I May Be a Virtual Youtuber, but I Still Go to Work-Chapter 124

The official name of the training I conduct is "Handling Toxicity."

But despite its rather ordinary-sounding title, the training itself unfolds in a way that would make anyone worry about the members’ mental well-being.

Some might wonder, Why is this necessary when managers block all toxic chat messages anyway?

Well, no matter how closely a manager monitors chat, there are always people who slip through the filter.

And ambiguous messages are hard to block immediately—they require checking past chat history, and in that time, the streamer might have already read them.

And of course, the moment you read those kinds of messages, they spark a fire in your brain and send a sharp pain through the back of your head.

In situations like that, blocking the chat doesn’t really help.

That’s why this training acts as a kind of "vaccination."

I drop a single Tabasco-jalapeño-sized dose onto each of their lips and watch their reactions.

Looking back on the first-generation training session that took place about a year and a few months ago...

— Might as well leave and come back later, you’re just gonna lose anyway.

— Frugal meta? Just watching diamonds from a distance now?

— Yo.

— Feeling like I wanna shotgun someone in the head.

— Stop trying to bullshit your way through.

— Whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine whine.

— Hey!

— You solving puzzles with your items? Lmao, at least it looks colorful and pretty.

— Even with an explanation, you still don’t get it, huh? Pathetic.

— Not my problem if you’re pissed lmao.

— Yo, answer me.

— Komari’s washed up, huh? Lmao.

"If you don’t like watching, then just get the fuck out!! ‘Washed up’ my ass, you piece of shit—"

Komari had since grown used to streaming, and her audience had come to appreciate her occasional outbursts.

Nowadays, she compromised by letting herself get genuinely mad once in a while.

But back when she was just starting, she had tried incredibly hard to hold back her temper.

Why?

Because while attending my Handling Toxicity training, she had completely lost it multiple times and hurled expletives in my chat.

Even though she knew I was the one sending those toxic messages—since my face wasn’t visible and only the chat was, she just couldn’t hold it in.

That’s why, rather than focusing on Maru, who had a fragile mental state and would cry when overwhelmed, I concentrated more on Rain and Komari.

If you break down and cry on stream, your fans will usually handle the aftermath for you.

But if you snap and start swearing, or worse, pick a fight, that is when things spiral into a full-blown war.

You might think, Why is it wrong to call out the asshole who sent the toxic message? They’re the ones in the wrong.

But this is the world of online streaming—people will take that reaction, turn it into controversy, and use it to permanently brand you.

That’s why it’s better to be cautious from the start.

If you must swear, keep it light and direct it at something else—like "This goddamn piece-of-shit game, Naore!" instead of a specific person.

This is also why, during second-gen training, I’ll be paying extra attention to Orca.

She was chosen precisely because of how well she normally keeps her temper in check.

She received high marks during selection for that very reason.

But when someone like her finally snaps, it’s far more dangerous.

And in the world of streaming, that moment inevitably will come.

Let’s talk about the others first.

Miho?

She tries to act like a social butterfly, but deep down, she’s just an introvert.

Whenever someone criticizes her, her first instinct is to curl up.

Even if chat gets nasty, she’d probably just let out a quiet "Uhh, don’t do that..." in a small voice.

And Miho loves to analyze things.

If I frame the training as an investigation—having her figure out which messages are toxic and why they were sent—she’ll probably figure it out on her own pretty quickly.

And by the time she’s done thinking, the moment to respond will have already passed, making it look like she naturally ignored the message.

There might be more to it, but at the moment, I don’t see any major red flags for her handling toxicity.

Eоna?

There’s no need to even mention her.

Until we teamed up for the Combative tournament, my knowledge of her was fairly surface-level.

But in that tournament, Eоna carried the immense responsibility of being the main shot-caller—and she did so without a single complaint.

The chat during that event?

Even though the managers were monitoring it, since she was the main caller in a major tournament, the toxicity was off the charts.

— Your shot-calling is why your team keeps losing.

— You’re absolute dogshit at playing your role.

— You and Youngun must be secretly hooking up behind the scenes.

— No matter how this tournament ends, your reputation is finished.

The worst of the worst flooded in, taking shifts to make the chat into a cesspool.

