Wait, What You Mean I Got Reincarnated As A Heroine In Another World? Chapter 95 - 81.1 - Livestream

Hearing all the things Selene said, I couldn’t help but wake up.

Ugh, so annoying, damn it! For f*ck’s sake!

I couldn’t go back to sleep. My eyes were still wide open.

Whatever, might as well just go to the Mind Palace,

I thought, as I activated Transcription and started sothing that had been my dream since childhood. No, not becoming a doctor. But a live strear.

Yes, Kairi as a live streaming host is real.

[The following is a first-person inner monologue by , Kairi Elysia Veylith, recorded entirely in her ntal sanctuary as she "listens" to Selene’s chaotic thoughts... in real-ti.]

Oh, for the love of all that is holy and unholy, is this really happening right now?

Okay, deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Again. And again. BREATHE, Kairi, BREATHE! Ahem. Hi. Welco back, welco back to my totally unplanned, utterly chaotic, and currently very compromising reaction stream. You’re broadcasting live, folks, straight from the deepest, darkest, and apparently most perverted corners of my own brain. I’m your host, Dr. Kairi Veylith, emotionally repressed neurotic extraordinaire, and today, we are collectively, regrettably, reacting to the nightmare fuel that is: "What The Hell Is Going On Inside Selene’s Mind." And for so unfathomable reason, the tagline that imdiately popped into my consciousness was: Oh no, she’s hot.

[Insert the most profoundly nervous, utterly unhinged laughter you can imagine, the kind that hints at a rapidly unraveling sanity.]

Guys. Oh, my gods, guys. I swear to every single pantheon, every single cosmic entity, every single forgotten deity in the known multiverse—what in the ever-loving hell did I just subject myself to? Did I... did I just accidentally eavesdrop on the unfiltered, raw, R-rated ntal fanservice diary of my senior, Selene? The brilliant, stoic, seemingly untouchable Selene?

Yes. Yes, I absolutely did. And I need soone, anyone, to please, for the love of all that is sacred, unplug from this cursed Astral Network. This isn’t a livestream anymore. This isn’t a reaction stream. This is, unequivocally, a lewdstream, and I am its unwilling, mortified participant.

Let set the scene for you, because you deserve to understand the depths of my current existential crisis. I’m sitting here, in the sterile, overly bright recovery ward, still a bit sore, a bit fuzzy, and definitely a lot more irritable from my recent, incredibly inconvenient magic-burnout incident. My magical reserves are drier than a desert in the middle of a drought, and my emotional ones are clearly following suit. So, what’s a convalescing magic-user to do? Apparently, spontaneously tune into Selene’s brainwaves like it’s so sort of premium, no-subscription-required, uncensored Netflix: Chaos Edition.

At first, I genuinely, naively thought, "Oh, how lovely. Selene’s probably deep in thought about her next groundbreaking alchemy project. Maybe she’s pondering over so intricate theoretical frawork, or perhaps debating the safest, most efficient way to refine Mytheia without, you know, blowing up half the continent." You know, the usual, boring, incredibly brilliant genius stuff that Selene occupies her magnificent mind with.

Nope.

A resounding, soul-shattering NOPE.

This woman, this paragon of academic excellence, this beacon of magical prowess, is not contemplating grand theories. She is, in fact, composing ntal erotica in real-ti. And who, you might ask, is the subject of this spontaneous cerebral fanfiction? None other than Azalea. And to add insult to catastrophic ntal injury, she’s doing this WHILE GETTING DRESSED.

"Azalea kouhai-kun..." she purred. In her mind. A purr. Who, in the na of all that is rational, purrs internally? Who narrates their own mundane act of pulling on socks in 4K Ultra-HD sensory detail like it’s the most exquisite, slow-burn yuri doujinshi ever conceived?

(And yes, for the record, I read those. Shut up. Don’t judge my coping chanisms, especially not after this.)

You guys, she even made the SSSSSRRREEET sound effect of the sock stretching and sliding onto her foot. In. Her. Mind. The auditory hallucination, entirely self-generated, was so vivid I swear I heard it in the room. How am I, a re mortal with a fragile psyche and an already strained recovery, supposed to spiritually survive this level of intimate, unsolicited ntal intrusion?

And don’t even, for one single second, get started on the internal monologue where she, with the casual disdain of a goddess observing lesser beings, literally calls both and Azalea "two-faced degenerates with secret twisted desires."

...Okay, fine. Valid. She’s not entirely wrong. But still! The sheer audacity!

