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

Lee attempted to defend against Apolla’s turret demolition spree, but he failed every single time.

If at least the approach had been different, maybe things would’ve gone differently. But no, it was always the same.
Smoke screen. Vision play.

And yet, he couldn’t catch her.

[All] BackstabWoundIsDukbae’sShame: Too slow.

Even when the inner turret of his lane fell—

[All] BackstabWoundIsDukbae’sShame: When did you start thinking turrets were safe?

Even when Apolla reached the core turret—

[All] BackstabWoundIsDukbae’sShame: For me, demolition is murder.

That damn black cloud.

A 30-second smoke screen with a 3-minute cooldown, constantly disrupting the battlefield.

Weren’t high-rank players the ones who said that only garbage used it and warned people never to pick it?
Or maybe the ones using it before just didn’t know how to play Apolla properly.
It was just that Bronze-tier players weren’t prepared to deal with a sudden smoke ghost appearing in their game.

Sure, the effect became irrelevant when AoE skills started raining down like a storm.
But of course, the real problem was that Mascot was sticking to Apolla like glue.

Like they had just decided, "I’m just gonna sit back, eat ramen, and heal."

They wouldn’t detach from Apolla, wouldn’t leave even in death—just mindlessly healing.

To top it off, they were fully stacked with recovery-based items. Now, every time they used a heal, Apolla would get a speed boost and a reinforced shield on top of it.

At least they had no awareness beyond mindlessly pushing forward, so taking them down was easy.

But every time they died, they forced Lee and his teammates to burn their skills and ultimates, throwing the whole game into chaos.

It wasn’t just Lee who was getting thrown off. His teammates were losing their grip, too.

[All] BackstabWoundIsDukbae’sShame: Are you afraid?

Maybe because they were all hovering around Bronze rank, they kept swarming Apolla like a mob.

And there was always that one guy who was a step too slow.

Not that the enemy team was slacking off, either.

With Apolla and Mascot drawing all the attention, the rest of their team moved in a three-man squad, cutting off anyone who fell behind.
The frontline kept getting pushed back, over and over.

"Why did you get picked off?"
"I was trying to stop them."
"You got caught alone, what did you expect?"
"What do you mean alone? I was trying to group up, and I got picked off on the way. Why the hell can’t you guys stop Apolla?"
"The one who got picked off sure has a lot to say."

…And just like that, Lee’s team chat was on fire.

[Team] IfAnActorActsThey’reAGenius: ^^1 fuck, who the hell fed Apolla?
[Team] IfAnActorActsThey’reAGenius: Bronze fucks, you tape your mouths shut or something?
[Team] IfAnActorActsThey’reAGenius: Say something, you dumbasses. LMAO.
[Team] TerminalLungCancer: The way you’re talking, anyone would think Kirine threw the game. LOL.

Ah.

Right, this was just the usual Naore experience.

People calling each other trash the moment things went south.

Why was he even putting himself through all this, grinding so hard just to hit Silver?

"Goddamn it..."

Lee let out a deep sigh.

And with that, he deleted the game he had spent twenty years playing from his computer.

***

After that day, I spent a few more days practicing Naore on my own.

At the very least, I wanted to be able to say, with confidence, "I’m good at this," in front of Komari.

To truly refine my skills, I threw myself into ranked matches.

And a few days later, the promised day with Komari arrived.

[Komari: I’ll buy you food today.]
[Me: No need.]
[Komari: Nah, I need to butter you up in advance for today’s content.]
[Me: You cannibal.]
[Komari: ?]

At first, I thought we’d just be playing together online, each on our own system.
But no—turns out, she wanted an off-collab setup, like the one I had with Dora.

Since the team leader gave me the okay, I went along with it.
But seeing how Komari was even buying me food… it was starting to feel like I was in for a rough day.

Komari was cold.
Especially when it came to Naore.

A few hours later, I was mixing soy sauce into my beef bowl when I asked her,

“So. I play the game, and you backseat me?”

“Yes.”

“And… why exactly?”

“To teach the Na-ssems a lesson.”

That was the core idea of the content.

"You guys love to backseat my ranked games, but all you do is piss people off instead of actually helping. So now, you’ll see what it feels like."

"A kind of mirror therapy," she called it.

It was a smart plan.
Though, if Komari were the one backseating me, I might get annoyed, but I wouldn’t really lose my temper.

No, the only thing that truly made me furious was when my boss suddenly announced a break from streaming—
Well. Let’s not go there.

“Na-ssems can be pretty bad,” I admitted. “Doesn’t matter how many warnings or bans we give, new ones just keep popping up out of nowhere.”

“There are just too many players,” Komari sighed. “Honestly, in this country, it’s harder to find someone who doesn’t play Naore. There are way too many self-proclaimed experts.”

And yet, here I was.

