Harem Streamer System: Every Crime I Broadcast Wins Me a Superheroine

Behind the thick black curtains of the Memorial Hall's grand stage, Irina Golovin stood quietly with her hands gently clasped in front of her.

She glanced down at the script Sasha had given her and read through each line one more time.

As her eyes followed the words, her body shifted a little by little—like she was already acting it out in her mind, trying to imagine exactly how she'd say each line and what gestures she'd make once she stepped into the spotlight.

The hall outside had grown noisier.

Soft murmurs, obnoxious camera flashes, high heels tapping polished floors.

The audience was primed.

But none of it was why she was smiling.

All Irina could think about was one thing—

『How do I make Scott's jaw drop?』

She narrowed her eyes at the first line of her script.

"Hello. I'm Infinity Girl, and I'm here to show the world what hope really looks like."

She snorted softly.

『No. That wouldn't do. Too scripted. Too plastic. Plus it's corny as fuck… (;一_一)』

She raised her head with a smug grin on her face.

『Alright then, maybe I'll go off-script. Just a little. I'm sure that'll make him drop the whole cool persona and actually smile at me! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و Mmh… yeah, he won't be forgetting me anytime soon, nyahaha~』

Just behind her, Sasha spoke from her clipboard—

"Okay, Miss Irina. Please remember, your superhero alias. Infinity Girl, not your real name. We're trying to solidify the brand here…"

Irina didn't respond.

Sasha peeked up, then leaned in sharply with a scowl.

"Are you listening? I'm serious. We need major contracts today, not just dumb applause. We need premium licensing. Those Saudi guys? They throw cash, but we need companies with reach—fast fashion, drinks, even VR. More reach, more exposure, more endorsements."

Without turning around, Irina slowly lifted one finger.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Chill, Sasha. You're acting like I didn't already do this ten times in Europe."

She yawned softly.

"It's cake."

That confident smile came again—so blinding that Sasha exhaled with relief.

"Okay… good. You've got this."

Out on stage, Ann Silverlake tapped her mic.

"Alright, it seems Infinity Girl is ready! Let's give her a warm round of applause!"

The curtains pulled open. The light swelled.

Infinity Girl stepped into view like the arrival of royalty.

The crowd burst into elegant, thunderous claps.

Her white hair caught the light like silver silk.

Her super suit gleamed softly as it hugged her sexy, model-like figure.

She walked with grace, relaxed shoulders, and that dignified smile she always maintained.

But inside her head?

『Okay, where is he… where's Scott…? (￢_￢)』

She scanned every row and every section.

Her heartbeat grew rapid with each second she didn't find him.

『He's gotta be looking at me. Right? This outfit… pfft, it's way cuter than anything those tall blonde models wear around him. I know he'll love this style…』

She raised her chin proudly as her mind went jittery.

And then…

There he was.

Scott.

In the crowd.

She spotted him standing by one of the side aisles.

His sharp, unamused eyes were locked onto her.

Her heart skipped.

She gave him a warm, precious smile—a smile meant only for him. And she lifted a hand to wave—

But.

Scott didn't smile.

He didn't react.

His expression… it was cold. Almost disgusted.

Then, slowly… he shook his head.

And walked away.

Irina's brain shut down.

Like a robot who'd been unplugged mid-motion, she just stopped waving.

Her hand froze mid-air. Her mouth stayed smiling, but her eyes were wide with confusion. Her lips trembled slightly as if she was about to say something.

『Wha… what did I do…?』

Sasha's voice screamed from backstage.

"IRINA, FOCUS!!"

Irina flinched like she'd been slapped.

Her hand dropped. She blinked.

"Uhm… sorry…"

She mumbled, now blindly waving again to cover the awkward moment.

But her body was vibrating with confusion.

Scott's face… the way he looked at her—like she was a monster in a sparkly dress.

『What did I do wrong?』

Her legs felt like jelly.

『Why… did he look at me like that?』

･･･

Meanwhile…

Scott kicked open the doors of the convention building and stormed outside like a man on fire.

Panic swirled in his chest.

His eyes darted around the street.

Dozens of people.

Reporters. Fans. Vendors. Performers. No Brigid.

He broke into a run.

Every alley and every sidewalk corner.

His voice shouting her name into the air like it might bounce off a building and lead him to her.

『She left. She left. Why did she leave…?』

His vision was getting blurry.

『Was it something I said…?』

Everything was going dark.

His chest pounded with so much pain and fear.

『No, no, no… yes? No… no… yes…』

He gripped his head in annoyance.

『No. This isn't about me. Stop thinking like that.』

But the more he ran, the more he lost control.

He ran across the street without looking—horns blared and drivers screamed.

"GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!"

