Chapter 128: The Mollru effect

Within Switch, the position that the streamer named Morllu held was quite unique.

She didn’t lean to one side but evenly spread her presence across various fields, making it difficult to clearly define her as this kind of streamer.

She was both an EOW challenge participant and a League commentator.

At the same time, she was a general gaming streamer who played other games quite well—a game master.

That didn’t mean she lacked conversational skills, either.

Perhaps due to her somewhat peculiar values, thought process, and pleasant voice, her talking-only streams were also well-received by viewers.

There was even a particular viewer base who preferred her talk streams over her gameplay—that says it all.

Of course, the factor that completed Morllu as a perfect streamer was her face.

Considering how her stream’s growth spiked after revealing her face, that fact was undeniable.

Even so, her stream wasn’t only about her looks, because Morllu was already doing well before she ever revealed her face.

The face reveal only served to reinforce her popularity and buzz.

This multi-talented Morllu was also connected to the rapidly growing VTuber scene.

It was a part of her streaming history—being the VTuber Morllu.

Morllu’s VTuber debut began as an alternative to revealing her face.

Because of that, some viewers in the Switch VTuber scene couldn’t accept her as a true VTuber.

<So is Morllu a VTuber or just a regular streamer?>

She took all the red pills already.

I mean, yeah, they were super ultra red pills, but still—her face is fully out there, so can she really be called a VTuber?

I’ve seen her switch between facecam and avatar, too.

Posts like these popped up now and then—again, that says it all.

The reason people rejected Morllu was because her motivation for starting as a VTuber didn’t seem pure, and also because she voluntarily revealed her face.

So what happened with this bait that had fired up the VTuber community for a while? Was Morllu accepted as a VTuber?

The answer was yes. As if the controversy never existed, VTuber viewers came to acknowledge her as an excellent VTuber.

They say extreme beauty forgives all, and this was the perfect example.

There were people who couldn’t accept Morllu, and on the flip side, those who really liked her.

The latter were mostly those overly sensitive about the VTuber “red pill” situation.

Due to how streaming works, a VTuber’s real appearance was usually not very impressive.

There’s a reason it’s called the forbidden “red pill of truth.”

Since many of those faces were below average, viewers often got immersion-breaking trauma when they were exposed to them.

Those people claimed it was better for their peace of mind to stan someone like Morllu, who had already passed the real-life appearance test

. In fact, her wearing an avatar with that kind of looks was a kind of plot twist charm.

They called it gap moe, or a kind of otaku appeal.

Because of Morllu, others unexpectedly received newfound attention—namely, her VTuber crew, the Flare Crew.

<If Morllu is like this, aren’t the Flare girls probably all pretty too?>

Didn’t she start VTubing because she knew someone in Flare or met them separately and became friends?

So does that mean the Flare girls are also ultra-super-red-pilled?

Discussing a VTuber’s real appearance—normally, that kind of post would get bombed with downvotes and buried deep below.

This one did get some downvotes, but far more upvotes, and now it sat proudly at the top of the community page.

Unless it was fake-bait run by a script, that meant VTuber fans on Switch largely agreed.

The Flare Crew, who had been minding their own business, ended up riding the wave.

They were mentioned in the country’s largest VTuber community, even praised for probably having amazing looks under their avatars.

Unlike the usual top-posts that appeared to roast a VTuber caught in some scandal, this was the opposite—genuine positive attention.

“Holy shiiiiiit—…”

Once when Morllu’s face was revealed. And now again.

Jay, a member of the Flare Crew, stopped eating breakfast and let out an involuntary exclamation.

She had a habit of ego-searching herself on the community from time to time.

Her boss, Rita, usually told her not to.

It wasn’t an official fan cafe, and the unfiltered content in such communities was bound to have negative effects.

But this time was different. No matter how much she looked, there was only praise.

Maybe this was the brightest moment of Jay’s entire community-browsing life.

“All thanks to Morllu.”

Jay’s respect for Morllu grew even deeper inside her.

At this point, it had gone beyond admiration—she was practically in awe.

Can a person really be this perfect?

Jay now understood the saying that when you meet someone too talented, instead of feeling competitive, you just want to become friends with them.

Even the memories of being treated like a dog in those old Minecraft streams as Morllu’s s*ave had long been twisted into a glorious page of the past.

She wanted to get closer.

Not just to get scraps of attention from being around her, but because she genuinely wanted to have a human connection with someone like Morllu.

That was the feeling Jay had as someone who had become a big fan of Morllu.

And she had a way to make that feeling into reality.

She had once received Morllu’s personal contact information.

Jay, who was always strict about separating business and personal life, had never used it after receiving it.

She only kept it just in case there was ever a reason to reach out.

She wanted to chat about idols and silly things with Morllu.

She wanted to have conversations filled with nothing important, yet everything joyful.

Jay was swept up in desire, and by the time she had finished her breakfast cereal, Corn Frost, she finally gave in and acted on it.

• The trigger was minor.

It was a sudden KakaoTalk message from Jay.

Curious what it was about, Morllu checked and saw that Jay had just reached out because she was bored.

It seemed like she was asking to hang out if I wasn’t busy, so I held my phone and made small talk with her.

I realized just how much my network had grown lately.

My contact list, including KakaoTalk, hadn’t been quiet at all.

There wasn’t a single day where my notifications didn’t go off, and I had to check my phone regularly.

— You don’t do virtual streams these days?

Before I knew it, we had dropped formalities in our conversation.

It came up as we were chatting about my stream.

Virtual streaming, huh?

Now that I think of it, it had been a while since I last did one.

Jay, being a virtual streamer herself, seemed to want to talk with me about that area.

The reason I hadn’t been doing virtual streams was simple.

I just didn’t have anything suitable to do.

It was simply a content drought.

I’d done map explorations using VR.

I’d played around with my avatar.

I’d even tested facial recognition systems and admired how far tech had come.

There were probably endless other ways to use it, but with my limited knowledge, that was about the best I could do.

When I thought of asking Jay, the expert, for her advice, she brought up something unexpected.

— What about singing?

— Singing?

I asked what she meant, and she replied that VTubers and singing are inseparable.

Apparently, in the industry, it’s called Uta Waku.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what made singing streams anything special for VTubers.

I mean, what’s the difference—singing with no cam, singing with a cam, or singing using an avatar?

It all felt the same to me.

Maybe I was just too inexperienced in the VTuber world to understand.

For professionals, I guess it feels like the difference between heaven and earth.

Anyway, apparently, singing streams are a long-standing tradition in VTubing.

I don’t know why, but that’s what they say.

— What if you tried singing, Morllu?

Jay said that, since I had a nice voice, a singing stream would suit me well.

That part was true.

Lately, I’d been to karaoke a few times with friends, and the results weren’t bad.

Maybe because my voice tone was pleasant, even just singing the basics didn’t sound terrible.

“A singing stream, huh…”

I ran a quick simulation in my head.

My usual streaming time was from evening to late night.

Late night was the perfect time to get sentimental, and singing while emotional usually sounded better.

I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I could do a singing stream, check out viewers’ music preferences, and use that as a chance to interact.

Plus, I was curious how viewers would react to my music taste.

When I went to karaoke with Ryua and Jiyeon before, they all said my favorite songs didn’t match my current voice at all.

Well, my body had changed, so it couldn’t be helped.

I wouldn’t know songs typically sung by women or suited to someone with Jiyeon’s voice.

Like with the last time I leaned on collective intelligence, I plan to ask for song recommendations that suit me this time, too.

Hopefully, I’ll get some good results.