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.”
“……”