(The Neighbor's POV)
With Ochiba Kareki now somewhat famous, my life becomes hectic. One of the bigger changes is how I spend my weekday mornings.
"Abaddon, I don't have time to make anything for breakfast, so I'll eat on the way to school. Would you mind going to the kitchen and grabbing me a piece of bread? Just one is fine."
"I saw that coming, so I made breakfast for you while you were asleep!"
"What? Is that some kind of joke?"
"Hey, now! Of course not. It's in the dining room. Go on, grab some grub!"
I dedicate all my time after our pretend family sessions to video recording, and it's cutting into my sleep. What's more, my alarm clock is now set to go off thirty minutes earlier.
"I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were so resourceful."
"Well, I'm reluctant to leave your bedroom while you're sleeping. This house is big, you know? But you were already sleep-deprived before. It would break my heart to see you skip meals and get sick."
"Then I'm sorry for troubling you. I appreciate it."
It's thanks to my partner that I'm still functioning day-to-day. Despite what you might think, he's great at housework. Not only does he help me cook whenever it's my turn to make dinner for the pretend family, but he also pitches in with laundry and cleaning, all voluntarily. I'm scared that if he helps me any more, I'll never be able to repay him.
On Sunday, two days after our recording at the studio, the video goes live. Abaddon and I head to the guest room and watch it together on my laptop. When Ochiba Kareki talks in the video, she sounds a bit more like a stranger than usual.
"Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! What luck, drawing such a good item! Then again, I would expect nothing less from someone of my caliber! Now, who's driving in front of me? Oh, Rolling? Yes, just stay right there. Perfect."
"No! No no nooo! Don't shoot! You're not allowed to use the red ones behind meee!"
"Oh, sorry. My shell is going for Kihouin…"
"Hwaaahhh?!"
As I listen to the recording, I find my attention drawn to Kihouin and Rolling; they have a lot of presence. Their voices are sharper and ring better than Kareki's. I'm really starting to understand why they're the highest earners of the group.
"Listening to us side by side really makes it clear how much longer they've been doing this."
"Kareki is reserved when she talks, so you'll have to focus on your tone of voice if you want to compete. That said, even though you're muttering for most of the video, I think it still leaves an impression."
"You don't need to force yourself to compliment me."
Comments start popping up as soon as the video goes live. The response to Kareki is mixed.
"This Kareki girl is kinda annoying, isn't she?" "She's bothering Lady Reika too much." "Nah, Lady Reika is practically asking for it." "This can't be ad-libbed. She's too new for that." "They must have had a script. Otherwise, how would so many items be hitting her? Lmao." "This is more of an event for the second-strings anyway." "Lady Reika is such a good person!" "I kinda like her, personally."
We're being talked about, even if it's only as an aside to Kihouin. That was the point of the stream, so in that way it's a success. But when I think back to our exchanges that day, my feelings become more complicated. Also, those attack items constantly hitting Kihouin really was pure coincidence!
I see one or two comments with familiar icons and usernames: They're from the group of haters who have been bothering me since the days of Misaki Hanano.
"Kareki picking a fight with her has gotta be ad-libbed. As someone who loved Hanano fr fr, I can tell." "God, how much does she hate Kihouin?" "It's so obvious she's gonna lose her place in this group soon." "I bet she didn't have anyone to eat lunch with on the day of recording and didn't know what to do with herself." "I have a feeling she'll graduate because of bullying at some point." "Suddenly, I'm really looking forward to this."
Sadly, they're exactly right.
Either way, just as the company hoped, our channel gets a whole bunch of new subscribers, thanks to the stream. I was hovering around ten thousand before, but the day after the stream it's doubled, reaching a shocking twenty thousand.
Abaddon is all smiles. "You did it! You got more subscribers on Kareki's channel!"
"Does it make you happy that she's getting popular?"
"Of course it does! The more popular she gets, the more income you have. She's an important partner for achieving financial independence. And I'm sure our younger sister will be happy about her success."
"You're right about that."
I've already spoken with my neighbor and Futarishizuka about monetizing our activities. We decided to open a bank account for that purpose in my name. But my neighbor said he'd set things up so that any financial exchanges would go through Futarishizuka's corporation.
If I can keep up my current views, I can expect tens of thousands of yen per month. I asked Futarishizuka if I could start paying for my own living expenses right away, but she turned me down, saying she would rather I save it for the future. The amount is a drop in the bucket for her, and paying for everything, including rent, is well outside the realm of possibility for me. I would only have been satisfying myself. And besides, Futarishizuka probably expects rewards, not money, in return for her kindness.
"At this rate, we're definitely in the running to win the view-count contest."
"I hope so."
I pretend to be calm as I answer him, but inside, I'm the happiest one here. I'm certain my neighbor will place last, and, if things work out, he'll have to grant my request. Lately, whenever I get into bed, I can't stop fantasizing about it.
The only problem is the poll. The day when everyone votes for their favorite second-string member is fast approaching, and there's barely any time to canvass. Winterfest is scheduled for next Saturday, only two days after the poll. The vote is an important part of the event, too, probably meant to build up hype for it.
And if I win, will I have enough time to prepare? Of course, the second-string members aren't expected to draw in viewers on their own, and I can't imagine they'll be entrusted with any major tasks. The first-string members are supposedly the core of the event.
Either way, being able to participate at all is much better than the alternative.
Ever since our studio recording, I've been calling for votes every day.
"Hello. It's Ochiba Kareki. I want to talk about the second-string voting I told you about yesterday. I'm sure you all think asking for votes is being cocky for such a gloomy loser. But think about what it's like at school and in the workplace. Sunny characters can only exist where there are depressing ones to contrast with them."
While the channel has gotten more subscribers, it's still sitting around the bottom of the group's rankings.
"Think of me as the garnish under the sashimi—the fresh cuts of fish on top only look appetizing because I'm here. I know you have other favorites in your hearts, but if you have any votes to spare for a little strip of daikon like me…"
By our estimation, I'll need at least one hundred thousand subscribers to ensure my participation, based on past years' performance. At the moment, I think we stand a fifty-fifty chance.
Abaddon is already raring to go. "If you do get in, that angel's Disciple will be so disappointed."
"If it comes down to it, we'll just make them cry again."
"Oh, how coldhearted. You're so cruel."
"Me? I think you angels and demons are to blame for having this proxy war in the first place."
"Ha-ha, guess I can't argue with you there!"
The day after our studio recording, Kihouin and Rolling contact me and invite me to a collaboration stream. They say it's a live stream, and we'll both share the same screen online.
