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

What Are My Colleagues to Me?

They are ghosts.

Phantom entities that exist only in the company’s personnel records.

Technically, I was part of the Operations Team. My desk was even right next to the Operations Team Leader.

But in practice, I was half removed from their actual work.

The boss was the one who gave me assignments, and the boss was the one who received my reports.

A strange, roundabout system—except it wasn’t strange at all.

Whenever some disaster broke out in the streaming world, I was the one they tossed it to like some kind of private investigator.

And if orders had to pass through another person first, our response time would slow down.

In a field where something exploded every other day, the boss had no choice but to keep me as her personal problem solver.

Because of that, I had never even considered what it would be like to work with someone.

Watching multiple VTuber streams at once?

Please.

During big collabs, I always had at least five screens open—sometimes up to ten.

Not every stream was a highlight reel.

I’d mute the non-priority ones and switch focus as needed.

Writing reports that were practically industry trend analysis papers was a bit tricky at first, but once I figured out the boss and the planning team’s preferences, it became second nature.

The only painful part was being forced to watch our company’s VTubers instead of my own favorite streamers.

But even that problem resolved itself after two months.

Because when you put together a curated cast of streamers, hand-picked by the boss herself, their charms inevitably shine through.

And I, a firm believer in "Falling for an oshi is like getting hit by a truck," was helpless to resist.

Outside of streams, they were still chaotic disasters who kept screwing up and causing headaches.

But the moment they went live, they were stars.

Boss Momo’s shining idols, following in her footsteps.

Overall, my job satisfaction was at an all-time high.

I never felt overworked.

I never worried about my workload increasing.

I mean, I literally got paid to watch, analyze, and summarize VTuber streams.

Why would I ever complain?

Sure, I also managed broadcasting equipment, troubleshot live stream issues, enforced chat and donation rules, and kept other moderators in check—

But those were self-imposed responsibilities.

From my perspective, the highly educated, well-experienced professionals in the company shouldn’t waste their time on this.

They should be planning high-profile collabs and making sure operations ran smoothly.

Their efforts created better content and more successful events, which in turn strengthened Parallel’s financial health.

But now… a junior colleague?

Instead of excitement, I felt uneasy.

I had worked alone for so long that I doubted I’d suddenly start working together with someone.

If anything, I’d probably just let them fend for themselves.

The reason I stuffed my report with every task I handled?

Because I wasn’t going to be some kind, patient mentor hand-holding a newbie through each step.

I wanted someone who could just do my job the way I did it.

And if that wasn’t possible?

Then we didn’t need to hire anyone at all.

[Boss: Miss Magia.]
[Boss: You’re not supposed to list all your own tasks.]
[Boss: Just write what you actually need help with.]

But the boss seemed dead set on recruiting someone.

So, fine.

If I had to choose just three key traits…

1. Someone who genuinely loves watching all the members' streams.
2. Someone who can multitask like a god.
3. Someone who understands tech and has good memory recall.

The first two were essential for monitoring streams and writing reports.

If I ever had to step away, they’d need to cover for me, even if it was just a rough summary.

The third was for when I was assisting one member’s stream, and an equipment issue popped up somewhere else.

They’d have to respond immediately.

…Honestly, I had at least three more points I wanted to add.

But I left it at that.

I didn’t bother mentioning personality traits like "must be diligent and responsible."

The boss already filtered for that when hiring.

I emailed the revised document and checked the clock.

2 PM.

Time for work.

"Already?"

I packed my fully charged tablet into my massive work bag.

Normally, I didn’t carry it because it made my shoulder ache, but for the past few days, I’d been bringing it for a reason.

Watching other people’s streams—non-VTuber streams—on a company PC?

That would be awkward as hell.

This was probably the first time in my life that I had actively followed a male streamer.

But I wasn’t about to underestimate my opponent.

I was up against Mugeon. A former pro.

If I wanted to humiliate him, I couldn’t take this lightly.

"Know your enemy, know yourself—win every battle."

Apparently, he did viewer games during late-night hours.

After work, I’d try to snipe him.

Once we played together, I’d uncover weaknesses that a simple broadcast wouldn’t reveal.

***

Mugeon’s streams typically started around 6 PM on weekdays.

He would usually begin with a casual dinner mukbang, chatting with viewers, before cleaning up and jumping straight into Battle Colosseum.

As a former pro, his biggest strength was obviously his skill.

But what made him truly legendary was his “Magnet Aim”—

That signature flick, like his crosshair was being pulled toward enemies by a powerful magnet, had earned him his nickname.

And when he picked up a sniper rifle, it didn’t matter if the enemy was near or far—

He would destroy them.

He was even infamous for ruining matches by single-handedly eliminating aggressive assault players who tried to sneak up on him.

In Battle Colosseum, one-shot kills were impossible due to shields—

But at Diamond tier and above, unloading an entire mag into someone instantly was normal.

Snipers were considered high-risk, high-reward. If they got flanked, they were dead.

