I May Be a Virtual Youtuber, but I Still Go to Work-Chapter 128

Now that I thought about it, even though we had exchanged contact info, I knew almost nothing about Bazubi.

A classic Korean trait.

When people meet, the first thing they do is ask about each other’s age, hometown, and school—immediately trying to establish connections through blood ties, academic background, or mutual acquaintances.

But a reserved person like Bazubi would shrink in these situations, hesitating to speak.

And the people who wanted to ask would end up doubting themselves, thinking, Would it be rude to ask?—which ultimately led to both sides avoiding the conversation entirely.

At least, in our team, we had Youngun—a force of pure extroversion—who had tried ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) asking Bazubi some questions.

"By the way, Bazubi, how old are you? Should I call you noona?"

"..........“

We never got a real answer.

For some reason, it seemed like she couldn’t say.

So we let it slide, assuming she had her own circumstances.

That left us with only guesses about her personal details.

All we had to go on was that she was about the same height as the CEO and had a reserved posture, but still managed to silence Youngun with just her presence at their first meeting.

Which led our team to conclude: she was a career woman in her mid-to-late twenties.

She had left the team dinner early, saying she had something to do. She wore a professional-looking outfit, which only reinforced our assumption.

Her VTuber model was a mature woman with cow ears and a tail, built to match her real-life physique.

And her RP? A single woman past the prime marriage age but not yet a full-fledged spinster.

That’s why everyone thought, She must be incredibly popular at work. Maybe that’s why she became so reserved—because she got hounded so much.

But, as the saying goes, never judge a book by its cover.

“Oh my, where did you bring such a cute friend from?”

“...I wouldn’t go that far.”

“It’s been years since you invited someone over—of course, you’re friends. Anyway, have you eaten? I’ll prepare something right away, so just wait a bit.”

“...Ah, yes. This is just a small gift. I heard strawberries are really good this season.”

“Oh, no wonder I kept smelling something sweet. I thought it was coming from you, my dear~.”

Instead of eating out, Bazubi had suggested we have a meal at her home.

And as soon as I stepped in, I was greeted by a woman who looked exactly like her.

If I looked closely, I could see the difference in age. But at first glance, they looked more like sisters than mother and daughter, which was incredibly confusing.

Honestly, if Bazubi hadn’t been wearing a hoodie and shorts, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart so easily.

“......Sorry. ......Told mom she didn’t have to stay. ......Got bullied a lot at school, so she worries.”

Maybe because this wasn’t a big social gathering, but just a quiet meeting, Bazubi’s voice was much clearer than usual.

Feeling genuinely sorry for her, I asked with concern.

“That’s really awful. Are you okay now?”

“...Yeah. I’m taking a break from school, so it’s fine.”

“Oh no. If you had to take a leave of absence in the middle of the semester, what about the tuition? That’s such a waste.”

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

“...?”

For a moment, I thought I had misheard her.

I waited, expecting a response.

But Bazubi just stared at me.

She wasn’t saying anything at all.

...Did I say something wrong?

I had assumed, based on her resemblance to her mother, that she was just someone who looked mature.

That meant revising my guess from late twenties to mid-twenties.

Then, since she mentioned school, I adjusted again to early twenties—figuring she was a college student.

But just to be sure, I asked.

“Bazubi... you’re not a college student?”

Her answer left me completely speechless.

“...No, I’m in middle school. ...Sorry, I never mentioned it before.”

Middle school.

...She was in middle school?

To be fair, there had been hints.

Her fanbase was insanely protective, acting like a turret defense squad.

They were always spamming, ‘Protect Bazubi!’ and ‘Protect the baby!’

But who would seriously believe that someone using a model like that was actually a kid?

It just seemed like something overzealous fans would say as a joke.

And now that I knew her real age, all of Youngun’s comments from that dinner flashed through my mind.

A cold chill ran down my spine.

Oh, god. Youngun.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Was he about to be farewelled under the Child Protection Act?

Shaking off my horror, I turned to Bazubi with a deadly serious expression.

“...Would you like to press charges against Youngun?”

“...No! It’s not like that. ...I intentionally kept it a secret. He didn’t say anything that inappropriate...!”

“I mean, that’s true, but if anything does happen, please contact me immediately. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“...It won’t come to that, but okay. ...If something happens, I’ll reach out.”

“Promise.”

But seriously.

Why did she get so excited when I sang That Slow Train Song on stream?

I couldn’t just let it go, so I asked.

“...Oh. My dad used to sing that when he was drunk. ...It just reminded me of when I was little.”

“...Ah. That... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”

“...No, it’s fine.”

Bazubi usually couldn’t stop apologizing in collabs.

But today, it felt like I was the one constantly saying sorry.

I owed Ena big time.

If she hadn’t pointed it out, I would’ve never realized I had unread messages.

Three months felt bad enough.

If half a year had passed... I didn’t even want to imagine it.

How much had this quiet girl agonized over it alone?

***

Bazubi’s mother had prepared an absolutely extravagant home-cooked meal.

It was the essence of a classic Korean home meal—filled with that unmistakable taste of a mother’s love.

Sweet braised short ribs, freshly roasted seaweed, soybean paste stew, steamed eggs, lotus root in soy glaze, and spicy cockle salad.

