addict rides off into the sunset”

ᄂ “Bro, if you leave, who’s gonna drop burgers? Gotta defend the burgers!”

ᄂ “Crazy burger dude showed up again LOL”

ᄂ “If I imagine this dude back tomorrow posting trash again… big like. I’m first in!”

The mood’s a bit chaotic.

But maybe this is their own way of offering comfort.

We’re not really the type to exchange warm, kind words.

Thinking that made my post feel all the more pathetic.

Ahem, it’s not like I’m sulking or anything.

Just in case, I threw in a few nuclear-level furry lewd images I’d saved, then quietly left the gallery.

And deleted the app from my phone.

Not just the gallery, but even the broadcasting platform app, Pangaea TV.

I won’t watch internet broadcasts ever again.

My first encounter with internet broadcasting was through YouTube.

It was a weekend like any other, and I was aimlessly browsing videos when I stumbled upon one by chance.

It had barely any views, poor video quality, and frustratingly ugly fonts for the lyrics.

Normally, I would’ve hit the back button right away.

Was it fate?

Just then, I got a notification on my phone—

Work-related messages, even on the weekend.

I was about to reply, silently cursing my boss’s worsening M-shaped baldness.

Meanwhile, the video had started playing.

A deep voice that stirred the lazy afternoon.

This was seriously… something.

I forgot to reply and just closed my eyes, letting the music pull me in.

Was this my taste in vocals?

Even the song’s style hit the spot.

Since that day, I became a fan of the streamer “Lucy.”

It’s funny when I think about it.

Not once in school or the military did I ever stan a girl group.

Yet here I was, passionately supporting some random streamer.

Lucy was, to put it bluntly, a low-tier streamer.

Less than 100 days of experience.

She averaged around 10 viewers, and her income from streaming was so little she had to work two part-time jobs.

As someone new to internet broadcasting, I didn’t even know what the problem was.

A cute illustrated background, a quiet talk show starting when most office workers got off work.

That time of day comforting the end of a tiring day—I really loved it.

Three years passed.

So much happened.

She switched platforms, debuted as a virtual streamer, formed a crew, entered singing contests, participated in big content, and held a year-end concert.

The once-rookie Lucy became a full-time streamer, and I, who once knew nothing about internet broadcasting, had become the chairperson of her fan group and a fixture in the community.

It wasn’t something I could proudly talk about in public.

In society’s eyes, internet streaming was still a subculture, hidden in the shadows.

But I don’t regret it.

Back then, I was just going through the motions—commuting between work and home.

That cycle broke, and I lived the most passionate, fulfilling time of my life.

[I have something to say.]

#Virtual #TalkShow #Music #Sandbox

“This is where I stop. Thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown me. I hope you’re all happy.”

“…….”

I had always affirmed life, but now my “home base” announced its shutdown.

What about my three years, burned with passion?

The internet broadcasting world had already become a red ocean.

Dozens of streamers quit every day.

Each time, I’d watch in silence as emotional posts filled the gallery.

Never did I imagine I’d become one of them.

“Shit.”

My insides boiled, tangled in all kinds of emotions.

From betrayal to sadness, anger, regret, and finally, resignation.

Truth is, I saw it coming.

More frequent breaks, lower energy during streams.

Plenty of fans had already given up and left because of that inconsistency.

I’m only human too—sometimes I couldn’t hold back and left critical messages in chat.

Then I’d see that lonely smile through the screen.

I remembered how excited she was when she said she’d saved up and commissioned a new facial avatar from a talented artist.

Damn it.

I could see it in her expression—like she was about to cry.

So I couldn’t bring myself to ask why.

What was really going on?

For a month, I stewed in silence.

And then it happened.

Lucy quit streaming.

“All this for just some internet broadcast?”

All I was left with was a deep, crushing emptiness.

I hurriedly applied for vacation from work.

But days passed, and Lucy never came back. No new notices either.

A dreadful week dragged on.

Then the final blow—her channel disappeared.

Lucy deleted her platform account.

Three years, thrown away.

That night, I drank like I wanted to die and made a vow.

I would never watch internet broadcasts again.

Yes, I swore I would.

But then—

“Huh?”

The next day, I woke up…

Back to three years ago.

And not even as a man—

I had become a woman.