Not long after done with the case, I returned to my apartnt.
The city humd faintly outside my soundproofed windows, a stark contrast to the silence that now filled my personal space.
Still wearing my jacket, a slight chill clinging to the fabric from the evening air, and carrying the evidence files I hadn’t yet bothered to sort—their contents still swirling unpleasantly in my mind—I practically threw myself onto the sofa.
My body ached, not from physical exertion, but from the ntal strain of the past few hours. My eyes, however, imdiately gravitated towards the large 60-inch crystal screen hanging neatly on the wall, its obsidian surface reflecting the faint ambient light.
Yeah, it might sound excessive to so, a colossal waste of space and resources, but hey—in the world of 2035, where the lines between reality and simulation blurred by the nanosecond, a true gar had to be ready anyti.
Especially when a sudden cri case visisted , like the one I’d just left, struck with the force of an unexpected system crash.
I grabbed the remote, its sleek, ergonomic design a familiar comfort in my palm.
My thumb instinctively glided across the touchpad, the subtle haptic feedback a tiny pulse of reassurance as I quickly navigated to one of my favorite channels on AITube.
The platform, AITube, was a digital marvel, a testant to how far AI had integrated into mass dia. Its futuristic interface imdiately greeted , a cascade of holographic thumbnails spinning and shimring in a srizing display, showcasing the latest live streams from various AI creators across the globe. Most importantly in Tokyo, Japan.
I felt the familiar satisfaction of seamless navigation, my fingers dancing across the controls. A few holographic ads for new ga skins, gleaming in impossible colors, floated by for a mont, then dissolved like digital smoke, replaced by trending videos from V-Idols whose voices were so heavily autotuned they sounded completely devoid of any human soul.
However, I never oncewas interested in that synthetic perfection.
Instead, my focus was elsewhere. Sothing much more interactive.
I kept scrolling mindlessly, my thumb a blur over the touchpad, dismissing everything that wasn’t relevant. I bypassed bland AI podcasts debating "The Philosophy of Coffee & Robots"—utter trivial nonsense, in my opinion—until my eyes finally landed on the familiar, distinct logo of my preferred channel: "NeuraStream."
That’s it! My well-beloved NeuraStream!
If you asked about it... No, it wasn’t an ordinary AI channel.
Truly far from it.
And no, it certainly wasn’t one of those generic idol solo/duo/trio acts, mind-numbingly created just to sell cute voices and so kind of shallow, lustful, mindless indulgence to the masses.
No.
NeuraStream was hosted by two genuinely absurd characters, Mono & Delta—VTubers who broke every mold and perhaps, in the process of delivering such entertainnt, they broke themselves.
Their delivery was super mischievous, blunt, and chaotic, a refreshing dose of unfiltered digital personality. They loved nothing more than scrambling viewer polls mid-stream, turning serious debates into impromptu s that would break the internet for a glorious few hours.
Mono, the female half of the duo, possessed a voice that resonated with the gravelly wisdom of a veteran voice actress—a stark contrast to her youthful, effervescent avatar.
She was famously known for her signature catchphrase, delivered with a wry, knowing smirk: "Mono never monologues; it’s you guys who are mono-dumb!"
It was a playful jab at their audience, a reminder that they were there for interaction, not just passive consumption.
anwhile, Delta, the male character, was a semi-robot with a perpetually smirking facial expression, a self-proclaid forr experintal AI from the future.
He always managed to end their segnts with a philosophical, yet cutting, remark: "Data corrupted? So is your heart: Delta frequency~" A digital poet of cynicism.
And ? I wasn’t just a casual viewer.
I was their die-hard fan.
My dedication ran deep.
From subscribing to their most expensive Patreon tier, ensuring I got exclusive behind-the-scenes content and early access, to being a regular donor for every single stream they ran. My virtual wallet, usually reserved for ga upgrades and rare digital assets, emptied itself with alarming regularity for them.
And beyond that, I personally archived every single one of their live streams myself. Don’t even ask how many external hard drives I had to dedicate just to store all of it; it was a small server farm hidden in my closet, filled with terabytes of raw, uncompressed footage.
Don’t ask why or how. Because obsession usually works like this.
My obsession wasn’t just a passive consumption either; I even joined their theory community, a clandestine forum populated by individuals whom I considered too brilliant for this world, yet probably too idle for it as well.
We dissected every fra, every vocal inflection, every subtle animation of Mono and Delta, searching for hidden anings, for glitches in the matrix that might reveal their true nature.
Oh, and let’s not forget the hot topic that had spread like wildfire last year, fueling our community’s wildest theories. Yes, the persistent rumor that Mono and Delta were actually... a real couple in the physical world.
The long-whispered theory was definitively corroborated by a viral clip from one of their live streams last week.
The avatar cara briefly glitched during a rapid scene transition, and in that fleeting flicker of movent, sothing was visibly—glaringly—there. Both of them suddenly fell silent.
Their avatars leaned closer to each other, a motion that was not part of their usual performance. A heavy, almost intimate sound was heard... short, sharp breaths, muffled but unmistakable. And then, a distinct click. Like the sound of lips eting.
Imdiately after, the screen suddenly went dark, a supposed "technical difficulty."
They denied it casually, of course. Said they were just incredibly close friends, sharing the canon, platonic "Bestie vibes."
What a typical, dismissive PR response.
But so of us—the ones who observed with obsessive detail, who watched and rewatched that clip fra by fra, analyzing every pixel and soundwave—knew.
We knew it wasn’t just fanservice. It was raw, unedited, and human.
And there was no denying it.
The fact they definitely had sex.
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