And yet, Eоna endured it.

As a reincarnated VTuber, she might attract even more targeted toxicity.

For her, my focus will be on recognizing which messages are worth addressing and which can be ignored.

But as I mentioned earlier, Orca needs closer monitoring.

We need to push her buttons—to see just how far she can be provoked before she loses it.

Only then can we determine how to handle potential issues in the future.

"The order will be: Eоna, Miho, then Orca. If any of the feedback sessions run long, we’ll push the remaining ones to the next day.

That’s why this training is scheduled for the whole week.

If we have extra time, I’ll also show sample footage from past streams of senior members dealing with toxic chat."

We don’t show those videos upfront because people tend to mimic what they see.

Instead, we want to see raw reactions—how they respond when given no prior guidance.

After I finished explaining, Eоna raised her hand.

"But Gia, aren’t you going to take the training yourself?"

"I’m the instructor. I can’t take the course and teach it at the same time."

"That’s true, but wouldn’t it work if we found someone else to act toxic toward you?"

Miho, intrigued, giggled and chimed in.

"Shouuuld we do it?"

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With Eоna nodding in agreement, Orca naturally followed suit.

It was clear that they all wanted to see me go through the same experience.

So, I set a condition.

"Well, I suppose watching my response could be useful for you.

Fine, let’s do it—but only after we finish your training and go through the prepared materials.

At that point, it won’t be too different from watching how the seniors handled it."

The three of them nodded enthusiastically.

Hmm.

I mean, it’s not like I’m the type to get rattled by this stuff.

But who knows?

Becoming the target myself might actually teach me something new.

And since this training is happening under the CEO’s orders, if it helps refine the curriculum, then it’s worth trying.

Guess I’ll just have to hope they wrap up their sessions early.

*

For today's training, the second-generation members had prepared their own content in advance, just as Magia had requested.

The theme?

Either "The content you most want to stream" or "Your favorite type of content."

Nothing ruins the experience more than encountering toxic viewers while doing something you love.

And since people tend to react more intensely when their favorite content is targeted, this training was designed to push them to their limits.

A prime example was Komari.

Nothing made her angrier than the toxic messages she received while playing Naore, the game she loved the most.

So, what had Eona prepared?

[ Confession Karaoke ]

#Parallel #Eona

It was a modified version of the confession-based content she used to run back when she was Serena—

Viewers would submit their stories, and she would sing a song that fit their situation.

A temporary chatroom, styled like an actual livestream chat, was set up.

Three people entered the simulation:

Miho and Orca, who would play the role of normal chatters—

And Magia, who would play the toxic one.

For a brand-new VTuber, even just handling a livestream program while smoothly running content could be a major hurdle.

But because it was Eona, the flow was incredibly smooth.

Because it was so smooth, the normal chat interactions didn’t create much of a dramatic effect.

At most, they typed things like “drumroll” or “Ohh~” as reactions.

But toxic chat?

That was a different story.

— Are you reincarnated?

— No wonder you’re so polished, you have prior experience.

The moment those messages appeared, Miho and Orca were visibly horrified.

They turned to Magia with wide eyes, silently asking, Is this really okay?

But this was Magia’s job today.

Without even glancing at them, she continued her barrage.

— Answer me.

— Can’t hear me?

— Weird. Other streamers always respond to this kind of thing.

A flood of spam messages.

Eona glanced at the chat a few times but remained composed.

Seeing that she was still holding steady, Magia turned up the heat.

— Escape is for the smart ones, lol.

— My teammates died, but I survived, so it’s all good!

The moment those messages appeared, Miho let out a choked gasp.

Orca, on the other hand, nervously shifted her gaze between Magia and Eona.

But as Magia had already emphasized—this training was designed exactly for this.

She had warned them in advance that she would be showing them the worst of the worst.

Just like a vaccine works by introducing a weakened version of a virus to strengthen the immune system, this training was meant to build up their tolerance and response to toxic chat.

Fortunately, Eona passed the first trial flawlessly.

Mentioning a VTuber’s "past life" was a hard no.

Other types of toxicity could be responded to directly, but this particular topic had only one correct approach—

Ignore it until the managers handle it.

Why?