"I WON'T END UP IN JAIL FOR YOU, IDIOT!"

"FUCK OFF, PRETTY BOY!"

Scott didn't care. He couldn't.

He asked strangers.

Described her beautiful face.

Her height. Her green eyes. Her posture.

He begged, pleaded, pointed, showed her photo.

No one had seen her.

He ended up at a street café, breathless and drenched in so much sweat.

His black hoodie stuck to his back like a cling wrap.

His hands trembled like he was in shock.

He stared at them.

『Why am I shaking like this…?』

He barely noticed the elegant woman who sat across from him—until she spoke.

"Hello there…"

Her voice was cool, polite, feminine.

He looked up, confused.

She wore a luxurious deep blue pantsuit, buttoned gold cufflinks, and sharp glasses.

Her short brown hair was styled into a sleek bob.

She looked like a lawyer.

Or worse—someone important.

The type you'd imagine went to the best university out there and graduated with four or five degrees.

Scott frowned.

"Look, I have a girlfriend and I'm not in the mood to give autographs or—"

The woman snorted and interrupted.

"How conceited can you be?"

Scott blinked.

She leaned in with a voice heavy in pride.

"First you shamelessly brainwash a prodigy into chasing some Nightwatch wannabe fantasy. Now you think I came to flirt with you? Please."

"Wait…"

Scott suddenly sat up and his eyes narrowed.

"You're talking about Brigid?"

He grabbed her wrist.

"Where is she? Tell me where she is—!"

SLAP.

She smacked his hand away.

"Of course I know where she is. I'm Nina. Madam Crowe's personal secretary."

Scott's blood went ice cold.

"I knew it… Crowe did something to her, she—"

Nina sighed deeply. "You still don't get it, do you?"

Her expression darkened.

"Crowe didn't lift a finger. She didn't have to. Brigid made the choice herself. Maybe… just maybe, she realized following you wasn't going to make her a real hero after all."

Scott flinched like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I didn't make her do anything. She chose to be that kind of hero on her own."

"And she can choose to stop whenever she wants."

A quick response from Nina.

She stood, fixing her blazer.

"Honestly, for all your talk of guidance, I've yet to see her name on any news headline. She hasn't saved a single person that matters. Not even a dog."

Scott went quiet.

Nina leaned closer.

"Maybe it's time someone else guided her to the future she was actually born for. And Madam Crowe intends to do just that."

Then she stepped away and turned.

"Oh, and if you want her attention again… maybe come cry on your knees at the Crowe Estate. Maybe she'll save you from whatever pit you're about to fall into. I mean, that's what a proper hero would do anyways."

She left.

Scott sat frozen.

The air around him was still—but his insides felt like they were cracking apart.

"No way…" he whispered.

･･･

Hours Later…

The sun was low.

Meteor City slums were loud. Crowded. Filthy.

Scott wandered with dead eyes as his feet dragged through puddles of rainwater and sewage.

He didn't even know how he'd left Meteor Hills.

He sighed, clutching his forehead.

"Nghk—!"

His head throbbed. His legs were numb.

He needed sleep. A hotel. Something.

But then… he stopped.

An alley caught his attention.

It was filled with the usual homeless people huddled around a dumpster fire.

Burnt cans, plastic bags, tin cups rattling with coins.

Among them…

Scott's eyes widened.

"No way…"

His voice came out dry. Hollow.

A familiar lady sat on the curb, hunched over in rags.

Thick, unwashed hair. Pale skin. Dull, hollow eyes.

Her usual meaty body had become frail.

And her glossy lips were now cracked.

It was Amalie Andersen.

Once a genius in cyber security.

A millionaire.

One of Crowe Enterprises' brightest minds.

Now? She looked like a walking corpse.

Scott couldn't believe it.

"What the hell happened to you…?"

Scott took a few careful steps closer to the group huddled near the burn-barrel.

His eyes were fixed on Amalie—sitting there on a flattened cardboard box, wrapped in a tattered coat that was two sizes too big as her hair hung down like soaked paper. Just as he was about to close the distance, one of the older homeless women looked up from her can of lukewarm soup.

"Better not get too close to her…"

Her voice was so rough.

It was like gravel rubbed between palms.

"She don't like being around people much."

Scott froze mid-step and turned his head slightly.

The old woman was wrapped in multiple layers of mismatched, dirt-stained clothing. So much wrinkles carved her hyperpigmented face, and she looked like she'd seen too many winters.

"I… I know her…"

Scott said, forcing a small, awkward smile.

"Well, kinda."

The old woman took a slow sip from her dented can without sparing him more than a passing glance.

"Doesn't matter…"

A very flat voice.

"That girl don't even know herself no more."

Scott blinked.

