I came for pudding. That was it.

  The pn was simple: go to the convenience store, buy something sweet, avoid existential crises in the dairy aisle.

  I wasn’t even dressed weird. Just jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt that didn’t scream “demon VTuber,” unless you counted the boba stain near the colr as a signature.

  I stood in front of the cold shelf, trying to decide between banana and milk pudding, when I muttered, “Banana… a betrayal in custard form.”

  And then, louder: “Truly, the snack of cowards.”

  From the corner of my eye, a girl in a school uniform stopped walking.

  She blinked.

  I knew that blink. That “wait a minute, that voice” blink.

  Oh no.

  She turned slowly, clutching a can of coffee in one hand and curiosity in the other.

  “Excuse me,” she said hesitantly, “this is probably going to sound weird, but… you sound just like a VTuber I follow.”

  I froze.

  I had prepared for many scenarios: OBS crashing, a goose mod glitching my stream, accidentally tweeting from the wrong account.

  But not this.

  I had not mentally prepared for someone recognizing me in public. In the wild. Out here. Unfiltered. Unrigged.

  And a fan, no less?

  I turned. Slowly. Like a person confronting a horror movie twist they absolutely had not signed up for.

  “Do I?” I said, keeping my tone ft, neutral, civilian. “Weird.”

  “Yeah!” she lit up. “Like—exactly like her. Her name’s Ketsusaki? She’s super funny and unhinged and says things like ‘suffering nourishes me’—”

  “Wow,” I said. “Sounds intense.”

  “You even just said something exactly like her! About banana pudding being for cowards!”

  “I think that’s a pretty common opinion.”

  “It’s not.”

  We stared at each other.

  “I’m Poppy, by the way,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Sorry. I just… your voice is really specific. Like that chaotic gremlin energy? It’s uncanny.”

  “People say I sound like a lot of things,” I said with a shrug. “Customer service. Crying raccoons. Tax season.”

  “You even joke like her.”

  “Sounds like she has great taste.”

  Poppy tilted her head. “So... you’re not her?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you didn’t deny it.”

  “I also didn’t confirm it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That’s suspicious.”

  “I’m just a humble pudding enthusiast.”

  “You’re definitely her.”

  “I definitely didn’t say that.”

  Poppy stared at me hard for a second—like she was trying to trigger some kind of magical anime girl transformation.

  Then her expression shifted. A flicker of doubt.

  “…Wait. No. That wouldn’t make sense,” she muttered to herself. “Why would Ketsusaki be out buying pudding in broad daylight? Alone? Without a voice changer?”

  “Exactly,” I said, nodding sagely. “It would shatter the illusion.”

  “Right!” she said, convincing herself now. “She’s like... mysterious. Online-only. There’s no way I’d run into her at a FamilyMart.”

  “Exactly,” I said again. “That would be absurd.”

  We stood in silence.

  Poppy looked at the pudding in my hand. I looked at the exit.

  “Well,” she said, “if you were her, I’d say you’re cool. But since you’re not… I’ll still say it. You’re cool.”

  “That’s very kind.”

  “Also you should check out Ketsusaki. She’s unhinged in the best way.”

  “Will do,” I said.

  She gave a little bow, grabbed a melon soda, and disappeared down the snack aisle.

  I stood there, stunned.

  I had not expected this.

  Not here.

  Not me.

  Not while holding off-brand banana pudding and wearing socks that didn’t match.

  Being recognized had always felt like something for real creators. Polished, popur people. Not me. Not Ketsusaki, whose streams were held together by duct tape, sarcasm, and a cursed PNG of a screaming goose.

  And yet.

  There it was.

  Recognition. From a fan. In real life.

  I stared at the pudding in my hand like it had just whispered the meaning of life.

  “…I need a better fake voice,” I muttered.