I spent a long ti in front of the mirror.
That childish, cute voice eventually started to feel familiar after about 30 minutes of mumbling to myself.
At first, it felt like I was listening to soone else’s voice, but as the sound began to resonate more clearly in my head, it started to feel like my own.
And my face?
Ever since I woke up, my hands hadn’t stopped prodding and poking at it, like kneading soft mochi.
The texture was just too good to resist.
How many tis in my life would I get to touch a face like this?
After spending an hour staring blankly at the mirror, poking at my cheeks and exploring my body, I finally started to think about sothing else.
How on earth had I turned into a woman?
Maybe I’d contracted so strange illness that left my identity unchanged but turned into a woman.
Perhaps I’d sohow shifted to a parallel world where everyone recognized as female.
Or maybe I’d reincarnated with all my past mories intact.
There were countless possibilities, but the thod to check was surprisingly simple.
“My wallet… is the sa.”
The card wallet I’d used to pay for the taxi last night was still sitting in front of my keyboard.
Inside was the credit card I’d opened when I started working, as well as my resident registration card.
Checking my ID would reveal everything—who I was and how I’d ended up as a woman.
My heart raced.
[Magia]
[001122-40XXXXX]
My age was the sa. My birthday was the sa.
Only my na and the final digits of my ID number had changed.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the adorable face in the ID photo. After a mont, I shook my head and picked up my phone.
The phone model, color, and the cheap jelly case were all the sa.
Opening the contact list on the phone showed the sa numbers.
“The CEO, the first-gen talents, Mom and Dad…”
Everything was exactly as it had been.
It seed like I’d fallen into a world where I alone had beco a woman.
Then, my gaze shifted to the clothing rack in one corner of my small apartnt.
Instead of the white shirt I usually wore to work, there was a small won’s blouse hanging there. And where my gray trousers had been, there was now a won’s H-line skirt.
There was no need to search further—I walked back to the mirror and pulled my eyelids apart to get a better look.
The most striking changes were my bright blue eyes and my much smaller stature.
“So eyes can be this transparent, huh?”
Though initially surprised by my eye color, I quickly recalled my great-grandfather, who had fought in the Korean War and ended up staying in the United States.
He was a soldier with black hair and blue eyes, and a few of my distant relatives had inherited his eye color, just like .
But despite the striking blue eyes, I didn’t feel entirely foreign-looking.
It was probably because of my subdued facial features and my black hair.
“But… isn’t this height way too short?”
I felt at least a handspan shorter than before.
There’s a first-gen elf VTuber nad Midori Komari, and her official height is 148 cm.
I felt even shorter than her.
As I poked my thin arms that looked like they’d snap with a touch, I wondered if I’d even be able to carry anything.
Though my job mostly involved sitting in the office chair until the end of the workday, there were still occasional tasks that required physical effort.
To test it, I tried picking up an unopened box of instant rice sitting in one corner of the room.
Lift.
“…This should be fine, right?”
Despite appearances, my muscles seed surprisingly capable.
It felt a bit harder to exert strength compared to before, but since I wasn’t particularly athletic to begin with, the difference wasn’t significant aside from my reduced range of motion.
My identity was intact.
There didn’t seem to be any major disruptions to my daily life.
My connections and workplace were all the sa.
So going to work as usual shouldn’t be an issue.
Since everyone at the company already recognized as a woman, all I had to do was adapt.
Sure, suddenly becoming a woman was a huge change, but as long as the CEO, the streams I watched, and the VTubers I managed remained the sa, my responsibilities wouldn’t change either.
“Maybe I’ll leave for work a bit earlier today.”
Even if there weren’t any ntal hurdles, my body had changed so drastically that I’d inevitably make mistakes if I didn’t get used to it.
Given that I already started work at 3 p.m., seven hours later than most people, it would be embarrassing to arrive late because my shorter legs slowed down.
I couldn’t exactly say, “Sorry, I was late because I have short legs now.”
To prepare, I sent a quick ssage to the CEO, asking if there was anything the office needed. If I was heading out early anyway, I figured I’d stop by the dollar store on the way.
[: CEO]
[: Is there anything the office is running low on?]
It usually took at least 10 minutes for a reply, so I planned to check again after washing up.
But then—buzz.
The reply ca imdiately.
[CEO: Not really?]
[CEO: I’m out of Post-its, but I can grab them during lunch.]
[CEO: Get so rest and see you later.]
She even used casual speech.
In all five years I’d worked with her, the CEO had never spoken informally to . Now, she was texting as if I were a younger sibling.
[: Oh, I’m stopping by the dollar store anyway.]
[: I’ll pick them up on the way, so you don’t have to bother during lunch.]
[CEO: Oh, okay.]
[CEO: By the way, what do you want for dinner tonight?]