I'm not sure what they're after. I think maybe this is their way of performing a public execution on a detested kouhai. Nevertheless, this is the perfect chance to access their established fan base. I can't say no—not if I want to win the poll. I ask the youngest daughter about it, and she tells me that equipment-wise, there shouldn't be a problem.
"A live stream, huh?" asks Abaddon. "I don't know. Anything you say will instantly be heard by the whole world, right?"
"I don't think we can avoid doing things like this if we want to make money in this business."
"What if people form an internet mob and come for you, complete with torches and pitchforks?"
"That's quite the visual."
"I'm just worried. You're already kind of unfriendly."
"A job like this, with lenient rules and working conditions, is a great choice if I'm going to be continuing in the proxy war. The only careers with more freedom are things like author or investor. Personally, I think we should be happy with what we have."
"Well, I won't press the issue if your mind is set on it."
Obviously, I'm anxious, but the benefits of collaborating with Kihouin and Rolling are too great to ignore. I'm well aware of how good it feels to milk a couple of famous streamers for extra viewers. While I sense a fair bit of danger from the phrase live stream, I decide to accept.
This is probably how a person gets addicted to politics.
The stream is scheduled for the very next evening. After our pretend family time is finished, Abaddon and I head home.
The theme of the stream is ASMR. When Kihouin and Rolling first explain this, I'm confused. I don't know what the abbreviation means. But since the meeting is being held over video chat, Abaddon—who knows the term, for some reason—explains it to me, and I'm able to skillfully play along.
According to Abaddon, it's a really good way of getting views. That said, I have a lot of hesitation about doing it on a live stream.
"Allow me to massage you. Right around…here? It feels nice there, right? Well? Are you tired? If you want, I would be glad to keep massaging you forever and ever."
The script they send me beforehand includes a lot of directions besides just spoken lines, like "gasp a little here" or "now pretend you're blowing into someone's ear." It seems really stupid, so I ignore it all and just read off the script.
When I do, Kihouin immediately breaks in. "Ah, one moment, Miss Kareki. You seem to be doing nothing but mumbling into the microphone. You must have more allure, more appeal, to make the viewers happy. Do as Miss Rolling does—a little flirtation, without any shame about how you may look or sound."
"I'll try, Miss Kihouin."
"Heeey! I think you're being a little too mean, Kihooo!"
"Go ahead and give it another try, Miss Kareki."
"All right. I will."
"Kareki's agreeing to everything so easilyyy. Do you think she has a crush on meee?"
The two of them ad-lib remarks that aren't in the script. I have it easy; I just trade banter with my two senpai as appropriate. The stream ends after about an hour.
Though it took place on Ochiba Kareki's channel, it had over twenty thousand simultaneous viewers. That same day, after being archived, it accumulates over two hundred thousand total views—easily more than all of my previous videos.
My subscriber number also increases, going up by another eleven thousand. The amount of influence famous streamers wield is astonishing. But what really has me curious is the conversation I had with the others after the stream ended.
"I know you have your own style, Miss Kareki, and it isn't our place to criticize you for it. But I do think you could stand to think a little more about how those around you view your actions."
"Uh, Kihooo, I don't think you're getting your point across at allll."
"Um, are you threatening me?"
"If that's how it sounded to you, then maybe so."
"Ughhh, geez! From my point of view, you're basically no better, Kihooo!"
"Didn't you promise to keep silent, Miss Rolling?"
"Urk."
Their strange back-and-forth makes it even harder to trust what they're saying.
Actually, I should stop making excuses. Ever since I entered the proxy war, I've stopped being able to trust anyone whose interests aren't clearly aligned with mine. And even when our interests are aligned, I'm constantly suspicious. In my eyes, rivals within my group are nothing more than enemies.
I nod noncommittally in response to their advice.
I continue to upload new videos every day, sandwiching more special events like this in between.
On weekdays, I go to school, using free time during class and breaks to work on my scripts. After school, I head home for our pretend family session, then record until midnight. I don't think my life has ever been so busy.
Before, I was sluggish and inactive. Now I spend my days rushing around, as though someone pressed fast-forward on my life.
But I have to admit, it doesn't feel bad at all.
Time passes in a flash, and eventually, the day of the poll arrives.
My neighbor had been working nonstop for several days.
After I went with her to the meeting with Mr. Kuga, checking on her videos became a daily task for me. She seemed to be tackling her job with great enthusiasm, and she always uploaded at least one new video every day.
Their quality, too, was faultless. In fact, it was better than the work of a lot of professionals.
I had no doubt that the 3D model and all that advanced equipment provided by Type Twelve was the foundation of that quality. But even so, her scripts and staging made use of that quality in astounding ways—so astounding, you'd never guess it was the work of a middle school student.
Maybe she'd gained such impressive skills at so young an age precisely because she'd holed herself up in her school's library for thousands, or even tens of thousands of hours. In fact, most of her viewers' comments read like they assumed she was a grown woman.
It warmed my heart, just a little, to think that my neighbor's life until now hadn't been a waste. And it reminded me that in all things, repetition was key.
Above all, I was happy that she finally had something she could immerse herself in after having led such an empty life. Perhaps it was rude to put it this way, but it seemed to me she was nurturing a reason to live like a little bud, and I wanted to make sure it never withered.
"How goes the view-count contest?" asked Peeps.
"I tried uploading a 4K recording of the Karuizawa scenery, but that didn't work, either. I saw an online article that said foreigners might be interested if I added English subtitles, but it doesn't seem like anyone's watched it."
"…I see."
I, on the other hand, had no clue how to progress. I'd headed to the Japanese-style house in the UFO again today and was now in my room there, racking my brain.
Currently, I had only seventy-eight views in total. Escaping last place seemed hopeless. Just as I was groaning in frustration, my distinguished sparrow came in to check on me.
"Is this that girl's video?" asked Peeps, looking at my laptop screen.
"Yeah."
It was one she'd just uploaded yesterday—a collaboration stream, on her own channel, with two of her senpai from the office. I was watching the archived version. It looked like she was trying out ASMR.
"Miss Kihouin, was I able to flirt properly, like Miss Rolling does?"
"Oh, yes! You've gotten so much better! Keep on showing them just how coquettish you can be."
"Argh! Stupid Kihooo! Stupid Karekiii! You're both mean, and it's making me maaad!"
"Oh, but I wasn't making fun of you. I must acknowledge your superior skills in buttering others up. It's exactly what people want from Miss Kareki, who has just debuted recently!"
