I woke up at 3 p.m. to fourteen notifications, two missed calls from my mom, and one extremely aggressive comment on my VOD that just said, “Why does your avatar blink like it’s in pain?”

  Because it is, Brian. It is.

  After flopping out of bed like a dying fish, I shuffled into the kitchen, brewed coffee that tasted like emotional damage, and stared at my ptop.

  The VOD had 134 views.

  Which, okay, in the grand scheme of the internet, is nothing. But to me? That was 134 strangers who had witnessed me emotionally bond with a goose. I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or seek help.

  I opened Twitter. Big mistake.

  “Made a VTuber account to scream into the void. Please be nice to my cursed daughter,” I tweeted, along with a screenshot of Ketsusaki looking like she’d just seen tax fraud.

  I closed the app immediately, because I’m emotionally fragile and allergic to notifications.

  Instead, I focused on Important Streamer Tasks?: learning how to make my mouth stop gging like a 2004 Fsh game. I spent two hours watching a tutorial by someone named “TechPriestDanny” who had the energy of a caffeinated wizard and kept saying things like, “Now you must bind the soul to the model.”

  Sir. What soul.

  Eventually, I got it semi-working. Ketsusaki’s mouth now opened on time with my voice… most of the time. When it didn’t, it just looked like she was silently judging everything, which honestly worked for her brand.

  I streamed again that night.

  This time I had a schedule. A yout. A vaguely haunted PNG overy I made in Canva with zero graphic design experience and a dream. I had upgraded from “feral woman yelling at goose” to “feral woman with branding.”

  “Welcome back, minions of mild discomfort!” I chirped into the mic, voice full anime gremlin.

  Six people were already in chat. SIX. I had a cult now.

  [MidnightSoba]: LET’S GOOOOO

  [SaltyShrimp69]: the queen returns

  [User12345]: i told my friend about your goose rampage and they subbed

  I teared up a little.

  We pyed a cozy farming game. By which I mean I immediately set my farm on fire, tried to seduce the local bcksmith, and spent ten minutes fishing in the wrong part of the river. I wasn’t good at games, but I was entertainingly bad, which apparently counted.

  Midstream, my neighbor started vacuuming through the wall like he was summoning Beelzebub.

  “Sorry for the demonic sounds,” I told chat. “That’s just Gerald doing his weekly ritual.”

  They loved it.

  Someone drew fan art.

  Of Gerald. The neighbor.

  I don’t know how to expin how that broke me a little.

  Two hours in, I got a dono with the message: “I’m going through a breakup and your stream is the only thing that made me ugh today.”

  I stared at the screen.

  Then I screamed.

  Then I accidentally minimized OBS and showed everyone my desktop, which had 47 screenshots of bread memes and one cursed folder beled “Taxes 2017???”.

  But no one left.

  If anything, more people joined.

  By the end of the night, I had 312 followers, three pieces of chaotic fan art, one DM asking if Ketsusaki would ever do ASMR (no), and a completely destroyed sleep schedule.

  I ended stream with a dramatic monologue:

  “Thank you, my minions of mediocrity. Remember to hydrate, moisturize, and haunt your enemies with passive-aggressive energy. Ketsusaki, out.”

  Then I cut to bck like a dramatic anime outro.

  I y back in my chair, headphones askew, hoodie tangled around my arm like a snake of failure.

  And I smiled.

  It was stupid.

  It was weird.

  It was mine.

  I had no idea where this was going—but for the first time in months, I didn’t care.

  Tomorrow, I’d try to learn how to colb.

  Or maybe not.

  Maybe I’d just vibe and yell at fish.

  Either way, I wasn’t alone anymore.