All the kinds of dishes that were usually impossible to get unless you went out of your way.

Magia had originally planned to treat Bazubi to a meal out but switched to gifting a box of strawberries instead when she insisted on eating at home.

And over the course of the meal, the reason for that became clear.

Bazubi’s mother started sharing stories.

“To be honest, when she first told me she was streaming to help improve her social skills and make friends, I wasn’t sure what to think. But it really worked—it’s amazing.

I watched the tournament a few months ago, too. She said she got a lucky entry spot, but the scale of it was enormous. I was so nervous, my heart was racing the whole time. I kept worrying—what if she messed up?”

At last, the real reason for Bazubi’s debut was revealed.

Magia now understood why she had thanked Youngun for putting together such a great team.

Apart from Youngun, the team had been full of people who naturally took care of others—Crkemang, Ena, even Kamik, who had initially kept his distance.

And, of course, Magia herself.

Bazubi’s mother put it into words for her:

“If she’d been in another team, she probably wouldn’t have spoken at all and would’ve ended up blamed for the loss.”

“I guess my hearing’s just a little sharper than most. It just sort of happened.”

“You’re too humble. Either way, I’m so grateful. Please come visit more often. How could I not treat such good friends to a meal?”

Magia felt a little guilty, but Bazubi was just as embarrassed.

“......It’s embarrassing. Please stop.”

“What are you talking about? You always tell me how grateful you are to them.”

“.............”

Bazubi’s hand slowed dramatically as she pushed food around on her plate, her face bright red.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud—but having her mother say it for her was even worse.

Since they couldn’t avoid discussing the collab any longer, Magia brought it up once Bazubi’s mother left the table after finishing her meal.

“So, I think this is going to turn into an all-night stream. Are you okay with that?”

“...All night?”

“Yeah. Just doing Parallel World Cup didn’t feel like enough, so I thought we could add a game.”

Running Parallel World Cup from the 64-player bracket alone would take about 4-5 hours.

Adding a second game meant staying up all night was basically inevitable.

As soon as she heard that, Bazubi shook her head firmly.

“......We don’t have to do that...!”

But Magia was just as firm.

Ignoring messages for three months wasn’t a small mistake—she needed to make it up properly.

“I don’t think I can let it go. I don’t want to just gloss over this. Don’t feel pressured, okay? I even took the day off tomorrow, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“......Ugh.”

“Just pick any game you want to play. Doesn’t matter what kind—it’s your choice.”

Bazubi didn’t hesitate long.

She had dreamed of a specific collab with Magia from the very first time they met.

“...I want to play Never Cry, Princess together.”

Never Cry, Princess.

A spiritual successor to Queen Maker, the original Raise Your Daughter game.

The game was set in a fantasy world where you raised a ten-year-old daughter until she turned eighteen.

Unlike Queen Maker, it featured more diverse random events and branching choices, leading to over 50 different bad endings—while only five counted as true or happy endings.

But Bazubi wasn’t aiming for a happy ending.

“...I want to be the mom. And I want you to be the daughter.”

“?”

Bazubi was a middle schooler, sure.

But in every aspect—her VTuber character, her channel branding—she had always positioned herself as a mature, marriage-ready woman.

So her idea was simple: Magia, with her adorable model, would play the role of the daughter.

And she would be the mother raising her.

Honestly, from that moment, Magia’s brain just stopped functioning.

It was Children’s Day.

But Magia, who was not a child, was going to be playing a child.

And Bazubi, who was closest to being an actual child, was going to play a mother.

Of course, to the viewers, none of that would matter.

They wouldn’t care about the people behind the models—only the dynamic they saw on screen.

To them, it would just be Magia doing another fun stream in honor of Family Month.

But for Magia herself, there was a profound sense of existential crisis.

She had come here to make amends—not to question the very fabric of her identity.

Playing a child in front of a literal middle schooler?

Her soul was rejecting the idea on every level.

“...Wouldn’t it make more sense if we switched? I really don’t sound like a kid, and I don’t think I could pull off the voice acting well.”

But Bazubi shook her head.

“...Not every daughter in the game is the same. ...You’d be the type that’s cynical and mature. ...I wouldn’t ask you to do a voice that’s completely different from your usual self.”

Bazubi—who normally avoided pushing for things—was standing firm on this.

It was pure, unfiltered desire.

She wanted to play this game with Magia in this specific way.

And if she didn’t have to fake a voice, Magia supposed she could live with it.

“Alright. If that’s the case, let’s try it.”

The moment Magia agreed, Bazubi let out a long, mature-sounding chuckle, shifting her bangs slightly to the side.

Magia suddenly felt very, very conflicted.

She had probably taken after her mother quite a bit, given they lived together.

But seriously.

How the hell is this girl a middle schooler?

***

...── — PAZIZIK GALLERY — ──...

[WTF is Magia doing?]

(PAZIZIK - Bazubi)

https://www.pazizik.com/bar_zoo_bee

She’s suddenly showing up on some random stream without warning??? LMAO

[Comments]

— pazizik835: This is how small streamers advertise themselves now? LMAO

└ pazizik835: WAIT, HOLY SHIT IT’S REAL.