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

The following week.

The content planning for the Neocalifornia server was entering its final stages.
There were talks about opening the server a little earlier than planned to calm the public, given how high the anticipation had become.
There were also concerns that the development might not keep up, making it all an empty promise.

And then others argued that, somehow, the schedule had to be met—after all, with so many sponsors involved, funding wasn't really an issue anymore...
Countless opinions were exchanged.
But in the end, the conclusion was clear.

“Well then, let’s wrap up today’s idea meeting here. Starting next week, we’ll be shifting our focus to reviewing and reporting on the server’s development process. Developers, please do your best to stay on schedule. As for those from Parallel and Mind Network, please attend the mid-check day and give clear feedback on how the build differs from your expectations.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Thanks, everyone!”
Discussions had already been held for numerous content ideas, and everyone had more or less come to the consensus that, “Yeah, this should be successful.”

Adding more ideas at this point would only burden the developers unnecessarily.
So, the devs would focus on development.
Parallel and Mind Network would concentrate on promotion.
And the regular meetings would just be for content feedback and status checks.
Maybe it was because I’d already done several promotional broadcasts—

As I was heading to the parking lot after the meeting, Lupko ran up to me while waiting for the elevator and asked,
“Hey, can I borrow some of your template ideas?”
“I don’t mind. Honestly, the people watching your stuff and the people watching ours have pretty different tastes, so even if you use the same concepts, I think it’ll feel fresh.”

“Phew. Thanks. I’ve been prepping a bunch of stuff, but since our devs are from our own MCN, I’ve been too busy coordinating with them to handle the rest properly.”
“It happens. We’re always grateful for your work on the server development side.”
“Come on, no need to thank me. We help each other out, yeah? We got a huge boost this time thanks to you guys.”

“Because of us?”
“More like because of you.”
Lupko chuckled.
“You’re like the blue chip of VTuber advertising right now.”

“Ah.”
“You’re too chill about it. Kinda kills the mood. Damn, you smug bastard. Anyway, thanks to you guys landing so many sponsors, I was able to pressure the devs more. I’d go, ‘You’ve got this much money and people still have nothing to do in the server? Seriously?’ That kind of thing.”
“Don’t push them too hard. Development always goes best when the environment’s not too stressful.”

“Nah, don’t worry. These people always took their sweet time whenever we asked them to make a Neocal server. But now? They’re trapped, so it’s time to grind ‘em.”
“Hmm.”
“Y’know, Neocalifornia has a lot of freedom, right? Usually you don’t need super detailed development—just gather people and content will emerge on its own. But this time we’ve got 400 people.
And the more mouths you’ve got, the more talk you get. If we don’t nail it, we’ll be torn apart. So don’t worry. We’ll handle the pressure.”

I nodded.
Like I’ve said before, Lupko might be a sharp-tongued streamer, but when it comes to work, he’s shockingly meticulous and thorough.
“In that case, I’ll just focus on giving clear feedback during meetings.”

“That alone helps a ton. You too, you know? Don’t just sit back silently. If there’s something to say, speak up. You and I are basically the two main leads behind this whole server, right?”
Our CEO let out a short laugh and waved me off.
“Alright, go on. Good work today.”

“Yep. See you at the next meeting.”
***
Even on the ride back to the office, we kept talking about the server.

“So then, Magia, our extremely industry-famous lady—I’m guessing you’ll handle today’s ad on your own. You’ve got two promo streams left, right? What’re you doing this weekend?”
I opened my private server on TalkCord, which I use as a substitute notepad, and read my entry out loud to the boss.
‘How to bond with someone new without being accused of clout-chasing.’

“…That title’s way too blunt.”
“I wouldn’t actually title the stream like that. I was thinking something like, ‘Making Connections in Neocal,’ you know? With 400 participants, I don’t want small creators and minor streamers to get too intimidated or feel like they have to walk on eggshells around the big names.”
“Yeah, that’s an important tip. Since it’s an RP server, most people will be using hard-to-recognize usernames and custom avatars—But still, there’ll be some you can’t not recognize.”

That’s the real strength of RP servers:
They let people of all levels mix freely, which leads to matchups and moments you’d never normally see.
But sometimes, you get people whose voice is practically a fingerprint.
Like Maru, whose voice and tone are unmistakable.
Or Rain, who’s a walking leak with her bootleg Korean.

“Exactly. People with signature voices always get found out, no matter what.”
“So what’re you gonna tell them to do?”
Even if both parties tried to hide their identities,
There’s always gonna be a few small streamers who do their research beforehand.

They don’t want to accidentally cross some line with a big-time streamer and end up blacklisted.
So they study up.
But once they join the server, they freeze up around the big names they recognize.
And then the big-name streamers think,
“Ah… my RP’s leaking through. Guess I’m too obvious again.”

And when that happens, the roleplay falls apart before it even begins.
“The message is: Even if you figure it out, just laugh it off and let it go. This is an RP server. Do your best to play dumb and stick to your role. As long as it’s not bad-faith RP, most big-name fans will just roll with it. That’s the kind of guidance I’ll give.”
“Just explaining it isn’t enough—people won’t really get it.”

