After watching a movie with our pretend family, Abaddon and I leave the UFO and head back to our house in Karuizawa. That night, I record my first-ever video as a VTuber and my first official submission for Futarishizuka’s view-count contest. As we planned, it introduces the fictional character known as Misaki Hanano.
Because we combed over the script so many times in advance, the actual recording goes by in a flash. We finish the video in a little under an hour.
The mechanical life-form’s super-science does all the editing for me; I imagine it would have been difficult for me to do by myself. I face my laptop and say out loud where I want captions or sound effects, and the program implements it all instantly.
I wonder if this counts as cheating. But it probably would have taken hours if I’d tried to do it myself, so I simply let the program take over.
When we’re done, I play the finished video.
“Hello. My name is Misaki Hanano. I’m a new VTuber starting today. I’d like to upload a video every day for a while. I hope you check them out.”
The 3D model of Misaki Hanano is putting on a one-woman show on my laptop, backgrounded by an endless field of flowers. The visuals are perfect. It looks great, even compared to the work of a professional. In fact, if you ask me, I think it’s even better. She has the appearance of an anime character, but the collision detection on everything from her hair to her clothing is precisely controlled, moving as though it were real.
The same goes for all the flowers blooming around her. Every so often, a gust of wind will blow through and ruffle the petals, so it looks like the real deal. Their stalks shift in tandem with the 3D model’s movements, and a few even get stepped on and ruined during the video.
“I’m sixteen years old and in high school. I like watching movies, reading, and gardening. I also like pretty flowers, sweets, and animals like dogs and cats. I don’t like crowds, violent people, or dirty jokes.”
The problem is her voice. Hearing it makes me feel sick.
“Abaddon, I know I asked this already, but do I really sound like that when I talk?”
“You sure do! That’s your voice! I know what I’m talking about. I listen to you every day.”
“Are you sure you’re not lying? It sounds like a complete stranger to me. Maybe there’s some kind of mistake. I’m certain my voice is a little more high-pitched than that.”
“How many times are you going to ask me the same question? I think this is number five.”
“It’s just…”
Abaddon sighs as he speaks, clearly annoyed. I guess I have forgotten how many times I’ve asked. But I can’t help it. It just doesn’t make any sense.
Even worse, the voice I’m hearing is supremely creepy. It makes me want to tell the speaker to enunciate, and yet at the same time warn them to stop getting so carried away.
All right, I’ll be honest: Misaki Hanano sounds like a true introvert. Like the gloomiest loner you can imagine.
Everything about this is embarrassing, and the voice only makes it all several times worse. Up until now, I’d felt the tiniest sense of accomplishment. But as soon as I heard my own voice, it all came crashing down. An urge to erase all the data and flee the room wells up inside me.
“I’m more worried about your lack of expression,” says Abaddon.
“You are?”
“Don’t you think she comes across as kind of unfriendly?”
“You really aren’t worried about the voice?”
“Ugh, drop it already.”
“I thought I remembered to smile here and there.”
“Smile? She looks like she’s sneering.”
“Don’t demons have any manners? Look, I’m doing the best I can.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding…”
Like her voice, I control Misaki’s movements. Motion-capture devices trace my every little gesture, from the movement of my fingers to the expression on my face—even down to when I blink—and reflect it on the 3D model. Because of the mechanical life-form’s super-science, it’s all absurdly precise.
But Abaddon has a point. Compared to how much my body is moving below the neck, my facial expressions do seem relatively subdued. I am still smiling, though, and using body language to convey my emotions. I think.
The sound of my voice through the microphone is still my primary concern.
“Hey, why don’t you record your voice, too, Abaddon?”
“Why would I do that?”
“We’re practically joined at the hip. Disciple and demon. I want you to feel what this is like.”
“I mean, sure. I guess I can.”
I set the 3D model to be linked to Abaddon, then have him read a few lines from the script. He stands in front of the microphone and puts on a show of indifference as he delivers Misaki Hanano’s introduction. It’s as if he’s saying, This is no problem for a demon. His pretentious act kind of irritates me.
But when he plays back his recorded voice…
“Wait, do I really sound like this? You didn’t do something to it, did you?”
“Understand now?”
“I heard there can be filters on devices like—”
“There aren’t any.”
“I’m pretty sure my voice is a little deeper than that!”
“Don’t worry. You’ve always sounded like a prepubescent boy.”
“Whaaat? Are you for real?”
“I can play it back again,” I suggest, resting my finger on the mouse pad. The cursor is hovering over the play button.
He sighs and shakes his head. “All right. I think I get where you’re coming from now. A little, anyway.”
“I’m happy to hear it. Mutual understanding is very important if we want to survive the death game.”
Seeing Abaddon flustered is a rare treat, and I begin to feel like all this was worth it. I’d like to play his voice recording for the whole pretend family while he’s forced to look on. I know it’ll feel great. I save the sound file to my phone.
My partner speaks up, probably guessing my thoughts. “Anyway, what now?” he asks, trying to change the subject. I can tell he’s talking about Misaki Hanano’s introduction.
“There’s nothing else I can do. Let’s upload this and go to sleep.”
“Yeah. Maybe you’ll like your voice a little more tomorrow!”
“I still don’t understand how a demon can be so optimistic.”
It’s already after midnight. For now, we’ll be doing our work late at night. I chose this time on purpose, hoping it would benefit us. Famous streamers are already vying for views during most other time slots. I don’t think there’s any space for a newbie to grab a slice of that pie.
I sit back down at my desk and upload the video. The process only takes a few minutes, and once I’m sure it’s up, I immediately close the laptop. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m staring at the submission page and someone leaves a mean comment about my gloomy voice.
I’ll check again tomorrow, when I wake up. There’s still plenty of time.
Telling myself that, I take a bath and get into bed.