“Got it. But this sounds like a rough job.”

“Yep. That’s why I’m buying you food. It’s all staged, but I wanted to get your permission in advance.”

“Hm.”

It was a decent content idea.
It might even ease the workload for the managers.
It was about time for another Impel Down.

But I couldn’t deny that any effect would only be temporary.

Just like Komari said, Na-ssems were everywhere, and new ones spawned every day.
Even if we calmed some down during the stream, a fresh batch would just show up from somewhere else.

Honestly, it would be better to establish some proper discipline.
But Komari was so obsessed with Naore that she wouldn’t even take a break when I recommended she rest for a month.

And more than anything…

"This would make Komari look like the villain."

Some people wouldn’t take this as mirror therapy at all.
They’d just use it as an excuse to attack her.

"So it’s not content, huh? You’re just bullying the staff now?"
"Wow, I didn’t expect this from Komari."

Even if it was just WWE between us, the community could easily take it out of context and blow it up into something worse.

Like, say… a staff-VTuber conflict.

Dora dragging me on stream was one thing. That was cute. But Komari in ranked mode?
Her sheer, venomous trash talk… that was actually terrifying from a management perspective.

But like she said, cracking down on Naore’s toxic players would help a lot of people.

As I kept eating, an idea struck me.

“Hm. Just a meal seems kinda lacking.”

“Want me to buy you something else? Steak’s fine too.”

“No, no. It’s not about food. I want to tweak your content plan a little.”

“Oh? That’s rare. What’s the idea?”

A way to filter out the worst backseaters while making sure Komari didn’t come off as the bad guy.

The solution?

“A Backseat Endurance Challenge.”

“A what?”

“You watch me play, but if you fail to hold back your backseating, you get a penalty.”

“A penalty?”

I pulled out my phone and showed her a game.

Rubber Duck House.

A game where you do absolutely nothing but watch rubber ducks float into a swimming pool to build a collection.

For Naore players and their dopamine-addicted audiences, it was the ultimate form of agony.

“…That’s horrifying.”

“For every backseat comment, one hour of this game. What do you think?”

“An hour?!”

“But ten minutes is too little, and thirty minutes just feels lame.”

“Well… yeah, but…”

Komari hesitated before saying,

“This is gonna make viewers drop like flies.”

“It’s just one day. If people still choose to watch you over the countless other Naore streamers, it means they’re here for you. So one day off shouldn’t matter, right?”

Sure, Naore was popular, and a lot of people just floated between streams.
But the ones who stuck around had already settled in.

Komari’s Naore streams weren’t just a recent thing.
She’d been running them as regular content for months.

And it wasn’t like she was some low-rank player, either.
She was Emerald-tier.

Naore didn’t have an exact equivalent of that, but it was basically just below Diamond.

“Besides, anyone who leaves because you skipped one day of Naore isn’t worth keeping. They’re probably the real toxic Na-ssems anyway.”

Komari’s eyes lit up.

“…Alright. Let’s do it. As long as you don’t play like an absolute bug.”

We finished our meal, grabbed some ice cream for dessert—there was something special about having ice cream after a warm meal in cool weather—

Then, back at home, I set up my illustration in the bottom-right of the screen and placed Komari’s Live2D avatar above it.

I had already prepared the mouth movements in advance.

As expected of the most technically skilled first-gen member.

Finally, sitting down in front of my keyboard and mouse, I decided it was time to reveal the truth to Komari.

“…By the way, you might lose your mind while watching.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not a gaming idiot. I know you’re decent at most games.”

“That’s true. But Naore is… a little different.”

I grinned and logged into my account.

Click, click.

As soon as I pulled up my profile, my shining rank badge was revealed.

[BackstabWoundIsDukbae’sShame]
Iron II - 66 LP

Komari stared at my tier in stunned silence.

After all, Iron was Naore’s lowest rank, infamous as the pit where only subhuman insects resided.

For someone like me—who had hit Diamond in Battle Colosseum and even gone toe-to-toe with pros—to be Iron in Naore…

Yeah, I guess it was pretty shocking.

“…Wait. Why is your tier—”

“I practiced ranked over the weekend after training with the boss. I broke through my lane, destroyed turrets, even got to the enemy base. But my team was just too bad, so we kept losing.”

“What champion were you playing?”

“Apolla. Her turret demolition animation is sick.”

“……”

Komari gave me a look like she’d just figured out everything.

Then let out a deep sigh and shook her head.

After a moment of thought, she finally spoke.

“I just came up with today’s stream title.”

She started typing into the broadcast software.@@novelbin@@

[Stream Title: Even a Pro in Battle Col Can’t Escape Dukbae Hell in Another World?!]

I scratched my temple and muttered.

“…It’s not my fault. My team threw every match. Don’t just call me a Dukbae moron…”