Chapter 108: The Masked Veteran and the Beggar Heir

What is the advantage of being a corporate-affiliated VTuber?

It’s that easy to join forces.

In today’s streaming world, it was difficult to grow without a “crew.” There were limits to going solo, like being stranded on a remote island.

There were many reasons for that, but the biggest one was the limited types of content you could create alone.

However, this problem was solved if you were a corporate VTuber. From the very beginning, it felt like you naturally belonged to a “crew.”

Want to play a two-player game? Just call a friendly member from the same company. Four-player game? Same thing.

The more players a game required and the bigger the scale, the more powerful corporate VTubers became.

Corporate-affiliated VTubers usually operated by continuously expanding their lineup and scale.

With most corporate VTubers, even something like a 6v6 Eternal World in-house scrim could be handled entirely with internal members.

Aside from that, there were other advantages too—like how viewers supported fellow members from the same company, how it was easier to build chemistry between members, or how running a merch business—the alpha and omega of the VTuber industry—was better handled by companies.

But in my opinion, the greatest advantage was ultimately the numbers.

As long as you had the headcount, it was much easier to turn any idea into reality.

This large-scale server was no exception.

The “Life Server.” A very well-known format.

You’d pick a high-freedom game, host a server, and accept participants.

And every participant was required to engage in “Hard RP.”

To use my Cosmic Ossuary as an example, if you picked an Imperial Army soldier RP, you had to play accordingly.

If you picked an adventurer RP, you had to play as one. If you picked a pirate RP, then pirate play it was.

You weren’t allowed to bring in real-world topics. That was against the rules.

You could only refer to in-game scenarios using your designated RP.

The level of strictness varied from server to server.

Some were relaxed enough that it was clearly WWE to anyone watching.

Others were so immersive that even if the streamers were just acting, the viewers saw it as UFC—and sometimes, real emotions got involved. It split like that.

As for the server created by Novelive, it seemed to lean toward the latter.

At least, according to the rules.

They even asked players to act like actual in-game characters, which meant it was highly likely to become that kind of server.

Since all the members were affiliated with Novelive, the usual “drama” wasn’t likely, but people are unpredictable. It was too early to say for sure.

Anyway, the fact that they could handle this kind of content—which required at least dozens of participants—entirely with in-house staff…

That’s the power of corporate VTubers.

I checked out the game Novelive had chosen for this event: Arcane Punk 1009.

Hmm. Mm. Hmmm…

Not bad.

It supported various mods and had a high degree of freedom.

That it supported multiple mods was the best part.

Suddenly, an interesting idea popped into my head.

I immediately sent an email to Novelive.

The reply came quickly.

Sender: Novelive
Subject: We’d appreciate it if you did that.

Kurohina Mai narrowed her eyes as she skimmed through the rules of the Arcane Punk 1009 life server.

Sure, it would be fun—but from a streamer’s point of view, it would be exhausting.

Well, the harder the streamer had to work, the more fun it was for the viewers, so it didn’t really matter.

Alright.

Clap. Mai slapped her cheeks with her palms to pump herself up and began creating her RP for the game.

“I’m from the slums. I clawed my way up from the bottom, but I’m always cheerful…”

She paused there, halting her hand.

And murmured to herself,

‘This makes me sound just like Akane…’

But there was no helping it. Any other RP didn’t come naturally to her—and it wouldn’t be fun.

After finishing her RP, Mai moved on to character creation.

She selected her talents and set her stats. She even added a few penalties to get extra points.

Lastly was the appearance. For this, she decided to make it exactly like her VTuber avatar. Hardcore servers usually required a look that fit the game’s atmosphere, but Novelive’s life server wasn’t that strict.

It only resembled a hardcore server in other aspects.

“Done.”

With her appearance customization complete, Mai glanced at the time.

The server was about to open.

While snooping on other streams, everyone was already online, waiting for the server to open.

‘I should turn mine on too.’

Mai turned on her stream, timing it with everyone else.

[Entry complete]

[Mai’s the last one again www]

[That’s how it should be. A senior should always be late.]

“Am I the last one?”

Mai asked in a slightly flustered tone, prompting the listeners to burst into noisy chatter.

And the reason Mai, who normally loathed being late, waited until the very last moment to start the stream—

It was part of the act.

By playing the role of the laid-back senior, she kept herself in the perfect position to be playfully teased.

If Akane had ushered in Novelive’s golden age by playing a character exactly like her real self, then Mai did the opposite.

She wore a mask and acted thoroughly.

By choosing the mask that best fit the situation, she entertained her viewers.

That’s why people who had been into VTubers for a long time were often more impressed by Mai’s talent than Akane’s.

