… — — Staff-D Mini Gallery — — — …
[100% Debut Potential]
Didn’t it feel like no one even noticed when Staff-D showed up just now?
(Hmm… suspicious)
No one called them over, and they just showed up because they wanted to be on screen?
(Aha, interesting)
So, they’re basically saying they’re about to debut, huh?
Bring it on.
[Comments]
– Staff-D835: Don’t trust it too much; it’s all staged, lol.
– Staff-D093: They probably agreed on it beforehand, lol.
– Staff-D734 (OP): But seriously, even if it was staged, why would they go through all that?
– Staff-D734 (OP): Isn’t it just to get more attention on Staff-D, like, “Wow, what a mythical Pokémon”?
– Staff-D540: That actually makes sense.
– Staff-D202: This guy’s so persistent, lol.
– Staff-D734 (OP): If Wendy-chan ends up debuting, remember it’s all thanks to me, lol.
– Staff-D202: You’d be lucky if they don’t run away because of you. 😅
… — — — — — — — — — — — …
* * *
At the same time MaJiyaga had just caused a stir at the Halloween Dot Parade,
in Parallel A’s meeting room, the first part of the final meeting for the first-generation anniversary event—set to run from November 5 to 14—was wrapping up.
“Alright, let’s grab dinner and reconvene afterward.”
“Thank you for your hard work!”
“How about you, boss?”
“Oh, I’ll just grab some kimbap. There’s too much on my mind right now.”
“In that case, I’ll bring back some coffee later.”
“Thank you, Team Leader.”
In short, the meeting would continue after dinner.
The event schedule was packed tightly into a short time frame, requiring everything to flow seamlessly from start to finish, making this an exceptionally busy time for the planning team.
The schedule included:
– Sunday, November 5: Release of a new song for the first-generation members’ anniversary.
– Tuesday, November 7 to Friday, November 10: Sequential 3D showcases for each of the four first-generation members.
– Saturday, November 11: A pre-event festival hosted by Cheon Dohee.
– Sunday, November 12: The grand finale: the first online group concert featuring the first generation in their 3D models.
With new music, 3D showcases, and a concert flowing one after another, this was shaping up to be a dopamine-filled week for fans.
Of course, for the company, it was nothing short of a hellish week.
The silver lining was that, except for the November 11 pre-event festival, most of the preparations were complete.
As for the pre-event, the key component was the visual presentation to be viewed alongside the audience. The planning team’s presentation, Another 1 Year, had received perfect scores during repeated internal evaluations. Since it was based on the detailed broadcast reports Jiya had meticulously evaluated daily, there wasn’t much room for error.
All that remained was the live commentary during the broadcast itself. In other words, everything depended on Dohee’s hosting skills.
Fortunately, there were virtually no doubts about her abilities. Dohee herself had proven to be the leader in the VTuber industry through her subscriber count, average viewership, and streaming metrics.
Every three months, the program Review Another would reflect on one quarter of the first generation, already showing significant results in terms of sustained viewer metrics, search volume, and new fan acquisition.
The question lay with Dohee herself.
It stemmed from the consistent feedback during these quarterly reflection broadcasts:
“It’s fun, but it feels slightly different from what we imagined?”
Overall, it wasn’t a major issue for the business.
But wasn’t Momo a broadcaster before she was a businesswoman?
Naturally, even such minor discomforts compelled her to find a reason and make improvements.
The broadcasts had steadily improved, and most evaluations were now positive. But leaving that one point unresolved still felt unsettling.
“Time is the problem for now.”
With only two weeks left until the pre-anniversary event, it was unlikely that a solution would suddenly emerge after all the brainstorming.
So today, once again, Dohee sided with her business-oriented persona over her broadcasting self.
Focusing on ensuring the 1st-anniversary event went smoothly was the best use of her time.
11 PM.
“Great job, everyone!”
“Let’s do one last cheer!”
“Come on, boss, join us.”
“One, two, three fighting!”
“Let’s go~!”
The seemingly endless marathon meeting finally wrapped up.
The marketing and promotion teams had clashed repeatedly over ad execution and timing, sparks practically flying from their heads, but everything was resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. Their relieved faces reflected it.
Some were already suggesting a late-night drink to celebrate.
However, Dohee, directly involved in the broadcast, couldn’t escape her lingering worries.
Even after the meeting, she was rubbing her temples while tweaking the script, feeling out of sync with the lively atmosphere.
“Everyone, you know this is just the beginning, right? Let’s save the real celebration for later. For now, let’s keep it simple and go home to rest properly, okay?”
The planning and promotion team leads, caught trying to organize an impromptu outing, awkwardly excused themselves.
Their attempt to drag their subordinates along was foiled, so they quietly backed off.
The younger staff members, relieved, bowed in gratitude as they left.