But Mugeon broke that logic.

If he was just a sniper specialist, he wouldn’t have made it as a streamer after retiring from the pro scene.

— “ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ”
— “Holy shit, that aim.”
— “Is this another pistol-only day? lmao”
— “How is his tracking that good?!”
— “Mugeon… is he a god? Mugeon… is he a god? Mugeon… is he a god?”

Snipers were just his most famous weapon.

But in truth, Mugeon was a master of all single-shot weapons.

Pistols. Shotguns. Snipers. Even hunting bows from supply drops.

Which is exactly why Signal Flare caught his interest.

Three Days Ago@@novelbin@@

During Akari Dora’s stream, Pandemic Village had given off a realistic, sluggish feeling—

The mouse lagged slightly to make aiming harder, adding to the horror atmosphere.

But despite that, Signal Flare had—

• Barely hesitated before going straight into the final boss fight.
• Hit every single headshot.
• Coolly exited the game without celebrating.

It wasn’t just about aiming.

It was the fact that she did it so effortlessly.

Sure, there were plenty of haters downplaying the achievement.

"It’s just an AI boss."
"Pattern-based enemies are easy."

But to Mugeon, that video lit a fire in him.

For the past three days, he had been obsessing over pistols.

A real gun game addict dreams of making the perfect headshot montage—like a hitman avenging his dead dog.

But even though he pushed his headshot rate to 50%—

(For reference, in pro tournaments, the average was around 25%.)

—something felt missing.

It wasn’t about winning.

It was about hitting the cleanest shot possible.

He wanted to hit 100% headshots in a full match.

As a pro, he had always prioritized high-percentage shots over flashy ones.

But now?

He was a streamer.

No one would yell at him for throwing efficiency out the window for a crazy goal.

Back to the Present

4 AM.

Mugeon blinked.

"Shit. Time flies."

His stream was coming to an end.

"I guess that’s enough for today."

He sighed and leaned back.

“Alright, it’s getting late. Let’s wrap things up with two casual squad matches before I log off.”

— “LET’S GO”
— “One last snipe~”
— “Wait, it’s over already? Where did my time go?”
— “Time to snipe the streamer.”

:: Mission Alert ::
:: Win the match and claim 100,000 Clouds (≈ $100). ::

“Oh, a 100K mission? Thank you! I’ll try my best to get a win in two games.”

— “EZ win incoming.”
— “Let’s get this bread.”

The final match of the night.

Mugeon queued for random squads, curious about his teammates.

One slot filled—then another.

And then—

[Player 3: MugeonIsAWell-KnownMomoAnti]

“…?”

The chat exploded.

— “WTF.”
— “EXCUSE ME?!”
— “Is this an anti-fan?!???”
— “Yo, who is this? LMAO”
— “TELL ME THAT’S NOT SIGNAL FLARE.”

But the nickname was… off.

It felt less like Signal Flare and more like…

An actual Momo anti-fan?

A salty viewer who hated seeing Mugeon and Momo getting along?

Maybe someone had sniped the queue just to troll.

Curious, Mugeon turned on voice chat.

“Hey, what’s up? Are you a viewer?”

There was a brief pause.

Then, the TTS (Text-to-Speech) voice kicked in.

[YOU ARE WELL COME. MY GAME. FUN EXPECT. THANK.]

Mugeon blinked.

So did the chat.

— “LMAOOOOO”
— “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”
— “BRO WENT FULL GOOGLE TRANSLATE.”
— “HELP I’M DYING.”

A broken, robotic translation.

It sounded like… a foreigner who used a bad translator just to join the match?

Mugeon raised an eyebrow.

“Wait, can you understand me? Do you understand my talk?”

A long pause.

Then—

[YES. I AM PRO. KOREAN LISTENING SKILL GOOD.]

— “STOP, I CAN’T BREATHE.”
— “WHO IS THIS????”
— “AN ACTUAL COMEDY LEGEND JUST APPEARED.”
— “TTS CHAD.”

At this point, Mugeon didn’t care.

They could understand him, so it was fine.

It was just a casual match, anyway.

But then—

The TTS player spoke again.

[WANT BET. YOU AND ME. I WIN. YOU SAY. MUGEON IS OVERHYPED. I LOSE. I REVEAL. REAL VOICE.]

The chat went silent for a moment.

Then—

— “WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN? LMAO”
— “Wait, is this a bet??”
— “BRO SAID YOU’RE OVERRATED LMAOOOO.”
— “MUGEON, HE’S TALKING SHIT.”

Mugeon squinted at the screen.

He had encountered foreign viewers like this before.

“You want to bet? Alright. What’s the bet?”

[KILL. MORE NUMBER.]

That got his attention.

A kill race?

Against a mystery guest who was already making the entire chat cry with laughter?

Perfect YouTube content.

Mugeon grinned.

“Alright, deal.”

He grabbed his sniper rifle—and, of course, his trusty pistol.

It was time to end the night with a bang.

“Let’s do this.”