"Wellll, okay then. In that case, I'll show you both how you reeeally butter someone up!"
My neighbor held her own, unafraid, even against her senpai. It reminded me a lot of her thorny back-and-forth with Miss Hoshizaki during our pretend family time. She had a lot of grit, thanks to her role in the death game—not even the most famous people in her industry could scare her. In fact, it was giving me chills just watching.
Naturally, I hadn't meddled in her video production work in the slightest. I was merely her manager; I responded to business queries from Mr. Kuga and others and performed minor duties like signing contracts and managing her official social media account. She and Abaddon did all the creative tasks, including outside recording.
"The way she speaks is every bit as powerful as her precursors. Very impressive."
"I'm more concerned that people at her workplace will say bad things about her."
"No need to mind that. These vee-tuber people depend on public favor and popularity, yes? As long as they can bring in the views, pecking orders will be quickly overturned. She is courteous enough, so I doubt we need to worry."
The Lord Starsage was as aggressive a go-getter as always. But without that level of pluck, you probably couldn't survive in a competitive industry like this. People who are not only confident but have the incredible talent and achievements to back up their attitude are just so cool.
"By the way, Miss Kihouin, don't you think you're being a little unfair?"
"Oh? Whatever do you mean?"
"Maybe it's because of your rich-girl character, but…compared to the instructions you gave me, you don't seem that coquettish, as you put it. Could you show me how it's truly done? Think of it as part of your kouhai's education."
"Urk! Are… Are you telling me to become a plaything for the masses?"
"Please don't confess to things like that without any warning. You're spoiling the moment. And a lot of other things, too…"
"Very well, if you insist. I will show you a kind of charm opposite to yours—the sunlight to your doom and gloom. Just don't blame me if they ban your account because of how incredibly sexy this stream is about to become."
"Okaaay, Kiho, now that's just immatuuure."
My neighbor was getting along well with her two senpai, Miss Kihouin and Miss Rolling. I didn't really approve of them inviting a minor to join an ASMR live stream, but aside from that, they were doing a good thing for her. Ochiba Kareki was managing to stay in character, and the reactions from the comment section were positive.
Peeps offered a similar impression. "It is always a thrill to watch a spirited newcomer make their mark."
"Seems like a lot of other people agree."
"I believe the others will benefit from it as well."
"Maybe that's why they approached her for the collab."
Typically, a newbie couldn't get away with acting like this toward her seniors. Perhaps it was different when you were working off a script, but everything my neighbor was saying was totally ad-libbed. Normally, she'd probably get bullied for such behavior.
But thankfully, it seemed her senpai were more interested in using her to their benefit than in fanning their own meaningless pride. That was how it looked to me, anyway, and so I decided not to meddle for now.
Either way, the result was that my neighbor was doing extraordinarily well for a newcomer. Not even ten days after her debut, her channel had almost fifty thousand subscribers. Despite starting out as a nameless nobody, she was now getting as much attention as idols with solid corporate backing. Her subscriber count might still lag behind the others in her group, but given how recently she'd started, it seemed like she was making a very respectable effort.
Ultimately, it was another fruitless day.
The sunlight pouring in through the window shifted to crimson, then eventually began to fade. As it did, I heard a voice from the kitchen letting me know dinner was ready. I left my room and headed to the living room, where the other members of our pretend family had already gathered.
But when I looked closer, I saw that we had a guest. For some reason unbeknownst to me, Magical Pink had joined us, sitting small and quiet at one end of the low, round table in the middle of the room.
As I settled into an empty spot of my own, I asked the question on my mind. "Ms. Futarishizuka, has something happened?"
"I went back to Karuizawa earlier to get some things for dinner, and there she was, right at the front door. I couldn't very well leave without inviting her, could I? One extra guest shouldn't cause any problems."
"I see."
The other day, during the school ski trip, Magical Pink had a big argument with Ms. Futarishizuka before the two of them ultimately reconciled. The magical girl had even pledged to abstain from her work of killing psychics for a while.
With her here, the table was packed. Going clockwise, the seating order was as follows: my neighbor and Abaddon, Miss Hoshizaki, Type Twelve, Lady Elsa, Prince Lewis, Ms. Futarishizuka, Magical Pink, and Peeps and me. Thanks to Peeps's size and the fact that Abaddon refused to eat with us, we'd just barely managed to fit everyone at the table. If anyone else showed up, we'd need to upgrade.
Personally, I found it strange how well Prince Lewis had adapted himself. Despite his former extravagant lifestyle as royalty, he never raised a word of complaint. His clothing choices had also shifted to fit modern Japan, just like Lady Elsa's. Anyone looking at him would simply see a trendy young man. His flexibility was truly commendable.
"Our low table is starting to feel very cramped," I noted.
"Do you think I should get a bigger one?" asked Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Grandmother, if we require household goods, then the youngest daughter would be pleased to handle it for you."
"I'd rather you build a room for your grandmother here in the house first."
"Building an addition demands intricate planning. We must approach such a task only after adequate preparation."
"Oh? I wonder where all that mechanical life-form super-science went off to."
Once I'd taken a seat, everyone dug in. Tonight's dinner was laid out on the table, once again courtesy of Lady Elsa and Prince Lewis. Fried rice, shrimp stir-fried in chili sauce, spring rolls, mapo tofu—it was a veritable buffet of Chinese cuisine. The juicy pot stickers were just as tasty as the ones you might get from a specialty shop. I figured they'd had some help from Ms. Futarishizuka, but it was still impressive.
"Hey, Sasaki, there's something I wanted to ask you," said Miss Hoshizaki.
"What is it?"
Once we'd finished about half of the food, my senior colleague spoke up. The next thing out of her mouth was a rather unexpected acronym.
"Do you know what a DMCA is?"
"Well, yes. I know of the concept… Why?"
The Digital Millennium Copyright Act was a federal law enacted by a certain allied nation. It dealt mainly with the control of digital works, such as those on the internet; the legislation had also amended copyright law in that country. They'd enacted it in the late '90s due to the proliferation of pirated works.
It was also famous in our country as a type of complaint lodged against major search engines. You might use it in a sentence like, I'm filing a DMCA complaint against such-and-such a site. You saw it a lot when specific information was removed from a search engine.
"They're pretty complicated, huh?" said my colleague.
"You're referring to takedown requests aimed at removing certain search engine results, right?"
"Y-yes, that's right."