As the last employee turned off the lights, leaving only Dohee behind, the office grew dim and quiet—except for one corner bustling with noise.
A glance at the partition closest to the main entrance revealed the source.
It was Magia and Gong Seungyeon watching multiple monitors broadcasting a show.
“The Halloween broadcast seems to be going well.”
Just yesterday, the preparations had been chaotic, with complaints about ill-fitting parts, awkward moments, and urgent emails for fixes. It had been nothing short of a war.
But fortunately, no major issues had arisen today. If there had been, Magia would’ve been the first to rush into the meeting room.
Curious, Dohee walked over, leaning her arms on the partition and resting her chin on her clasped hands.
The two, with their headsets slightly askew to leave one ear uncovered, were engrossed in their discussion.
“Didn’t that last conversation remind you of the Marie-Dora couple arc?”
“From when we did Black Company six months ago.”
“Yes, yes! Even when a monster appears, Komari stays calm, while Dora screams. It was just like when they opened that surprise box earlier. Oh no, I can’t— Kyaaah! Mariya! Help me! Grab that! Mom! Mooom!”
“And come to think of it, wasn’t that when the ‘Mama Mari’ meme started? Mari used her unfiltered voice for the first time back then, didn’t she?”
“Oh, right! I remember. She hated it, but the reaction was so good they kept milking it through donations.”
“Seriously, that’s so cruel.”
“Uh-oh… hearing that from the team lead makes me feel oddly proud. Why does it feel like a compliment?”
Their dynamic was good-natured, but watching these two jokers interact made the flow of conversation hilariously unpredictable.
“Personally, I wish we could see more of Mama Mari. Do you remember that moment in Fallen Soul?”
“When she didn’t notice the hole in the floor and fell through?”
“Exactly! That’s it! Right after that, she let out a raw reaction, and for a while, her unfiltered voice kept slipping out. It was so different from her usual tone—I must’ve rewatched that part 200 times.”
“Uh… Didn’t she also speak in her unfiltered voice pretty often during the Rubber Duck House broadcast recently?”
“I missed that! I was preparing for interviews…”
“Oh. Did they mute that scene in the replays?”
“Yeah! It felt like, you know when you put chicken legs in the fridge, but when you take it out to reheat, the legs are just gone?!”
“Oh no. Can you at least recreate what it was like?”
“Huh? You can do impressions? I thought you only mimicked Rain’s voice.”
“I can’t do it exactly, but I can come close enough. You’ll need to add your own mental filters, though.”
“Wow. Are you a genius, team lead? I’ll listen no matter what!”
Clearing his throat, Magia relaxed his voice completely, sighing slightly as he began,
“I swear, I’m losing my mind. Right now, I can practically see the lane in front of me. The turret’s right there. I can almost hear the enemy laner… Oh no, I can’t. Just one game—no, two hours, tops. It’s already 1 AM. The boss will forgive me for this much, right?”
As Gong Seungyeon listened with her eyes closed, savoring the mimicry, she suddenly shouted,
“Wow, I can hear it! I found the missing chicken leg!”
The scene, so casual and lighthearted, stirred something deep in Dohee’s chest.
It struck her how differently she, Magia, and Seungyeon perceived Komari’s Rubber Duck House broadcast.
For Dohee, the most memorable moment wasn’t when Komari dropped her act and used her raw voice.
It was how the relentless challenges of the scenario completely shattered Komari’s carefully maintained role-play.
“It’s all about perspective…”
Even when people watch the same scene, their evaluations vary based on their personal views.
For instance, if Momo and viewers saw Rain swearing non-stop due to broken Korean patches during a game, Momo would reflexively say, “Tone down the swearing, use nicer language.”
To her, the 1st-generation VTubers were more like idols under her agency. Watching them naturally led to suggestions like “This would work better,” “Let’s avoid that,” or “This is good.”
In other words, Momo didn’t just experience the broadcasts; she analyzed them.
But Magia?
She would laugh out loud, whip out her phone, and immediately send a donation:
“Wow, Rain’s swearing is so sharp. You’re killing it with the ssang-york! You’re fucking good at this!”
Why had the task of monitoring broadcasts—originally the planning team’s job—ended up with Magia?
It was because, despite being an employee, she could still view the streams with the eyes of a genuine audience.
“She’s from our company, so let’s defend her no matter what”?
That kind of logic didn’t exist for someone like Magia.
Magia’s reports were always closer to “a viewer’s review” than a professional evaluation.
What was fun, what wasn’t, what should be done again, and what shouldn’t—all laid out in a direct and honest manner. Magia’s feedback was essentially that of an ordinary viewer, expressing her thoughts unfiltered.
This provided insight into why viewers said that Dohee’s quarterly reviews of the 1st generation were enjoyable but didn’t fully meet their expectations.