Dinner?
Why was she asking about dinner?
[: Why dinner?]
[CEO: What do you an, why?]
[CEO: Don’t tell you don’t want to eat with anymore?]
What was she talking about?
When had I ever eaten dinner with the CEO?
The last ti we ate together was probably early this year, about a week after the first-generation debuted.
And it wasn’t even just the two of us—it was a celebratory gathering with all four first-gen talents and the six of us who knew their real identities.
With a thousand question marks hovering over my head, I replied hesitantly:
[: Did we have dinner together yesterday?]
I tried to play it off subtly, using the usual “amnesia” phrasing, but the CEO’s response ca pouring in imdiately:
[CEO: Magia.]
[CEO: Are you feeling unwell?]
[CEO: Did you get indigestion from eating sothing bad after fixing Dora’s sound issue?]
[CEO: Or are you feeling dizzy all of a sudden?]
That was enough of an answer.
In this tiline where I’m a woman, I apparently have dinner with the CEO every evening.
[: No, no, no.]
[: I was just joking, haha.]
[CEO: ──]
[CEO: You’re letting your old troll habits slip again, aren’t you?]
[CEO: Anyway, just get the Post-its for .]
[CEO: See you later.]
[CEO: Be careful on your way to work.]
This realization was both fascinating and puzzling.
As the CEO ntioned, I was once her most notorious troll—a sniper known for targeting her during streams.
She loved battle royale gas, even though her skill level never escaped “Bronze Hell.” My antics earned the nickna “Flare Gun” because I’d always attract all the enemies to our location whenever we ended up on the sa random team.
Naturally, this left the CEO stranded and forced to fend off waves of attackers, often leading her to shout in frustration, “You flare gun bastard!” Her rare bouts of profanity beca iconic clips still circulated today under the “Extre Momo” series.
There’s a famous saying: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Perhaps that’s why the CEO made the bold move of hiring as her manager.
She basically said, “Stop trolling, I’ll pay you, and you can handle trolls like yourself instead.” And she didn’t even propose this online—she demanded an in-person eting, effectively calling for a showdown.
That’s how we, once bitter enemies, ended up working at the sa company. Though we’ve always kept a subtle distance, the relationship worked.
But now, she was treating like a close friend, and it was unsettling.
The only difference was that I had beco a cute girl.
“… Could that be the reason?”
If she had been keeping an eye on out of caution because of my troll origins, that would make sense.
But if my newfound cuteness had sohow lted away her wariness?
Back when her subscriber count was only 30,000, I’d fill her lobbies. After she hit 100,000, I couldn’t do that anymore.
The reason I beca a troll was twofold:
First, I liked that she paid attention to .
Second, I genuinely enjoyed helping her win.
Even after Momo beca a major strear, I didn’t stop. Using alt accounts and borrowed IDs, I continued to snipe her gas. She might not have realized it, but I never actually quit.
It just kept getting harder. I had to adapt my tactics to avoid detection, making it increasingly difficult to break into her gas.
But if we were close enough to have dinner together regularly, why did I even need to snipe?
I could just confidently ask her to play gas with .
*****
Momo Gallery
[By the way, does anyone know what happened to Flare Gun lately?]
They’re still playing gas, but they’ve weirdly stopped sniping Momo.
I honestly miss the days when that guy would snipe her all week long. It was hilarious.
[Comnts]
— MongMong001: Did they switch strears?
ㄴ MongMong050: No way. Flare Gun’s a diehard Momo stan.
— MongMong091: Rember that rumor about them becoming her manager?
ㄴ MongMong005: Wait, that was real?
ㄴ MongMong005: I thought it was just another random troll post.
ㄴ MongMong122: Makes no sense. If they were the manager, we’d have seen them in one of Momo’s group streams by now.
ㄴ MongMong801: What if they participated but didn’t introduce themselves?
ㄴ MongMong801: Would you openly admit to being a forr troll?
ㄴ MongMong801: I wouldn’t.
ㄴ MongMong122: Isn’t attention what trolls live for, though?
ㄴ MongMong369: You can’t keep sniping forever, lol.
That evening.
While waiting for Momo in the lobby of our office building, I scrolled through the gallery and found a thread speculating about my absence.
I left a single comnt: “Graduating from trolling soon.”
After all, if Momo and I were friends who could play together anyti, there’d be no need for sniping.
Excited by the idea, I ran up to her the mont she stepped off the elevator.
“CEO, want to play a round of Battle Call after tonight’s stream?”
She responded with a weary expression, the face of soone crushed by corporate life.
“Sorry, my schedule’s packed for the next two months.”
Wait, aren’t we supposed to be friends?
Or is work more important than friendship?
The disappointnt hit like a truck.
Before I could stop myself, my troll instincts flared up.
“CEO, I quit!”
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