It seemed Miss Hoshizaki had the same understanding of the term as I did. Was there some information on the internet she wanted to get rid of?
"You have to enter so many things into the online request form," she continued, "your real name, your address, everything. And if you lie about any of it, you can get fined, right? That's what I heard, anyway. Plus, you have to do it all in English."
"That's because in the country that made the law, it's generally a lawyer's job to handle those things. The name and address would then be the name of the attorney and address of the office handling the matter. I don't think the form is meant for end users."
"Wait… Wait, really?"
"Well, that's just what I read on the internet," I said casually, "but I think I'm right."
"..."
Miss Hoshizaki was at a loss for words. I was concerned—her expression looked awfully grave. Was she dealing with some kind of problem?
"If something's troubling you," I said, "then I could try to help you out."
"Huh? Oh, um. No, it's nothing important! I'm perfectly fine."
"You are?"
"Of course! I just asked out of curiosity."
Now I was very suspicious. There was no way she was just curious.
But she said she was fine, so I didn't want to pry. Maybe that leaked photo of her from a while back has started making the rounds again. But wouldn't Type Twelve have taken care of that right away?
"Mother, if a problem has occurred, I would like to state my intention to be of service to you in any way I can."
"No, it's super minor. Really, you can just ignore me."
"I have detected an increase in Mother's heart rate and a significant change in body surface temperature compared to your baseline. If you are not undergoing mental or emotional stress, then it is possible you are suffering from a bacterial infection or a virus."
"All that aside, the view-count contest is almost over, right?"
"Mother, ignoring the youngest daughter's conversation so blatantly makes her feel terribly lonely."
"Urk… Then, um, let's stop talking about me right now! Okay?"
"Acknowledged. I understand that topics related to Mother are hereby ended."
She sure changed the topic with gusto, I thought as Miss Hoshizaki's gaze shifted to Ms. Futarishizuka.
"Yes, indeed," replied the girl in the kimono. "If we're ending at two weeks like we initially agreed, the day after tomorrow will be the last day."
"Right? So we have two whole days until the deadline."
I'm glad she brought that up now, I thought. I had my own suggestion for everyone. "Regarding that matter. I have a proposal as well—or, rather, a request."
"What is it?" asked Ms. Futarishizuka.
"My neighbor's activities have grown beyond the scope of this contest, and as things stand, she may be asked to work on the final day. If it's all right with everyone else, I'd appreciate it if we could push the deadline two days later."
If she won the second-string polling, Ochiba Kareki would participate in Winterfest. A rehearsal was scheduled for the day before, and Mr. Kuga told me he'd like her to take part. I wasn't sure if she'd have time to play pretend family with the rest of us—and I imagined the event period would give her a generous view count boost. Plus, as her manager, I wanted to let her participate.
Ms. Futarishizuka nodded. "Ah, yes. OtherPro's Winterfest, perhaps?"
"You know of it?" I replied.
"Well, of course. They throw a big party each year. Rent out a huge venue and everything."
"Apparently, there will be a big vote held tomorrow to decide which second-string members get to take part. If my neighbor wins, she'll be formally allowed to participate in Winterfest with the first-string members. The day after that, there will be an all-day rehearsal."
"If I recall, the voting results are live streamed, yes?"
"That's what they tell me."
In effect, this was our current schedule: tomorrow, the advance poll; the next day, the final day of the view-count contest as originally planned; the day after that, Winterfest day one; and after that, Winterfest day two. It was one event after another.
"Wait, VTubing? I had no idea you were doing that." Miss Hoshizaki sounded surprised.
"It's all thanks to my neighbor and the youngest daughter."
"Wait, what's Sasaki helping you with?"
"He's my manager."
"Really asserting yourself today, huh?" said Abaddon.
With that, we took a vote, and the majority agreed to move the final day of the view-count contest to the last day of Winterfest. Miss Hoshizaki was the first to raise her hand and agree, which made me a little curious. What did this have to do with her?
"My, that's a surprise," said Ms. Futarishizuka. "Even the youngest daughter agrees."
"Grandmother, as I explained previously, a human can never hope to beat a mechanical life-form on an electronic battlefield. Also, my elder sister's work brings me joy. I am more than happy to acquiesce to this proposition."
"Oh, right. You're surprisingly close with her, aren't you, dear?"
Grandmother, your remark is incorrect."
"Incorrect? Which part?"
"The youngest daughter is steadily growing closer with every member of the family, except for you."
"Hmph! Be that way! I have the magical child anyway. I don't care!"
That fact rather frightened me, to be honest. We knew we had to convince Type Twelve to return to her home planet one day, and yet, slowly but surely, she was winning over those she interacted with. It wasn't just the incredible might of her UFO, still sitting out in space, either. She was bonding with us on an emotional level. At least to me, that seemed like a very dangerous situation for humanity.
"Might I have a word, Futarishizuka?" asked Lady Elsa.
"What is it, dear?"
"Will the girl in that charming outfit be joining our pretend family?" She was looking across the table at Magical Pink.
Personally, I was more concerned about where she was living at the moment. I felt sure she was still homeless. We should probably bring her to an orphanage, but would she accept that?
"Well, the youngest daughter is the boss around here," said Ms. Futarishizuka. "What do you think?"
"I will never yield my position as youngest daughter."
"Yes, yes, I know that, child. Perhaps you could tell us what other positions are available."
"I heard that this human has lost her parents. Is there a problem with treating her as an orphan who has settled down in our family's neighborhood?"
Maybe Type Twelve felt Magical Pink—a girl even shorter and more youthful than she was—was a threat. She had no mercy for outsiders, a reminder that she was a mechanical life-form. As always, we were forced to adjust to her values.
"Come, now. That's a little brutal, even for you. Our warm, cozy family drama would suddenly turn into some gloomy social awareness piece. You know, the kind that gets hit with a bunch of complaints these days the moment it's broadcast."
When I looked back at dramas from the late '80s and early '90s, they seemed quite stimulating, compared to modern fare. Perhaps I'd grown too accustomed to them, and that was why I always felt unsatisfied with more recent works. I wondered if that was why a lot of people had gravitated toward anime and manga instead.
"I don't care if you make me an orphan," said Magical Pink. "It's the truth."
"Grandmother, she agrees."
"In that case, you're more than welcome to sleep at my place, dear. Two others already live there, and I have an extra room or three. One more resident won't make much of a difference. We can discuss your role in the pretend family some other time."
"…Really?"
