Chapter 7: 22
The words ‘VoidReaper’ echoed in the hollow space between his ribs long after Hikaru had glided back into the streaming room. Panic, cold and slick, had flooded him. Now, as he took his seat again under the blinding lights, it hardened into a desperate, crystal-clear plan.
Get fired.
If he couldn’t quit, he would make them fire him. A scandal. A livestream meltdown. The ‘shy, relatable’ Rena would have a very public, very ugly breakdown. No agency would keep an idol who insulted fans and teammates. It was brilliant. It was the only way out.
The countdown to going live again ticked on the monitor. 10… 9… 8…
Ren closed his eyes. He shed the tremble, the shy glance. He packed away ‘Rena’ and dug deep for his oldest, most comfortable skin: the salt-lord, the god of his own digital domain, the guy who told twelve-year-olds on voice chat exactly where they could shove their noob strats.
3… 2… 1…
“We’re back, starlights!” Hikaru’s stage voice was a sugary beam. “Sorry for the little wait! Rena-chan, are you ready for your solo commentary segment? You’ll be playing the next round while we cheer you on!”
The camera isolated on Station Three. Seventy thousand faces were watching his face. Perfect.
He forced a small, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure.” His voice was flat. Not shy. Dull. Unimpressed.
The game launched, a new co-op mission. His teammates were three randomly selected fans from the stream queue. Their usernames popped up: StarryEyedFan, Hikarus_Crown, MinaMyLove.
A familiar, corrosive energy fizzed in his veins. This was his element. This was where ‘Ren’ ruled.
His character moved with the same unnerving precision as before, but this time, he didn’t guide. He dominated. He took all the kills, hoarded the power-ups, and when ‘StarryEyedFan’ stumbled into his line of fire and died, he didn’t offer comfort.
He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp in the mic. “Nice body block. You play like a bot with its circuits fried.”
Dead silence in the stream room. Mina’s cheerful smile froze. Suki blinked slowly. Hikaru’s eyes narrowed, but her smile stayed plastered on, her head tilted in apparent curiosity.
The comment section, for a full three seconds, stopped.
Then it detonated.
[Did she just…?]
[ROASTED!]
[OH MY GOD SHE CALLED HIM A BROKEN BOT!]
[That’s so savage! I love it!]
Ren saw the reaction. It wasn’t horror. It was… delight. He felt a crack in his plan. No. They had to be offended. He doubled down.
Hikarus_Crown tried to revive the fallen player. The animation was slow. “Hurry up,” Rena muttered, audible to all. “My grandma could rez faster, and she’s afraid of computers.”
Another wave of comments, faster now.
[ICEBERG QUEEN!]
[TSUN ALERT! TSUN ALERT!]
[She’s not like the others at all! This is amazing!]
The final boss emerged. MinaMyLove, presumably wanting to impress, charged ahead with a special move. It was the wrong move. It wasted the team’s collective ultimate gauge.
Ren saw the waste. The inefficiency. The sheer, unprofessional noobiness of it all. The real him, the him that lived in dark rooms lit only by monitor glow, broke the surface completely.
He slammed a hand on the desk—not hard, but the thump was picked up by the sensitive microphone. “What was that?” His voice dropped, losing its softness, gaining the rough, annoyed cadence of a pissed-off gamer. “Did you just blow the team ult on a trash mob? Are your eyes painted on? That’s the most bronze-league, potato-brain play I’ve seen all week!”
In the room, Mina gasped, actually clutching her pearls. Suki quietly sipped from a water bottle, observing over the rim. Hikaru… Hikaru brought a delicate hand to her mouth. Her shoulders shook. It looked like she was suppressing tears of shock.
She was suppressing laughter.
The stream erupted. The viewer count smashed past 100,000. The comments were a hurricane of caps-lock and emojis.
[POTATO-BRAIN! I’M DYING!]
[SHE’S ANGRY! SHE’S SO REAL!]
[THIS IS THE BEST STREAM EVER!]
[SUBSCRIBED!]
Ren stared at the secondary monitor showing the feedback. His blood ran cold. This wasn’t revulsion. This was virality. He was digging his grave and they were throwing him a parade at the bottom of it.
He finished the boss with a brutally efficient, solo sequence, his character moving like a spiteful ghost. The victory screen flashed. He didn’t smile. He glared at the camera, his emerald eyes sharp with genuine frustration.
“Finally,” he grumbled, the word soaked in contempt. “Carrying is exhausting.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms over the lace of the maid apron, a picture of petulant, adorable disdain.
The producer, Akira, was not in the room. He was in the control booth, watching the monitors. His usual stern expression was gone. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Station Three’s feed. On the girl with the beautiful, angry eyes and the vicious, hilarious mouth. He watched the metrics spike—engagement, shares, new subscribers. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Yuna,” he said into his headset, contacting her in the hallway. “Your project. She’s not a diamond in the rough.”
Yuna’s voice came through, wary. “She isn’t?”
“She’s a hand grenade,” Akira said, a note of pure admiration in his voice. “And she just pulled the pin. Don’t you dare change a thing.”
The stream ended to a cacophony of virtual applause. The moment the ‘OFF AIR’ sign lit up, the room was quiet. The hum of the PCs was loud.
Mina was the first to speak, her voice a squeak. “Rena-chan! You were so… so mean! And so cool!”
Suki nodded. “Your tactical analysis was correct. Your delivery was… unique.”
Ren just sat, numb. His plan had not just failed; it had achieved the exact opposite of its intention. He felt a tall presence loom beside his chair.
Hikaru placed a hand on the back of his gaming chair, leaning down. Her pink hair brushed his shoulder. She smelled like peaches and something more expensive.
Her whisper was for him alone, a secret shared in the aftermath of the explosion she’d watched him create. “‘Potato-brain’?” she echoed, her stage sweetness entirely absent. Her voice was rich with amusement. “A little specific, isn’t it, gamer-kun? Sounds like you’ve used that one before.” She paused, letting the implication hang. “A lot.”
She straightened up, her innocent mask sliding back into place for the benefit of the room. “What a memorable first stream! Our viewers simply adored you, Rena-chan.” Her eyes gleamed with uncharted mischief. “I can’t wait to see what you do next.”
She walked away, leaving him in the wreckage of his own sabotage, the scent of her perfume and the echoing laughter of a hundred thousand strangers the only proof it had ever happened. He was trapped. And the walls of the trap were now lined with mirrors, reflecting a version of himself he never meant to show, that the world seemed to love more with every poisonous word.