It had been three weeks since the ghost chicken stream, and I still hadn’t emotionally recovered.

  The fan art had gotten too powerful. Someone animated a clip of Ketsusaki whispering, “Cluck softly and haunt,” in a dramatic slow zoom while spectral feathers flew across the screen like it was an anime opening. I didn’t remember saying it. I barely remembered the stream.

  But now it's a meme.

  A lifestyle.

  A movement.

  Every time I logged into chat, someone was spamming #SoftCluckArmy. We even had an unofficial Discord server. With roles. And lore. And a surprisingly active fanfiction channel I was trying not to look at, because I once caught a fic where I married a toaster. Not even metaphorically. Like, legally.

  I wasn’t in control anymore. I had become content.

  And as terrifying as that was… it also felt kind of good.

  Like I was doing something.

  Making people laugh.

  Screaming into the void and hearing the void scream back, “LMAO SAME.”

  Then I got the email.

  Subject: [CONFIDENTIAL] Audition Opportunity – Parfait Project

  From:

  I read it once.

  Then again.

  Then I dropped my phone into my cereal.

  “Oops,” I muttered, fishing it out with a spoon. My cereal was already sad, this just confirmed it.

  The email was short, professional, and suspiciously polite. They said they’d “noticed my growth,” “admired my energy,” and wanted to invite me to audition as a contracted VTuber under their digital talent umbrella.

  I reread the part that said, “One of our scouts discovered your stream through a community clip titled ‘Ketsusaki threatens a toaster.’”

  Fantastic. I was getting scouted because I verbally assaulted a kitchen appliance.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  My legacy was now digital appliance-based violence.

  I stared at the ceiling for a solid five minutes, completely blank.

  Then I spiraled.

  Was this real? Was it a scam? Was it a prank orchestrated by SaltyShrimp69? Was I going to have to wear pants again?

  I opened their website.

  Parfait Project.

  The page loaded with a soft, aesthetic gradient and a sleek promo video that looked like an idol trailer but narrated by someone with an MBA.

  Clean branding. Established talent. Full model support. Professional managers. Sponsors. Contracts. Schedules. Meetings. Branding decks.

  Real structure.

  Real responsibilities.

  I was a gremlin. A half-feral, wine-fueled goblin with a haunted PNG model and a chat that once dared me to sing the Pokémon theme in a cursed Victorian accent. They wanted me?

  Why?

  I didn’t know what to do. I needed to tell someone. Anyone.

  And by “anyone,” I obviously meant Krei, still my emergency contact, part-time enabler, and the human equivalent of a trust fund wearing expensive sneakers.

  He picked up on the second ring, sounding suspiciously caffeinated.

  “Are you being sued?” he asked. “Blink twice if it’s trademark infringement.”

  “No lawsuits yet,” I said, already pacing. “But I got a recruitment email. From a VTuber company. Like, a real one. They want me to audition.”

  “Wait. Hold on. Are you already famous? Did I miss your viral arc?”

  “No. I’m barely functional.”

  “Which makes you exactly like every other streamer I know.”

  I kept pacing, words tumbling out. “I yell at birds. My avatar’s eyes don’t sync. I once told a brand rep to eat dust because I thought it was a spam bot.”

  “And yet here we are,” he said, totally unbothered. “Clearly, they see something in you.”

  “Yeah, trauma and a cursed Twitch algorithm.”

  He snorted. “You’re spiraling. Do you want snacks or a TED Talk?”

  I flopped into my chair and stared at my screen. Ketsusaki stared back, glitchy and mildly judgmental.

  “I don’t want to lose her,” I said softly. “She’s unfiltered, chaotic… me, but the parts I can’t be around people. If I go corporate, do I have to mute that? Censor her?”

  Krei was quiet for a moment.

  “Maybe a little. But maybe not. You’ll have more support, better tools, stability. That doesn’t mean losing control—it just means choosing your battles. You’d still be you… just with better lighting and less audio static.”

  I considered that.

  “…They’d probably want me to stop screaming about haunted skincare at 2 a.m.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll love that about you.”

  He paused, then added with a grin in his voice, “Also, this could be your shot to upgrade. New model. New mic. Less janky stream overlay that looks like it was designed by a sentient blender.”

  “She’s charming,” I said. “And probably possessed.”

  “Exactly your aesthetic.”

  ~

  That night, I sat at my desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

  I opened the draft:

  Subject: Audition Application – Ketsusaki

  I hesitated.

  This wasn’t just some goofy collab or cursed fan game. This was… something else.

  Like stepping through a door I didn’t even realize I’d built.

  I could hear the voice of every anxious part of me whispering:

  You’re not good enough.

  They made a mistake.

  You’re not ready.

  But another louder voice just said:

  You need money you fool.

  So I hit send.

  And just like that, the demon queen of mild inconvenience stepped out of the void… and into the corporate pipeline.

  May the algorithm have mercy on my soul.