"She used to be full of light…"

The woman went on, eyes distant.

"Used to hand us a butt load of food, drinks and even blankets, zero questions asked. Gave money too. Real money. A good soul. And now…"

She let the words trail off as the steam from her soup rose like ghosts between them.

"Now she's one of us."

She shook her head.

"Life's a strange beast, ain't it?"

Scott swallowed hard and looked back at Amalie.

Her eyes were open, but there was no light in them.

She looked dead.

He felt something twist in his gut.

It reminded him too much of his mother's expression when she'd silently fold clothes in the hallway, pretending not to hear his dad shouting.

"What… happened to her?"

He asked with a cracking voice.

The old woman glanced at him again and raised an eyebrow, like she was trying to gauge something.

Then she muttered—

"Honestly, I thought you were just another one of those rich creeps."

Scott blinked. "What?"

"You know… those weird fuckers who come pretending to 'know her' so they can try sleeping with her now that she's down bad. They've done it a lot with our other mates who forget how wicked the rich are. Some of them are passed around like filthy sex toys and others even let those rich heads take a dump in their mouth… as long as they can secure some food and shelter."

She narrated it like it was some scary bedtime story.

"What the hell—? Wh—Why would I even do that!?"

Scott staggered back, face flushing with disgust.

The old woman just shrugged and took another sip.

"You'd be surprised. Couple of them tried to bribe us with drugged sandwiches once. Not that we're dumb enough to fall for it. I don't care how charming they talk or how expensive their perfume smells—I won't let them break her again."

"Break her?"

Scott repeated, fists tightened.

"How…? What do you mean?"

The woman took a long breath.

Finally, she put down her can.

"You care this much, huh?"

She asked in a slightly softer tone.

"Alright. Then listen good. That girl right there? She used to be one of the most powerful women in the damn city. She worked for Madam Crowe herself. That name ring any bells? I'm sure it does."

Scott blinked fast. "Crowe… Enterprises?"

The woman nodded slowly.

"Yeah. That Crowe. You don't climb the ranks there unless you've got a backbone made of steel. Amalie had that. She was the head of cyber security. Designed most of the encryption systems herself. Flawless record. Obedient. Smart. Loyal. Until…"

Scott was hanging on her every word now.

"Until something went real bad. Real fast…"

The woman's voice went cold.

"Crowe found out that someone had stolen sensitive data from her company. Massive breach. Confidential files. Financials. Projects. All of it. Guess who she blamed?"

Scott whispered, "Amalie…"

The woman nodded grimly.

"Didn't matter that she had nothing to do with it. Didn't matter that she probably got blindsided like the rest of them. Madam Crowe isn't the forgiving type. She gave Amalie an ultimatum—hand over everything she owned. Houses. Cars. Bank accounts. Even her offshore stuff. Said if she didn't, her fiancee would die."

Scott's face twisted in horror.

"She gave it all up…"

The woman continued quietly.

"And he still ended up dead. Sniped on his way home. Crowe made sure of it. It was like she wanted to erase Amalie. Body, soul, everything."

Scott took a shaky step forward and his fists clenched so hard they trembled.

"That's… that's insane!"

"Yeah…"

The woman muttered, rubbing her hands together as if trying to warm up a memory.

"It broke her. We found her on the bridge that night. Couple of us dragged her off before she jumped. Been trying to help her ever since, though she barely talks. Barely eats. Some nights she just stares at the wall, whispering names we can't hear."

Scott couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

His throat was tightening with a strange kind of panic.

"What did she even do to deserve that?"

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"She didn't. But it was Nightwatch that did."

Scott's entire body froze. "Wait. What?"

The old woman nodded.

"Yeah. Him. That idiot in the costume. He's the one who leaked the data. Thought he was exposing corporate corruption or some crap. But he never checked whose name was tied to the breach. Never cared that someone else would take the fall. Amalie's security protocols were the first to get blamed. Crowe didn't even blink."

Scott's face had drained of all color.

He took a step back, hand clutched to his chest.

"No… no way…"

"He calls himself a hero… but he's just another clout chaser in a mask. If he really had a conscience, he wouldn't be streaming stunts online and cashing in donations while women like Amalie get chewed up and spat out behind the scenes."

She clicked her tongue.

"I hate that son of a bitch…"

"Huurgh—!"

Scott doubled over and slapped a hand over his mouth.

He staggered out of the alley like he was possessed.

"Hey! You alright?" the old woman called after him.

But he didn't reply.

He walked, almost tripped, then finally collapsed beside a pile of black garbage bags and vomited violently.

He vomited until it felt like his guts were being wrung dry.

Until his throat was raw and his chest burned.

His hands were shaking. His eyes stung.

And then the words escaped him.

"… It's my fault…"