I May Be a Virtual Youtuber, but I Still Go to Work-Chapter 115

No one explicitly asked Magia if she was serious about debuting after her bold joke.

Everyone was indifferent—partly because of their personalities, but mostly because Magia debuting or not didn't particularly affect them either way.

The two newcomers, making their first debut, assumed it would be up to the company anyway, so they let it slide. Meanwhile, Ena genuinely didn't care much whether Magia debuted or not.

Yet, secretly, everyone was aware of the benefits if Magia actually joined them.

Whenever new members debuted, it naturally attracted attention. Imagine adding Magia, who was already a hot topic—the buzz would skyrocket.

Moreover, if they became debut-mates, they'd get unrestricted access to Magia, a cheat-code for collaborative streams. They could freely exploit her incredible streaming talent.

At least, that's what the second-generation trainees believed.

After the first training session, Magia went down to Momo's office to share the decision she had made that morning, prompting Cheon Do-hee to jump in surprise.

“You’re planning to go through the entire training program with the newcomers?”

Recovering from her initial shock, Momo quickly waved her hands defensively.

“Hey, listen, that debut suggestion I made last time was totally just a joke. Don't take it seriously.”

Magia mirrored Momo’s gesture, shaking her head calmly.

“I’m not talking about debuting. I just thought it'd be good to go through training with them since I'll be streaming occasionally, anyway.”

Momo pursed her lips skeptically, but ultimately shrugged it off, thinking Magia probably had a good reason.

After all, it wasn't as if Magia—who had always adamantly refused appearing on-screen—would suddenly agree to debut now.

“Fine, whatever. The point is, you're saying you’ll oversee the entire training while also participating yourself, right?”

“Yes. I think I can handle it.”

Do-hee reached over, lightly stroking Magia’s hair as she sighed.

“I’d honestly prefer if you never debuted.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Momo said with a slight pout, “If you actually debut, who’ll prepare all those industry insights and trend analyses for me? You’re my irreplaceable analytics expert.”

Magia gave her a half-lidded glare.

“You handled that by yourself before hiring me. Just think of it as going back three years.”

Feigning panic, Momo dramatically pressed a hand to her forehead.

“As CEO, I hereby order you—even if you debut—to continue preparing those industry reports every week.”

“Why are you turning this place into an actual black company?” Magia retorted, smirking.

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Just as she turned to head back up to the ninth floor, Momo called out again.

“Wait. Are you joining the weekend retreat, too?”

Ever since the first generation, Parallel had maintained a tradition: all VTubers debuting under them must attend a two-day retreat with their fellow trainees during their debut weekend.

It involved a massive escape-room event, inspired by a memorable experience from Do-hee’s own high school trip.

This event played a significant role in bonding the first generation. Dora’s easygoing nature had unexpectedly unified the group, with Rain, who barely spoke proper Korean, Komari’s sharp tongue, and Maru’s anxious energy all coming together under Dora's leadership.

Neither Momo nor Magia had anticipated Dora would step up as the group's leader, nor Rain becoming their fearless mood-maker.

In professional terms, one could call it the “suspension-bridge effect” that worked wonders.

“Yes. It feels like they'll take it more seriously if I'm there.”

“Just don't go around helping them out because you feel sorry for them. It's still a legitimate evaluation, after all.”

“Oh, I wouldn't help them,” Magia smiled mischievously. “If anything, I'll just mess with them more.”

“No messing around either! The puzzles aren't easy—if they waste time, they might fail the challenge altogether.”

“The sets and puzzles are changed annually anyway. It’s different from last year, so there's not much I could do to help.”

Honestly, Magia suspected Miho might go wild during the escape room.

That girl loved mysteries so much.

And seeing how Miho shed her shyness completely whenever she was engrossed in solving something, Magia probably wouldn't even need to step in to help her communicate this time.

***

One particularly amusing thing about the escape room attraction during the first weekend of training was that everyone got extremely excited upon first seeing the schedule.

"What? An escape room? And on a massive scale?"

"An overnight event, even? Is that even a thing?" they exclaimed, surprised.

The excitement was inevitable, given that the entire first week had consisted of suffocating theoretical lectures led by the CEO and HR manager. After being stuck indoors all that time, everyone was eager to finally get outdoors.

Besides, every lecture had been stiflingly boring.

The CEO’s endless talk about Parallel’s journey and roadmap.

The HR manager dissecting the exclusive management contract item-by-item.

The finance director explaining income distribution and taxes.

The planning team leader detailing differences between company projects and personal projects, including the company's support limits...

I'd wondered if such an outdoor activity would appeal to introverted personalities. But apparently, introverts just preferred staying at home—not trapped in stuffy classrooms. I remembered clearly how excited Maru and Komari had been to get outside back when the first generation went through this.

Anyway, everyone would arrive at the pension-slash-escape room attraction filled with anticipation...

And immediately get overwhelmed by the enormous soccer-field-sized facility upon arrival.

Though accommodations included a luxurious feast, they soon panicked upon hearing they'd be downgraded to a budget meal if they failed to clear the given missions.

Even worse, they were told they had to complete certain objectives before sunset in order to sleep comfortably indoors. Failure meant they'd have to spend the night bundled up in tents with heat packs on the rooftop.

Since it was located in the mountains, darkness came early—so at least sufficient sleep time was guaranteed. But on the second day, they'd have to wake up before dawn and complete another mission.

Yet, the experience was rewarding enough.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

If they successfully cleared the event in time, they'd be able to enjoy a warm, delicious breakfast with their colleagues, watching the sunrise from a beautiful pavilion overlooking the East Sea.