“That’s why I already recruited two small-time VTubers to help. For a practice run.”
“Hm, nice. Yeah, having examples makes a big difference.”
After all, once a roleplay event wraps up, there’s usually a brief lull.
And that’s the perfect window where new connections form.

Because Neocalifornia is such a realistic game, its in-game social networking system is highly developed.
You can chat, exchange contacts, and even send texts all within the game.
“If someone’s a talented small streamer, this could be their big break. Big streamers are always open to new relationships.”

“Exactly. And big-streamer viewers love it when some random dark horse pops out of nowhere.”
“I want to end the guide with a little encouragement—tell them not to get too nervous. They might get a real opportunity here if they play it right.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”

This translation is the intellectual property of .
Of course, even with this kind of guidance, there are people—like Bazubi in the past—who are so passive or overly self-conscious that they’ll struggle to seize any opportunity.
If a big streamer happens to be super generous, maybe a connection will stick…

But ultimately, it depends. Case by case. Person by person.
You never know when or where great chemistry will suddenly appear, and just as suddenly disappear, like the wind.
All you can really hope is that people don’t get too desperate and spiral into cringe.

“…But are you really gonna be okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“The role you’re taking on—it’s not exactly an easy one, is it?”

Truth is, aside from all the server planning, Pazijik had a separate hope for me:
They wanted me to take on an important responsibility.
One that involved helping undiscovered, talented newcomers who had yet to catch the spotlight.
To that end, I was set to play one of the few taxi drivers in the server.

Early on, before people had money to buy their own cars, I’d drive them around—pick up those who stood out, lend rides to the broke, help those in need, and steadily build goodwill.
In a way, I’d be the server’s unofficial guide—
A node that connects everyone.
A living emergency contact for the whole server.

Movgun joked before that I was probably the final boss or the big bad behind everything…
But in truth, my role is more like… listening to people, rebalancing the scales, quietly giving helpful info to underdogs, and holding back any one faction from getting too strong.
Too subtle to be called a proper villain.

Even so, Pazijik worried that if I only did this, I wouldn’t get to enjoy the server properly.
They predicted that once the server hit its mid-phase, most players would have their own cars, and no one would need taxis anymore.
And when that time came, I’d just be wandering the city with nothing to do.

“That’s fine. Like I said, once I pull an RP Expansion Ticket, I can actually start enjoying the game.”
“You could’ve just taken that free expansion ticket when they offered it.”
“Come on, you know we have to avoid even the hint of favoritism on this server.”

“Still, once enough time passes, people will see how hard you’re working. No reason to refuse something that’d help you.”
I let out a small laugh.
“Honestly, I don’t even need to enjoy myself. I’m not a streamer in the first place.”

“Slugs would want you to have fun, though.”
“If they want that, they can prove it—with their wallets.”
“…You’re totally baiting them into API sponsoring, aren’t you?”

“How’d you guess?”
“Your tactics /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ are always the same…”
Each streamer on the server only gets one default RP.

If too many characters get introduced, it becomes chaos—no one can remember who’s who.
But since this is a large-scale server, there’s an API-linked donation system in place.
And based on the amount donated, you can get coins for a gacha pull.
With a low probability, the gacha can grant you an ‘RP Expansion Ticket.’

If you get one, you can create a second RP—basically a new character slot.
Even if it’s the same person behind the screen, the rule is: new RP = new identity.
So, outside of my role as a taxi-driving server guide…
I might get a chance to play something entirely new.

“I didn’t come to this server to play around. I came here to work. But after what Movgun said last time, I’ve been thinking…”
“Thinking about what?”
No matter how much Neocalifornia is based around crime as a normal part of life—

All the streamers know the people they’ll be fighting or killing are also streamers.
Even in scenes that require bold moves for the roleplay to work, some will hesitate.
And if you’re playing a character who’s openly hated by everyone?

Nobody wants that job.
Even if it’s just RP, someone will say,
“Isn’t that guy just genuinely a bad person at this point?”
And when those comments hit, they can stick.
Sometimes they hit so hard, they end a streamer’s career.

So most people will probably try to play heroic roles.
Even when they kill or destroy, they’ll create “justified” scenarios to do it.
But out of everyone in this server—
I’m the only one who’s free from that kind of risk.
I’m just a company employee.
Even if one scandal hits and I have to quit streaming… it wouldn’t matter.

“I’ll be the server’s problem child.”
“…You thought about the backlash?”
“Yeah. Worst case, I get flamed a bit.”

“And what about the impact on Parallel?”
“I’ll make sure there is none.”
“How could there not be? You work for our company.”

Any problem, no matter how complicated it seems, always has a solution.
And sometimes that solution is surprisingly simple.
“I won’t do bad-faith RP. But I’ll do the kind of ‘evil acts’ that leave the victim with content, not resentment.”