"Of course. In fact, there is even one—an adult, old enough to know better—using my home as a temporary residence because he finds moving too much of a pain. I was shocked—shocked, I tell you—when he started having his mail forwarded to my address. The gall!"
Ms. Futarishizuka was looking directly at me as she spoke.
When she put it like that, there wasn't anything I could say. I knew I needed to find a new place to live soon, but I just hadn't had the time. I felt bad about not making any progress. Besides, if I wanted a place in the city with proper security, it was going to set me back hundreds of thousands of yen in rent each month, at least.
For a former corporate drone, the psychological barrier to paying that much a month in rent was almost impenetrable. Was it okay for me to live so indulgently? That was the life of an aristocrat. I might have the money, but it seemed wrong somehow.
"Um… Thank you, Futarishizuka," said Magical Pink.
"Oh! That's the first time you've called me by name. You've moved this old woman to tears, dearie."
Meanwhile, it seemed the magical girl had secured a place to live for the time being. Whether or not she'd really move in remained a question, but I was happy she at least had a place to go. At this rate, maybe I should stay in Karuizawa, too. I could rent an apartment.
"While we're on this topic," said Prince Lewis, "may I have a role to play as well?"
"I recommend the position of Elsa's elder brother. If we treat you two as siblings who live nearby, it will not harm the setting. Entire families can be friends with other residents in their neighborhood—I have seen much literature describing such a relationship as normal in this country."
"Ah. Very well, then."
"No, Your Highness!" exclaimed Lady Elsa. "While it may be only temporary, I would never presume to share blood with you, sir!"
"I fear I would be a feckless elder brother, but will you accept me anyway, dear sister?"
"O-of course, sir! And that's not true at all!"
As always, Lady Elsa seemed to be struggling with how to behave around the prince. Count Müller had probably warned her not to act out of turn around her superiors. I wondered how she would react if we ever revealed Peeps's identity to her.
"By the way, Elsa, in what manner are we treating the good bird?"
"The bird? He's our family pet, sir."
"Indeed. That is my role. You may feel free to address me casually—as simply Peeps."
"O-oh, my. Chaos indeed…"
The same went for Prince Lewis. His expression betrayed how odd he felt about treating the Lord Starsage as a neighbor's pet.
After we were done with the pretend family, Peeps and I headed to the otherworld. We'd been going once every three days lately. Unlike in Japan, where I was always rushing around, I'd been blessed with relative comfort in the otherworld. Recently, however, I'd been spending most of my time there searching for a good video idea.
During our last two trips, we'd only managed to make our routine stops—updating Count Müller and delivering diesel fuel to the Kepler Trading Company. I'd tried to practice my magic, but I couldn't focus, and my results were meager. I'd only managed to memorize the words for a few more spells.
This time, we once again headed to Allestos to deliver Lady Elsa to her father, then warped to the Republic of Lunge and completed our transaction with Mr. Joseph. Once we'd finished our main tasks, we returned to our regular lodgings in Baytrium. We'd probably stayed there for more than a year straight, in this world's time.
"The change in the flow of time between worlds seems to be slowing of late."
"A day in my world is about a week in yours, right?"
"Yes. I believe it will continue to stabilize."
"Do you think it's related to how frequently we travel?"
"We have also stopped bringing so many large, heavy items along with us."
"Yeah, that's true."
Before, we would bring a few tons of sugar with us every trip, and that was just one of the goods on our list. We'd also been selling chocolate, manufactured goods, and everything else that caught our eye. To transport it all, we'd had to spend a lot of time making multiple jumps for a single trip.
These days, we only ever brought a few tons of diesel fuel at a time. We stored it in two-hundred-liter drums, and brought it from the warehouse all in one go. We would have had to spend almost an hour operating a forklift to move it all normally, but levitation magic made the task trivial.
"Personally, now I'm wondering if it's reversible."
"As am I."
"Should we try making fewer trips? Just for a little while."
"I don't mind, but what of your trade with this world?"
"Oh, yeah. If we reduce it any more, it might cause problems. I don't want to worry Mr. Joseph."
"A difficult quandary indeed."
The fact that Peeps had been collecting data from the start allowed us to investigate the matter quickly. If I'd been alone, I'd probably just be starting to take notes.
"Did you plan on checking the tunnel's progress?"
It had been over half a year in the otherworld since we last visited the tunnel. I should probably make an appearance, or things could turn ugly.
"Right. Would you mind taking us there, Peeps?"
"Very well."
With that, Peeps teleported us straight to the Alterian region. A little settlement had formed at the site; aside from the now-familiar lines of tents, we saw several houses and buildings assembled from wood. Structures that had been half-built during our last visit now stood completed—and many more construction projects had begun.
A number of carriages were parked nearby. Facilities had been set up for the horses, too, and they were now tethered and grazing on hay from a trough.
I was able to meet with Mr. French's father and younger sister right away. In fact, Mr. French himself was with them.
Sir! Thank you so much for coming so far! Please allow us to welcome you!"
"I didn't realize you were visiting, Mr. French."
"I had an errand in Rotan, so I decided to stop by. I'm so happy I was able to get out here. I've wanted to come see my father and sister for a long time."
"I'm glad."
We were in a wooden building near the middle of the settlement. The tidy room was set up as a reception office; it even had a sofa set, and judging by the fresh woody scent, it was probably produced right here on-site. The two sofas faced each other, and Mr. French sat down across from me, with his father and sister standing behind him. I tried asking them to take a seat, but they stubbornly refused.
"Rotan is brimming with life now, thanks to you," said Mr. French. "I was in town to meet with Count Dietrich, who is there taking charge of the kingdom's finances. He told me repeatedly how much he wanted to thank you."
Wow, I haven't heard that name in a while. Come to think of it, he'd assumed the post of finance minister at the same time Count Müller became chancellor, giving him control over Herz's wallet. House Müller and House Dietrich had put their past disputes aside and now handled the country's affairs in solidarity.
"Sir, Rotan's renewed prosperity has led to unprecedented levels of trade with the Kingdom of Blase across the border. Herz's sudden boom seems to have shocked all our neighbors."
"I'm happy to hear that."
"And it's all thanks to you, sir!"
Despite Mr. Joseph's pessimistic view of the excavation, everyone in Herz seemed to be pleased with it. When Mr. French told me what the workers on-site were saying, I began to feel like it was all worth the trouble.
I glanced at the distinguished sparrow on my shoulder, and he bobbed his head. My work here must pale in comparison to the Lord Starsage's feats of statesmanship, but I hoped I'd managed to wash away a needless apprehension or two in the bird's mind.
