The gifts I unexpectedly received each reflected the giver’s personality in their own way.
Dora gave me a warm and soft animal pajama set with cat ears and a tail, lined with fleece.
Rain, saying that rap, soul, and groove all come from alcohol, gifted a sweet champagne that was supposedly good for kids.
Komari handed me a game coin card that could be freely used on the gaming platform Sitdim.
Maru, insisting that hair needs to be brushed often to prevent damage, gave me a wide paddle brush that looked like it could double as a ping-pong paddle, along with a high-quality hair essence.
The team leader, having noticed how I always push my bangs aside while working, gave me a comfortable headband and a set of hair clips that wouldn’t feel too tight.
And finally, the boss… just gave me a piece of paper.
Of course, if it had been just an ordinary piece of paper, I wouldn’t have cared for it.
But it was more valuable than any other gift I received.
[Chun Dohee Free Pass]
[Expiration Date: Until Majiya’s Birthday Next Year]
I carefully tucked it inside my phone case.
I should save it and use it right before my birthday next year.
Anyway, I made sure to thank everyone, but I wasn’t sure if my gratitude truly came across.
They all seemed happy, but…
People who often receive gifts or know how to express gratitude in a way that makes others feel appreciated would understand.
Someone like me, who isn’t used to receiving things, can only respond like a parrot.
“Thank you.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I’ll use it well.”
That was all I could manage.
Maybe that’s why I couldn’t fall asleep.
It wasn’t just that Komari and Maru kept squeezing into my space, making me feel cramped.
The same thoughts kept circling in my head.
Someone like Maru would definitely feel hurt if my gratitude seemed too half-hearted.
Maybe there’s a way to express it that suits each person better?
I figured I needed some space to think, so I carefully sat up and slipped out of the tent, making sure not to step on anyone’s feet.
“…What the, you looked exhausted earlier. Why are you up again?”
The boss was sitting in front of the dying campfire, leaning her head back and staring blankly at the stars.
A mischievous thought crossed my mind, and I pulled out the letter she had given me from my jacket’s inner pocket.
“Hey. If you start a reading session here, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Just kidding.”
“…Read it at home. It’s embarrassing.”
I smirked and tucked the envelope back into my pocket before dragging a camping chair over to sit next to her.
Then, I wrapped an unused log in a few sheets of newspaper and tossed it onto the embers.
Whoosh.
The fire caught the newspaper, slowly spreading its flames to the dry wood.
I perched on the chair beside the boss and casually asked her,
“Receiving gifts is really difficult.”
“Why?”
“If I don’t like a gift, it shows on my face. When I was little, that happened a few times, and my friends started avoiding me.”
The boss didn’t reply immediately, but I heard the rustling of her windbreaker as she turned to face me.
“You didn’t do that today, though.”
“I’ve been socialized. I can tell little white lies now.”
“Impressive.”
“Maybe, but I still struggle with expressing gratitude. If I really love a gift, I can manage a few extra words, but… for most things, just saying ‘thank you’ is about all I can do.”
The boss chuckled and turned her gaze back to the fire.
“That’s enough. What more do you need to say?”
“The short message feels too inadequate compared to the effort put into preparing it.”
Hmm.
The sighing boss gave an example.
“When you send sponsorships, how many times do I have to say ‘thank you’ for you to feel satisfied?”
“You don’t have to say anything, really.”
“Exactly. That’s the point. Just the fact that I, your ‘oshi,’ acknowledge it is enough for you, right?”
“Well, yeah, that’s true.”
“It’s the same for others. They gave you gifts because they like you. A simple ‘thank you’ from you is enough. But if they start going, ‘Ugh, I gave them a gift, and all I get is a single ‘thank you’? I’m gonna turn dark over this,’ then that’s what you’d call ‘blackening juice’ (흑화 육수).”
“Oh. I get it now.”
But as I listened, another thought crossed my mind.
“But that’s only when it’s a gift for an oshi, right? And I don’t stream, so I can’t really be everyone’s oshi.”
“Oshi-like concepts exist even among regular people, you know? Like someone you’re really grateful for. Or even a benefactor.”
“Really?”
The boss let out a long sigh, then patted my head.
“Why do you think we did all this for you?”
“Like… an obligation chocolate kind of thing?”
“Unbelievable. Who goes this far for obligation chocolate?”
Now the boss outright grabbed both of my cheeks.
“To put it simply, you’re kind of like our oshi.”
“……?”
“If you don’t get it, just take it as it is. I mean… it’s hard to explain in words. It’s just I’m grateful. Thankful. It’s all mixed up.”
Then, as if in a hurry, the boss stood up and started scooping sand over the campfire with a small shovel, hastily putting it out.
As soon as the fire was gone, the cold winter wind rushed in.
The moon in the sky was the only thing voluntarily shining down on us in the freezing air.
“…Anyway, let’s go inside. It’s late.”
Honestly, I couldn’t understand it.
I had only been working hard for the boss. For the company. Just out of my own desire.
And yet, that was something to be grateful for?
I was even being called something like an oshi?
Even after the boss went inside the tent, I sat in my camping chair for a long time, lost in thought.
It just didn’t make sense to me.
Then, as I finally started wriggling into my sleeping bag from the cold, I reached a conclusion.
“…Something like an oshi, huh.”
Oshis aren’t made because someone decides to become one.
It’s like walking down the street and getting slapped so hard your head turns when you glare at the person, you suddenly fall for them at first sight. That’s what an oshi is.
So you can’t just tell people not to like you. Not to look at you.
Even the people who become fans didn’t choose to be that way.
I mean, even I ended up here just by following the boss for similar reasons.
Forcing that feeling to break? That doesn’t make sense.
So, since the boss said it, it must be true—I must have become something like an oshi for the VTubers.
Denying it wouldn’t change anything.
But it’s not enough.
I’m not enough.
An oshi is supposed to be someone people admire.
And I am not someone worthy of admiration.
However, I won’t run away.
I was in Parallel, and I will stay in Parallel.
Through the second, third, and fourth generations until the day we stand shoulder to shoulder with BachuBachu and I witness it with my own eyes.
So even if I can’t be a perfect person, I shouldn’t be someone lacking for those who have chosen to see me as something like their oshi.
That’s something I can learn from a role model.
From my favorite oshi—the one who streams diligently.
From Momo, who always tries to show something to the viewers and makes every effort to interact with them as often as possible.
I flipped my phone over and quietly stared at the birthday gift from the boss, tucked inside my phone case.
[Cheondohee Free Pass]
[Expiration Date: Until next year’s Magia birthday]
…Maybe people don’t become successful fans (성덕) for no reason.
When you follow in your oshi’s footsteps, you naturally end up on the same path.
The next day, I handed out crudely torn coupons to six people and said,
[Magia Free Pass]
“Just say the word anytime. No expiration date, no usage restrictions.”
For a moment, the six of them fell silent, a bubbling pot of morning ramen between us.
The stares directed at me felt oddly intense, making me instinctively check my reflection in a mirror.
Ah.
So this is what it feels like to give someone a gift and get no reaction.
“…If you don’t like it, you can give it back.”