Because even though most people watching the stream already knew about a VTuber’s past identity, there was an unspoken agreement to pretend otherwise.

So, the correct response was to do nothing at all.

After passing this test, Eona moved on to her main content—singing songs based on viewers’ stories.

Magia struck again.

— Sounds even better now that you’re out of prison, lol.

— That corporate slave energy!!!

Eona didn’t respond.

She didn’t even look like she was paying attention to the chat.

A flawless 100/100 reaction.

Magia, impressed, nodded and continued typing up her evaluation notes.

And as the test continued, Eona kept handling each challenge smoothly.

Even direct comparisons to her past self—

— Honestly, I liked the pink look better, though.

"Really? I do like strawberry flavors, but lately, I’ve been more into vanilla.

And hey, my hair is vanilla-colored right now. Wow, what a coincidence~"

She kept her tone playful, turning it into a lighthearted joke.

For moments where it wasn’t safe to engage—like when someone accidentally called her by her old name—Eona knew to leave it entirely to the managers.

— Serena

[ Unban request: "I called the wrong name by mistake, please forgive me ㅠㅠ" ]

And when someone donated, asking her to sing an original song she had released in her past life—

:: Anonymous donated 1,000 Clouds! ::

:: "Do you plan to sing ‘Pure Saint’ anytime soon?" ::

"I don’t take song requests.

If you’d like to request something, please submit it through the official forum when we hold a karaoke event."

Not only was this response perfectly executed—

It showed an understanding of Parallel’s internal processes.

Parallel’s VTubers always pre-screened song requests through their official forum.

By referencing this, Eona subtly indicated that she was following company protocol.

It was the kind of answer that deeply impressed Magia.

A prepared VTuber with top-tier judgment.

Eona’s final evaluation? A+.

She could debut tomorrow with zero issues.

Since this report would go directly to Cheon Do-hee, it meant Eona wouldn’t face any major restrictions during her streams.

This result far surpassed the previous highest score—Dora’s B+.

"Well done. That was a perfect response—I have nothing to critique."

"Really? Thanks. Phew... but wow, that was exhausting.

Even though I knew it was fake, it still messed with my head..."

"In an actual stream, it’ll be even harder. But for now, you pass."

This outcome was expected.

The real problem would be what came next.

Miho and Orca had to score at least B to pass.

Foll𝑜w current novels on fɾēewebnσveℓ.com.

If they didn’t, they’d have to repeat the training.

The program was scheduled to last one week, but if a member’s score was too low, they would have to keep redoing the course—

Which could delay their debut.

And considering how things were shaping up, the odds of both Miho and Orca failing were high.

Even in the first-gen group, the only one who had started with a B+ was Dora.

Everyone else had received a C+ on their first try.

It wasn’t that Serena had been exceptional—

It was just that, back then, everyone was completely new to streaming.

If this had been her first-ever stream, she probably wouldn’t have been much different.

And so, after lunch that afternoon, it was Miho’s turn.

Her chosen content?

A fully voice-acted playthrough of a story-driven game.

Miho had some experience in voice acting, so she likely picked this to showcase her strengths.

And the game she chose?

A masterpiece.

A game so highly regarded for its ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) story and gameplay that people called it the GOAT of its time.

But to Magia, this was prime hunting ground.

With a story-driven game came spoilers, elitists, and backseaters—

And there was no way Magia was going to let that slide.

As Miho introduced the game, Magia flooded the chat.

— Whatever you do, don’t focus on the protagonist and heroine’s conversation.

— Whatever you do, don’t focus on the protagonist and heroine’s conversation.

— Whatever you do, don’t focus on the protagonist and heroine’s conversation.

It looked like harmless advice.

But in reality, it was a soft spoiler.

Magia had deliberately set this up to test how Miho would react.

Would she get angry? Would she try to analyze it?

As expected, Miho’s response was slow—

Clearly, she was trying to think through the message.

Her stream even paused, proof that she had frozen up.

Magia quietly nodded.

If things ended here, Miho might actually score higher than expected.

But then—

Under her breath, Miho started mumbling.

"...fucking spoiler bastards.

Fucking spoiler bastards.

Fucking spoiler bastards..."

What the hell?

That’s terrifying.