"Actually, Dad—how is the project going?"
"It is proceeding according to schedule, Viscount French."
"H-hey! Quit doing that in front of the boss!"
Mr. French's father bowed reverently before his son, like a subordinate addressing his superior. Actually, it seemed even more formal than that. His son looked shocked.
The father, however, continued to speak in great earnestness. "Our family was elevated to peerage starting with you, Viscount. Before His Excellency, I cannot disrespect the very first Viscount French. And it is only thanks to you and His Excellency that I have a job here."
"But look—the boss doesn't know how to react, either!"
"I would ask your forgiveness and tolerance in that regard, Viscount French," I replied.
"Heh. Maybe you should just get used to it," his sister cut in.
"How the heck am I supposed to get used to this?!" he exclaimed.
The son's sudden promotion seemed to be a challenge for the family.
Once we'd finished talking, I decided this was a good opportunity to help out with the excavation. Menial labor felt pleasant after all the mental work I'd been doing lately. I was able to focus solely on using my golem spell to expand the hole. And before I realized it, it was time for us to return to Japan.
(The Neighbor's POV)
It's finally time for the poll. Today, one of OtherPro's second-string members will be elected to participate in Winterfest.
My neighbor asks to come along with Abaddon and me, and the three of us board the mechanical life-form's saucer-shaped terminal and head to a district of especially tall buildings in the heart of Tokyo.
We enter the same studio as last time. The poll actually started a few days ago, but today is the big reveal of who won. Ochiba Kareki's participation was announced midway through the voting, putting her at a slight disadvantage. But if I can't even overcome a tiny problem like that, I won't make it far in this industry.
The results will be revealed via a live stream broadcast on the video submission site. The idea is to let viewers enjoy watching the various contestants ride an emotional roller coaster as the results come in. To make the program more exciting, the losers are usually assigned punishments, like having to do impressions or participate in rap battles.
Right now, I'm standing against the wall of the recording booth, waiting. The rooms are laid out like a bento box with three partitions. The two smaller areas, where you'd put your side dishes, are the recording booth we're standing by, and the control room where the staff are busying themselves in front of various audio devices. Across from both of those is the break area, which includes the main entrance. This is the bigger space, where the rice would go.
There are a lot of other people in the recording booth. I figure they're all other second-string members. Everyone is standing against the wall, just like I am. It's not that there aren't any chairs—the staff gave us even more than last time. However, because of the number of participants, we all got pushed to the corners. There are over twenty of us against the wall.
"Wow, there are a lot more people this time."
"..."
Then who is sitting in the chairs, you ask? The first-string members, of course. Our seniors in the industry will be the stars of the show, serving as emcees and guests. Apparently, it's customary for the second-strings to stand at attention behind them.
I see Kihouin and Rolling among the former group. It's obvious to me that we second-strings are only here to serve as a backdrop for them.
Incidentally, it's easy to tell the second-string members apart; they're wearing lanyards emblazoned with their stage names. The staff probably had to do this, since there are so many of us and we're not as well-known. Mine reads, "Ochiba Kareki."
"Wow! So all these people are your rivals now, huh?"
"..."
My sharp-tongued demon floats next to me, as always. People are everywhere—so close, I could reach out and touch them. I can't exactly speak to Abaddon in this environment, so he's free to say whatever he wants.
Originally, Kuon J. Glen was supposed to take part as well, but when it became clear I'd be joining, he announced he'd have to participate remotely. When I sent him a message explaining the situation, he cursed me, praying I'd lose the vote.
Now I really want to get in.
My neighbor is out in the break area; I can't see him from the recording booth.
"Hey, her lanyard says 'Ochiba Kareki.'" "She's still a kid. Middle school, by the looks of her." "I assumed she'd be older." "I wonder if the rumors about her sleeping her way into this are true." "They have to be. They never would have let her collab with Kihouin and Rolling otherwise." "A little bit of fame, and now she's getting cocky."
The other second-string members are very hostile toward me. They glance at me from a distance, whispering to each other. I hear some of them; they probably don't care. Most of them are female, from teenage girls to women in their thirties.
"Apparently, that man with the side-parted hair outside is her manager." "Huh? A second-string with a manager?" "I heard he's exclusive to her." "How is that even possible?" "If you're right, then the rumors are definitely true." "Look, you can even see it on her face." "Bet she's fucking her manager, too." "Ugh, that's disgusting."
They're not entirely wrong, of course. I've spent my entire life trying to sleep with my neighbor.
"Being hated by all her coworkers is totally in character for Kareki!" says Abaddon with a smile.
Whose side is this demon on, anyway?
"..."
Either way, there's no point in worrying about it. VTubers may be new, but they're still part of the entertainment industry. I read some celebrity's autobiography in the library once that described the profession as a filthy tempest of envy and greed.
I pretend not to hear the others. Eventually, the first-strings make a move—two of them get up and start to walk toward me. They're both familiar faces—Kihouin and Rolling. Once they reach me, they start up a casual chat.
"Miss Kareki, would you like to join us at that table for some conversation?"
"Kihooo, you sound like a delinquent telling her kouhai to meet her behind the school buildiiing!"
Rolling is right on the mark. What on earth does she want from me?
"I apologize if this sounds rude," I say, "but why do you want to talk to me?"
"Oh, I simply wished to chat with my dear kouhai," Kihouin assures me. "Unless such a thing would displease you."
"It wouldn't, but I'd rather just wait here."
The other second-strings already have a bad impression of me. I don't know what they'll do if they see first-strings acting friendly with me. I already have enough haters, I don't need any more.
Or is that what they're after? Maybe they're bothering me on purpose to fuel the others' dislike.
"Well, if you'd rather not, then I won't force you."
"Whyyy does literally every word you say sound so meeean? There's just no helping you, Kihooo."
At my refusal, the two of them quickly back down. When they arrive back at their seats, they resume chatting with the other first-strings.
I don't want to tell my manager this when he's working so hard, but I don't think getting along with the other second-strings is in the cards for me. Of course, like Abaddon said, that's perfectly in character for Ochiba Kareki, so it shouldn't hinder me at all. And if I'm primarily interested in making bank, my best bet is to be recognized as a solo talent.
The Neighbor's POV)
After a few minutes of waiting, recording begins.
The plan is to read out the names of the winners in order from fewest to most votes received. The second-strings will go up to the microphone as the hosts call their names and give a delighted reaction. Rinse and repeat.
