"Today's Roumaru's last stream. It was a short time, but thank you so much."
The last stream. Two hundred eighty concurrent viewers.
More than usual. Obligation, as they say.
I made a point of talking cheerfully.
No whining. That much, I'd decided.
I talked about old memories.
How I'd been so happy I nearly cried when I hit a hundred subscribers. How I'd kept talking late at night even with zero comments.
How people laughed that my voice was so low they'd "thought it was a phone call."
The comments flowed by.
gg roumaru
but i loved the low voice
im staying till morning
Cat-Rice Sis: I'll be with you to the very end!
Cat-Rice Sis's comment saved me, just a little.
Even a bottom-tier stream like this had people watching it. That alone was enough.
I chatted for about two hours, then wrapped up the stream.
"Well then, everyone, take care. This was Roumaru."
I pressed the End Stream button—or I thought I did.
In reality, I hadn't.
The streaming software was still running, and the mic kept picking up sound.
On the screen, small red letters: LIVE. I didn't notice.
I leaned back in my chair and let out a big breath.
"...Haaah. That's that."
My muttering went straight out to the whole world.
"Fired, huh. Well, can't be helped. Can't change my voice."
Footsteps heading for the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening.
"Ahh, stir-fried bean sprouts again tonight, huh."
The sizzle of the frying pan.
"...I wish I could cook something good for all you big sisters."
Softly, just like that.
Not meant for anyone's ears—my real, true feelings.
"Like Cat-Rice Sis—I wonder if she's eating properly. She always shows up in the middle of the night, you know. I'm always thinking, come on, get some sleep."
The sound of bean sprouts being stir-fried.
"If my voice helped even one person settle down and get some sleep, even a little... then maybe that was good enough."
I hadn't noticed.
That the comment section had already started quietly stirring.
wait the streams still on
roumaru your mic is still on!!!
hold on what was that just now
The sound of food going onto a plate.
The sound of a voice, sitting down, murmuring "Thanks for the food" all alone.
"Even if it's not a voice that sells, y'know. I thought I was at least talking with people in mind, for real."
no dont turn it off
that voice just now is bad for my heart
Cat-Rice Sis: You were worried about me...?
The small sound of chopsticks being set down.
"...Well, whatever. Good work, me."
—With that last bit of muttering, the stream's comment section exploded.
The numbers were climbing at an absurd speed.
Two hundred eighty.
Five hundred. A thousand.
sharing this
"stir-fried bean sprouts again, huh" is too precious
that low voice + this wholesomeness is illegal
no way this gap doesnt sell what was the agency even looking at
#RoumaruUnfiltered is trending
overseas bros are here too lol its getting translated
The clip channels were already on the move.
A video titled "[GOD-TIER] Bottom-Tier VTuber Forgets to Turn Off His Mic" passed ten thousand reposts just minutes after it went up.
I was still in the kitchen.
Stir-frying bean sprouts, still knowing nothing.
My phone notifications wouldn't stop. It kept buzzing nonstop.
The moment I went back to the stream screen to see what was going on—my breath stopped.
Concurrent viewers: forty-eight thousand.
The comments were pouring down like a waterfall, too fast to read.
And the right edge of the screen was filled with a color I'd never seen there before.
Red.
Bright red Super Chats.
¥10,000 Cat-Rice Sis: I'm sleeping properly. Thanks to your voice.
¥50,000 Craving-Stir-Fry Sis: You want to cook for us? That's my line!!
¥30,000 Night-Shift Sis: those honest words worked better than any low-voice ASMR
¥20,000 Single-at-Thirty Sis: only with this guy can I finally let my guard down
¥10,000 Secretly-Married Sis: bean sprout stir-fry... I'm the one who wants lessons
I stared blankly at that color.
I couldn't understand what was happening at all.
Just a moment ago, it had been two hundred eighty people.
But among the names flowing past, there were a number I recognized.
They were those regulars who had always stayed quietly until the very end.
One unfamiliar name in my notifications.
Seventeen missed calls from Shinozuka.
In the corner of the screen, the red kept pouring down like an avalanche.