Sure, it was a grueling, exhausting experience, but how often could someone participate in something this unique? Not to mention the pension owner was so wealthy that despite its scale, the attraction was affordable, meaning there was always at least a three-month waiting list.

In short, there was only one chance.

If you wanted the extravagant feast, cozy beds, and that meaningful sunrise experience, you had no choice but to work together and overcome the hardships.

Of course, regular participants usually selected easy mode, since their goal was just to enjoy the experience comfortably.

But our objective was the so-called suspension bridge effect. According to the pension owner, less than 5% had ever completed the "Hell Mode" we’d selected.

Naturally, once all this information was revealed, the previously enthusiastic trainees usually looked utterly miserable.

In fact, upon arriving, even the second-generation trainees looked completely deflated for about ten minutes, lamenting that they'd likely lose out on dinner.

But Orca quickly bounced back with determination.

“Thinking about all the outdoor drills I endured during my army days, this actually sounds way better. I'll give it my absolute best.”

As expected of a disciplined military veteran—her positivity stood out sharply.

If she'd been closer to Miho, maybe they'd already be plotting how to clear everything with Orca confidently saying "Leave it to me!" But nearly a week into training, those two still awkwardly avoided each other.

Sure, Ena helped ease their interactions when she was around, but when alone, the awkwardness was palpable.

Personally, I quite enjoyed watching that rare dynamic from a distance.

After all, this was the kind of front-row seat reserved exclusively for me—the distance between me and Parallel’s regular fans.

You watch through screens.

I get to enjoy it live in 3D.

...Wait, since I was actually participating this time, wouldn't that make it 4D?

As I mused, Ena mentioned something from her Lapits days, prompting an amused smile from me.

“At Lapits, after a week of theoretical training, we just had two months of lessons—that was it. Honestly, I’m really excited now. I never thought I'd experience something so fun.”

“Then how did you get close to your Lapits peers, Serena? That must've taken quite a while.”

“I put in a lot of effort. We had a decent preparation period, but everyone was so busy with individual lessons that we rarely met.”

Ena explained that she'd done exactly what my job entailed—organizing meals, buying coffee, creating opportunities to interact.

Her initial "breadwinner" image resurfaced vividly in my mind.

It didn’t matter if she came from a wealthy family; she genuinely worked like a responsible eldest sibling.

“But did everyone get closer before your debut?”

“Barely. We met the seniors maybe once? Honestly, it felt like a factory line. They made us work tirelessly on songs, but it lacked that warm, family atmosphere we have here at Parallel. Even the seniors appreciated it when I organized meet-ups, saying they’d been feeling isolated.”

“Even Eona?”

“Yeah. She was the happiest. She told me she was so focused on her own performance—treating it like checking off tasks before deadlines—that she’d never thought of helping juniors. So she was really thankful I stepped up.”

Poor Ena had endured a lot. But those days were behind her now.

Just like the first generation, today's escape room would force the second generation to depend on each other, willingly or not.

The pension itself was slightly elevated above the attraction area, so the CEO, the team leader, and I had watched the first generation’s attempt from above.

I vividly remembered Rain dropping at least a hundred F-bombs that day.

Such was the might of "Hell Mode."

Anyway, it was amusing to see the second generation still socially distancing despite Ena’s best efforts to bond them.

Not that different from the first generation before their own retreat.

Soon enough, the CEO and the team leader headed up to the pension, and shortly after, a woman in her late thirties appeared to hand out blindfolds.

She was the pension owner's wife, who served as our guide through the event.

The trainees formed a blindfolded human train and began shuffling forward—but as for me, I was pushed gently forward by the pension owner herself. Apparently, I was so short that she worried I'd /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ trip and hurt myself.

Blindfolded, we stepped softly over grass, then shuffled across concrete floors, and finally, moved over crunchy, sandy grounds...

At last, we arrived at the starting point, permitted to remove our blindfolds.

The last sound I'd heard was the hollow clang of metal stairs. Now, inside a creaking indoor area, the atmosphere felt distinctly eerie.

“You can take off your blindfolds now. I'll finish explaining as you look around, then I'll leave you to it. Did everyone dress warmly? If you need heat packs or extra clothing, they're in your personal storage lockers.”

If I'd known anything beforehand, the trainees might overly rely on me, so I deliberately came unprepared.

I hadn't even checked online reviews.

And the second-generation trainees only learned today they'd be coming here, so they certainly hadn’t had time either.

Everyone was completely clueless as we removed our blindfolds and got our first glimpse of the escape-room stage.

Straight out of some TV drama—a line of old, military-style bunks.

Worn-out metal lockers lined the walls, topped with thin mattresses and faded green blankets.

Ena excitedly opened a locker and pulled out something like a heavy coat—military camouflage patterned in greens, blacks, and browns.

Orca groaned audibly at the sight, just as the pension owner began explaining:

“Your mission is to escape from a military base overrun by zombies. You must safely pass through multiple checkpoints where zombies could appear at any moment and reach the survivor rendezvous point.”

For reference, the rendezvous point was the pension itself.

“However, since accommodation space is limited, remember—if you fail to arrive in time, you'll be sleeping in tents on the rooftop. As stated in the briefing materials, the program runs until sunrise tomorrow morning. After that, you’re free to rest at the pension until noon. Please note: in Hell Mode, absolutely no hints will be provided, and there are two additional missions compared to normal mode. Any questions?”

If it was military roleplay, I felt uncertain, having never served. If horror was involved, even worse. Raising my hand nervously, I asked the crucial question:

“Um... Are there a lot of jump scares?”

The pension owner replied seriously:

“In Hell Mode, there are exactly three jump-scare points. No heart conditions among you, right?”

Damn it.

I should’ve said I had a heart condition.