There are twenty-two participants, and ten of them will get into the festival. Between the emcee's comments, announcing the votes, and the time given to each winner to speak directly to their viewers, each person will get about ten minutes of airtime. It will take over an hour to get through everyone.
Meanwhile, we all have to remain standing. I understand why, since the first-strings have to stand for the entire stream, too. But since all the second-strings are doing is waiting, it feels especially difficult, and it wears me down mentally in a way that simply talking to people doesn't.
None of us were told the results ahead of time, so there was no rehearsal. Last night, I thought of something to say if I win, but punishments for losing are decided randomly, and I don't even know what the options are. I looked at past events, but I have no idea how much that will help.
"Hah-kyooon! Hi, everyone! Thanks so, so much for giving Chiruchiru so many voootes! Your votes mean that Chiruchiru can take part in Isefest! Let's all have a super-duper good time during the event! You gotta promise me, okay?!"
Someone whose name I've never heard before raises her voice in jubilation. She sounds really happy.
To be blunt, a lot of us shudder watching this. The gap between each person's charming 3D model and their real-life appearance is stark. A lot of them are ten or twenty years older. I see a few second-string members averting their eyes.
I'm no different, of course. Suddenly curious, I look over at the control room. There, separated from our recording space by a thick pane of glass, I see staff members stationed at a variety of audio devices. Everyone looks serious as they handle the behind-the-scenes work, and I sense a drive from them that I can only describe as an intimidating level of professionalism.
The announcement of each person's votes proceeds without issue according to the original schedule. Eventually, with only the top three left, we take a break. They tell us all to meet back in the recording booth in twenty minutes. They still haven't called Ochiba Kareki's name.
"You've been standing a long time. Are you feeling all right?"
"..."
I nod slightly, then we leave the recording booth behind.
I find my neighbor standing in the corner of the break area, fiddling with his smartphone. After seeing the other second-strings begin to pour out of the adjacent room, he looks up and raises his hand. I get a glimpse of his screen; it shows the very program we're currently recording.
"I'm sorry for making you wait here for so long, mister."
"Don't be. Seems your name hasn't been called yet."
"That's right. I'm starting to feel bad for bringing you along."
"Actually, I thought you might be in the top three."
"I sure hope so…"
"I found a discount store near the studio, so I bought a folding chair. Would you like to sit? You must be tired after all that standing. I think you should at least rest your legs during the break," he says, looking down at a small chair, folded up against the wall at his feet.
It seems he went out of his way to get it for me. It's the type of chair you might see in an office, with a noticeably round seat. It has a back, too, though it's small.
"I appreciate your kindness, but since everyone else is standing, it wouldn't be fair. I'm sorry."
"In that case, I have a taxi waiting outside. Would you like to rest in there?"
"Huh? Where would we be going?"
"When I heard you'd be taking a break in the middle, I found a nice quiet spot where we can take a rest."
"Oh, um, you… You really didn't have to…"
My neighbor really does excellent work. Would a normal VTuber's manager go this far? Very unfairly, I'd always thought of my neighbor as an office worker with a dead-end job and no real chance of getting anywhere in the world. I was completely mistaken, however. He's an incredibly talented working adult.
I wonder what he'd do if I asked him to massage my feet. Would he touch me? Fantasies flood my mind, and it's difficult to keep them at bay. Unfortunately, our chat quickly comes to an end.
"Miss Kareki, do you have a moment?" someone says, interrupting. I don't know when she got there, but she's standing right next to me.
Judging by the lanyard, she's a second-string participant. A woman, visibly several years older than I am—in her late teens or early twenties. Her hair is dyed a striking pink. Her name has already been called—she ranked tenth in the voting.
"What is it?" I ask.
"As a fellow second-string, I wanted to be your friend. The others are all older, and I haven't been able to approach them. Would you like to go with me and get a drink at a nearby convenience store?"
Tenth-Place gives me a bright, affable smile. The invitation inwardly shocks me, as a gloomy introvert.
"Sure, I guess I wouldn't mind…," I reply, glancing at my neighbor. He gives me a little nod.
"Great! We don't have much time, so let's get going!"
"I'm sorry, mister. I'm going out for a bit."
"Do you have your wallet?" he asks.
"Yes, thanks."
I leave the break area, and my neighbor watches me go.
Tenth-Place and I head to the elevators. I know from my previous visit to the studio that there's a convenience store in a nearby building. Ten minutes is enough to travel there and back. The elevator comes right away, and we ride it down to the ground floor, then exit the building.
There's a taxi parked on the shoulder of the road outside, just like my neighbor said. He must have paid a lot up front. The driver doesn't seem upset; he just gazes idly out the front windshield.
Passing him by, we walk toward the convenience store. A moment later, the other girl turns to me and asks, "Kareki, would you mind coming over here for a moment?"
"What is it?"
At Tenth-Place's behest, we head to an area between two buildings. The alley is maybe two or three meters wide. It's deserted, despite the early time of day.
We head down it and turn onto another street about as narrow as the first. Surrounded by tall buildings, the area feels far removed from the hustle and bustle of the main thoroughfare.
Someone has gone to the trouble to park their car back here; it's a black minivan. Next to it are several people I recognize—all of them are second-strings participating in today's live stream. Unlike Tenth-Place, though, none of their names have been called. All of them are women. There were more women than men in the recording booth, but this still seems quite unbalanced.
"I don't love this atmosphere."
I don't need Abaddon to tell me that I've been dragged into something tedious.
"What is the meaning of this?" I ask.
"Well, I just happened to see the director's copy of today's script."
"And?"
"Congratulations, Miss Kareki. You got second place in the vote."
"..."
I had no idea she was about to drop a huge spoiler. Fortunately, it seems I've avoided the various punishments.
"But none of us are really in the mood to celebrate," she continues.
"I'll ask again," I say. "And?"
"See? That right there. That's what pisses people off."
"I'll apologize right now if I offended you. I'm sorry."
"You're making fun of us, aren't you? You must be."
I don't know what she means. What does this woman want from me? Isn't she embarrassed, acting this way toward a child?
"I'll cut to the chase. I want you to go home. Now. Make up a reason—maybe you're feeling sick. Then stay at home for the next few days. I'm sure stuff like that comes naturally to an introvert like you, Kareki."
"..."
I suppose this means some people don't want Ochiba Kareki to win, or they want to take her place. Physically, I'm a child. They probably see me as weak. Maybe they thought they could make me do whatever they wanted if they had enough people.
The whole thing seems immature, but they're risking their careers on this, so they must be pretty desperate.