Maintaining a persona so different from your real personality—especially in this current age where live commentary is king—was no easy feat.

Of course, such evaluations were reserved for the so-called “VTuber scholars.” At a glance, Mai’s character seemed like a dime-a-dozen trope.

And that was also Mai’s limitation.

If she could freely slip into truly vibrant and unique characters, she wouldn’t have stopped at being a top-tier VTuber—she’d have become a legend.

But she couldn’t.

There was a limit to the masks Mai could wear.

It wasn’t for nothing that Akane became the top VTuber. Public judgment was cold.

Still, the consensus among the VTuber scholars was that Mai wasn’t so talentless as to be underrated like she was now.

Mai logged into the server and pasted in the pre-made character description.

An RP of someone who had clawed her way up from the bottom, always cheerful and energetic.

Considering her real personality, ‘cheerful and energetic’ wasn’t quite right—‘sharp and intense’ would’ve been a better fit.

But the former suited the mask she had maintained for years. It was a strategic choice.

The game began.

The screen changed, shifting into first-person—typical of a VR game.

Honk–

Woken by the sound of a car horn outside, Mai got up from bed.

A very small studio apartment. Yep, a perfect starting point for her RP.

She opened the window and was greeted by a flashy, yet somehow gloomy city.

Then—bang bang! Someone knocked loudly at the door. Surprised by the sudden noise, Mai tilted her head and walked toward the entrance.

Creak. As she opened the door, a stern-looking middle-aged woman glared at her.

The woman spoke.

“Do you even know how many months behind you are on rent?”

So that’s the setting? Finding it amusing, Mai quickly spoke up.

“Mai, you’re behind on rent?”

“You’re behind on rent? Unbelievable. If you don’t pay by tomorrow, I’m kicking you out.”

“–”

Bang! The woman slammed the door angrily and stormed off.

Huh. Mai was confused. That wasn’t quite what she had expected.

In an open-world game, high freedom meant one thing—how well the game handled interactions.

Whether it was touching an object, talking to an NPC, or doing something weird—how the game responded determined the quality of the open world.

As far as Mai knew, Arcane Punk 1009 had excellent object interaction, but NPC interaction was just so-so.

She had wanted to squeeze some content out of it—messing with a dumb NPC to get a silly response—but… things didn’t go as expected.

Was it just a coincidence?

Well, even if NPC interaction wasn’t great, it wasn’t nonexistent either.

The variation was broad. Maybe she just happened to trigger one of the better ones.

“It’s time to go to my part-time job.”

Mai decided to follow the schedule for now.

Her part-time workplace was a diner.

Silver exterior like a train car, neon signs, an old jukebox, checkered floors, and red leather seats—it looked just like a classic American diner you’d see in movies.

Dressed in a waitress uniform, Mai diligently waited tables.

“The fried chicken here is always garbage.”

“Didn’t they say anything deep-fried tastes good?”

“That’s the miracle of alchemy. The chef here chose the wrong career. That guy should’ve been a wizard, not frying chicken. No wonder the results suck. Hey! Sister! Get me another burger!”

“At least the burgers are decent.”

After her shift, Mai mumbled to herself.

“This is kinda weird.”

She couldn’t say outright that “the game is weird”—that would break the RP rules. So she danced around it.

Even that kind of hinting was something to be avoided if possible. It broke immersion.

And yet, Mai deliberately chose to say it.

That’s how strange the game felt.

It was unsettling. It had this visceral realism, like she had been dropped into another world.

Yeah. It felt just like when she played Han Yurim’s game—

Come to think of it, she’d heard Han Yurim was participating in this server too.

Could it be that Han Yurim had done something strange to the server in collaboration with Novelive?

It was a very plausible theory. In fact, there was no other explanation that made sense.

Han Yurim again. A name she’d grown familiar with after hearing it multiple times lately, Mai rolled it quietly in her mouth.

She suddenly grew curious. If it were Han Yurim, what kind of RP would she choose for this server?

A mafia role? Sounded plausible. Or maybe a fixer? That seemed more fitting. Han Yurim gave off a strong vibe of liking freedom.

Or maybe she’d go all out and be the youngest daughter of a mecha corporation—

“One coin, please. I haven’t eaten today. I’m starving.”

“……”

Or… yeah. Maybe the heir of a famous magic tower.

“If this keeps up, I’ll die from malnutrition. It’s so sad. Please save me.”

“…What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m begging. You’ve never seen someone like this before? You must come from a pretty wealthy family, huh?”

“….”

Mai was stunned. And who wouldn’t be?

A familiar blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl—now smaller than before—was begging on the street.

If she wasn’t surprised, that would’ve been weirder.

The beggar—Han Yurim—spoke.

“I believe you won’t abandon a poor child like me.”