If that really boiled down to a difference in perspective, Dohee couldn’t resist the idea of running an experiment.
“What if Jiya hosted the pre-anniversary show? Would it feel different?”
However, asking Jiya, who had never hosted a broadcast before, to take charge of such a significant event alone was too much of a burden.
The logical conclusion was a two-person format:
Dohee would act as the main host, guiding the broadcast as usual, while Magia, with her viewer-like perspective, would focus on eliciting audience empathy and reactions.
It would be like a game caster and commentator dynamic.
“Jiya wouldn’t have to do much—just share reactions that resonate with viewers.”
But for that to work, Jiya’s Live2D model, which had been fully rigged but kept under wraps, would have to be revealed.
A broadcast with only one character moving would feel incomplete. On the other hand, pausing Momo’s model would make it seem as though the production was unfinished.
Yet revealing Jiya’s Live2D during a time meant to spotlight the 1st generation?
Some fans might interpret this as Jiya’s debut. It was a significant risk.
Even if Dohee consulted the planning team, they’d likely oppose it.
“Still… if it’s Jiya…”
Magia had a proven track record of managing the spotlight.
Take her performance during the Battle Coliseum event, for instance. All attention naturally gravitated toward her, but with a magician’s finesse, she redirected that interest back to the 1st generation before gracefully stepping aside.
That move still gets brought up in promotional team meetings.
It also led to a flood of ad opportunities and caused the teaser video for the 1st-anniversary song to surpass 300,000 views.
Typically, teaser videos struggled to hit even 100,000 views in 1-2 weeks, but this one tripled that figure in just one week.
The metrics clearly indicated a much higher level of audience engagement than usual.
So even if Jiya’s animated model caused a stir and temporarily drew all attention away from the 1st generation, it seemed possible to pivot that focus back to the upcoming concert the very next day.
Above all, this time, Dohee would be by Jiya’s side.
Any difficult situations Jiya might encounter could be swiftly defused by Dohee, acting like a missile turret shielding her.
‘Ultimately, Jiya’s opinion matters most.’
If Jiya agreed, they’d go ahead with it. If not, they’d shelve the idea.
*
“If you’re free on the 11th, could you help me out with my broadcast?”
I left Seungyeon in charge of monitoring and went to the CEO’s office in response to the call, only to be met with a surprising request.
Helping with a broadcast?
The CEO, who took immense pride in their broadcasts—practically overflowing with it—was making such a suggestion?
“Are you feeling unwell or something?”
“… What’s with that all of a sudden?”
“It’s just surprising. You’re someone who absolutely despises interference in your broadcasts, yet here you are asking for help.”
The CEO, who had looked tense when bringing it up, burst out laughing.
“Ah. You’re asking because you’re worried I might skip the broadcast under the excuse of being sick?”
“Please don’t make me out to be someone who’d go crazy if I missed your broadcast.”
“… Hmm. So you were genuinely worried.”
“To be honest, I was a little worried you wouldn’t do it.”
“Unbelievable.”
To be precise, I cracked a joke to lighten the mood that was getting too serious.
Seriously, the CEO should just assign tasks casually instead of constantly tiptoeing around.
“So, how exactly am I supposed to help with the broadcast?”
“Well, on the 11th, we have our pre-festival event. I thought it’d be great if you co-hosted it with me, so I wanted to ask.”
No matter how tough the task, I’d always take it on if Oshi requested it, and I’d feel joy rather than pressure each time.
Knowing I was helping Oshi always motivated me to try harder.
However, even I felt a little uneasy about this one.
It’s not just anyone’s broadcast—it’s Oshi’s broadcast.
“What if I ruin your broadcast just by showing up?”
“If it feels like too much pressure, it’s okay to decline. I’m honestly just suggesting this, not giving you an order.”
“It’s not that I feel pressured. It’s just… the thought of openly appearing on your broadcast makes me hesitate. It feels like I’d leave behind a big ugly footprint.”
“… Someone who critiques me every time I host a battle call says that?”
“Critiquing isn’t leaving footprints. It’s more like targeting your head—”
“Hey.”
It was a joke, but also true.
Teasing the CEO to get a reaction during broadcasts was one thing, but this was a direct invitation to sit side by side and host together.
The first-generation members felt like they were just one level above me, so I could approach them more comfortably. But the CEO? They were two levels above.
Sitting together almost felt like it shouldn’t be allowed.
Still, despite that hesitation…
I’d been feeling uneasy ever since shrinking away and thinking people didn’t trust me anymore.
If the CEO trusted me enough to assign me such an important role first, how could I say no?
“I’ll do it, just as you suggested. How should I approach it? Should I challenge your comments, agree with them, or reinterpret them?”
I shrugged as I spoke, and the CEO, looking a little surprised, responded.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”