I've often had grown adults come after my life in isolated spaces. Plenty of kids die there, too. It taught me that when fighting for your own interests, age doesn't matter. A little ploy like this would never make me cede my now-certain victory.
"I can't," I say. "I'm sorry."
"Acting like a big shot now? Look around you."
"I think that's my line."
"What a little brat. God, you piss me off." She huffs, incensed.
A moment later, her attention shifts to the minivan parked in the road. She reaches out and lightly raps on the rear door window. What is that supposed to mean? I don't see any response from inside the car.
"I hope you won't regret ignoring us."
All the women move to leave. That must have been intended as a parting shot. They head for the main road, back toward the studio.
I stand there, watching, not doing anything. What was all this about?
Just as I ask myself that question, though, I get an answer.
The door of the black minivan slides open, and two people step out. They're both large men, about two heads taller than I am. One is in his twenties, wearing a jet-black down jacket and jeans; the other looks to be in his forties and has on a long black coat over a suit and pants.
Their tattoos are of particular note. I can see lines of ink peeking out on almost every visible patch of skin. They look like criminals.
"Excuse me," I say. "Do you need something from me?"
"Wanna take a little drive with us, missy?"
"We'll get you home before next week. Promise."
Their responses are what I expected. Clearly, those other second-strings want to force Ochiba Kareki to lose by any means necessary. The woman from earlier must have called these men here as soon as she saw the director's script. I find her decisiveness impressive—skills like that are crucial for surviving the proxy war. I ought to take a page out of her book.
"I apologize," I say. "I still have work, so I'll have to turn you down."
"Well, not like it matters. We're taking you either way."
"You'd better do as we say—unless you wanna get hurt."
If they were carrying guns like Makeup does, this might have been dangerous. But for now, they're both unarmed. They see me as a weak child and casually walk right up to me.
I quickly decide to use the powers granted to me by a certain ill-natured demon. When the younger man grabs my arm, I strike.
"Rrgh… Wh-what the hell is this…?" he stammers in surprise as he feels the change in his body.
His knees give out, and he collapses to the ground. He doesn't even twitch.
It's all right—he's not dead. He's only unconscious. I did it to my mom all the time back when she was alive, so I'm really good at holding back just the right amount. I bet the scene would really scare a bystander, though.
I pretend to be shocked; then, as if to deny I had any part in this, I ask, "Excuse me, are you all right?"
The other man, who until now had been calm and collected, looks utterly baffled. "Hey! What…? What happened?!"
No answer.
"Um, shouldn't you call an ambulance?" I suggest.
"Did you do something, kid?" he demands.
"How could I do anything? He might have had a stroke. Or maybe he's been taking some dangerous drugs. Either way, I don't think you should leave him like this."
"..."
The man goes quiet, as if he's thinking, Actually, you might have a point. I almost want to laugh.
The older man bends down and reaches for his fallen partner's neck, probably to take his pulse. While his attention is diverted, I go behind him and glance at my partner. Abaddon nods, and I touch the older man's neck.
"Ngh…"
He loses consciousness and crumples to the ground, too, right on top of the other one.
Not a moment later, I hear a deep male voice. "Hey! What's goin' on over there?!" as another man climbs out of the minivan's driver's seat.
This one is probably around thirty. His hair is tapered at the sides of his head but long in the back and gathered up in a round loop. I think they call this style a "man-bun." His sunglasses make him look like a real tough guy, and his arms and face are covered in tattoos.
"You brat! What did you do?!" he shouts.
"Urk…"
The man pulls a knife and thrusts it toward me. He's even more short-tempered than the first two.
I hastily pull out of the way. At the same time, I reach over to touch his outstretched arm. I manage to get the timing just right, and my fingertips brush the back of his hand as his arm is fully extended.
The moment I touch his skin, he drops his knife. Then he falls to the ground faceup.
I look to the side. Abaddon is hovering very close to me, ready to jump in if things go south. I didn't notice, but he has his palm out, as if to block the tip of the knife before it hit my shoulder. Fortunately, the blade stopped just a few hairs away.
"Wow. That was amazing for someone who doesn't like to exercise."
"I get regular training, thanks to the proxy war."
Lately, I've started following other people's movements with my eyes, even casual ones. It's probably because I've been blessed with so many opportunities to go up against people with blades and guns. I think back to the foul-mouthed grade-schooler we fought on Miyakejima.
"I'll have to subtract a few points for not considering there might be another guy, though."
"I agree. I'll do better next time," I say as I check the minivan.
They don't seem to have any other allies. Now that I'm safe, I check to make sure there are no security cameras or other people within view. The woman probably picked this place to avoid being seen. I'm grateful to her for that. Now we won't have to trouble my neighbor.
Feeling lucky, I reach for the pockets of the fallen men.
(The Neighbor's POV)
As originally planned, I buy a drink at the convenience store and go back to the studio.
When I enter, some of the second-string members, including Tenth-Place, look at me in absolute shock. A single question is written on their faces: How are you here? Several others are also clearly surprised.
Wearing a mask of nonchalance, I walk over to the chief culprit. I don't like always letting others set the pace. Plus, I need an excuse to give my neighbor.
"I'm sorry for sending you back early when you were nice enough to invite me. The person behind the register was just so slow. I could've used the self-checkout, but my phone wallet is nearly empty, so I had no choice."
"Huh? Oh, uh… No, it's fine."
I speak loudly enough so my neighbor can hear my made-up story. I don't want him to wonder why we came back separately. Then I lower my voice to a whisper.
"This will not happen again, Miss Noriko Satou."
"…Urk!"
Tenth-Place blanches.
Seeing her so obviously panicked satisfies my thirst for revenge. But maybe I should have considered our surroundings and toned it down a little. I'd gone out of my way to whisper, and yet we were still getting a lot of attention.
"…Y-you… How did you…?"
"You were in their smartphone's call history, so I noted down your name and phone number. I don't know what your relationship is, but letting them photograph you in such an indecent state seems rather reckless, don't you think?"
"Wha…?"
That should be enough of a threat to hold her off for the time being.
I decide not to report her to the police. Otherworld Productions probably wouldn't appreciate it, and my neighbor would worry. I have all the men's personal details, courtesy of their smartphones and ID cards. It's so convenient how phones these days let you unlock them with just a fingerprint.
Aside from their call histories and phone numbers, I found several photos and videos on their phones' internal storage showing Tenth-Place having sex with them. Looking at them disgusts me, but I copy the data to my phone anyway.