She called a sl*t. Not just any sl*t. A "degenerate sl*t," to be exact. And again, in my defense, she’s not entirely wrong. I an, that one ti in the field clinic, with the questionable quality gin and the half-rembered anatomy diagrams... look, let’s just say there were extenuating circumstances. Okay, yeah, never mind. You win this round, Selene.

BUT. And this is a very significant BUT. That does not, under any circumstances, give her a free pass to narrate her ntal striptease like she’s auditioning for so forbidden side quest in a deeply inappropriate visual novel! My brain is not a public theatre for your inner fantasies, Selene!

Let’s talk about the sudden, jarring, utterly whiplash-inducing personality pivot. One second, her internal voice is all asured and calculating, like: "Hmm, should I tease her just a little?" And the very next, it’s a full-throttle, maximum overdrive, blush-inducing seduction queen, complete with full, perfectly choreographed sensual movents that sohow translated into my mind. I tell you, it was a whole performance. A ntal burlesque.

And I felt that. Not physically, thank the stars – I am very much not Azalea, and my physical proximity to this ntal ordeal is precisely zero – but taphysically? Existentially? As soone who, in a previous, deeply embarrassing life phase, once awkwardly dissected an emotional support golem while nursing a deeply inappropriate crush on their ntor? Yeah. Yeah, I get it. The sheer, overwhelming, unbidden desire to just... inflict emotional tornt through pure, unadulterated hotness.

...Also, did she just... fantasize about traumatizing Azalea into submission via aesthetic overload? Is that what I just witnessed? Because if it is, that’s not just your run-of-the-mill gay panic. That, my friends, is full-blown gay warfare. And Azalea is on the front lines, utterly oblivious.

The mont, the precise, soul-shattering mont she opened her legs for that subliminal, H-rated, panty-less pantheon display in her mind, I scread. Out loud. In real life. A nurse, bless her patient soul, actually ca rushing in.

"Are you okay, Ms. Veylith?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, probably thinking I was having so sort of post-magic-burnout delusion.

"I-I’m fine," I whispered, barely able to contain the sheer tidal wave of sha and secondhand embarrassnt that threatened to drown . "Just... just a particularly vivid... mind-reading... live horror show. Nothing to worry about." She gave a look that clearly said she was adding "ntal instability" to my chart.

And then. OH MY GOD. AND THEN. The very next thought that rippled through her mind, clear as a bell, was: "Kairi can still read my mind, right?"

YOU BET I CAN, YOU UNHOLY VIXEN. She knows. She absolutely knows I’m here. She’s not just having these thoughts; she’s performing them. She wants to react. She’s actively baiting , dangling these profoundly uncomfortable ntal images like I’m so emotionally constipated catgirl and she just bought a brand-new, extra-bright laser pointer.

So, what do I do? Do I react? Do I scream into the void? Do I sohow project my own mortification back into her brilliant, deranged mind?

Hell yes, I do. In my head, I’m screaming. A primal, guttural shriek of pure, unadulterated agony and a sliver of unwilling fascination. IRL, though? I’m just biting the inside of my cheek so hard I might actually draw blood, trying desperately not to pass out from secondhand embarrassnt and, I begrudgingly admit, possibly a tiny, tiny bit of secondhand arousal?

Maybe I am a degenerate sl*t. Maybe this is my just punishnt for... existing near her. Maybe we all are. Maybe we all deserve this particular brand of ntal tornt.

And then, as if to seal my fate, as if to plunge the final, gleaming dagger into the last vestiges of my sanity, she thought: "You may call by my na directly, you know."

You may call by my na directly.

HELLO?! THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE VISUAL NOVEL! YOU DO NOT JUST DROP THE "call by my na" LINE LIKE YOU’RE ABOUT TO FREAKING PROPOSE AFTER A SINGLE, UNWILLINGLY WITNESSED NTAL STRIPTEASE! That’s a classic, end-ga, confession-scene line! What is she playing at?!

...Unless?

No. Bad Kairi. No scenarios. No simulations. No hidden kiss CG unlocks. Reboot. Reboot your brain. Clear the cache. This is a dical ergency.

In conclusion, this stream, this utterly unplanned, psychologically damaging stream, is officially over. I’m logging out. I’m locking my neural interface, throwing away the taphysical key, and possibly burying it in a lead-lined box at the bottom of the Mariana Trench.

Selene, you win. You have successfully achieved peak ntal perversion. I hope you are ecstatically happy with your perfectly executed, profoundly disturbing powerplay performance.

And Azalea? My poor, sweet, oblivious Azalea? Stay strong, soldier. You are not alone in this inexplicable, deeply unsettling war. The enemy is... within. And she’s hot.

This has been Kairi Elysia Veylith, signing off from the digital ether, probably to go rethink all my life choices.

End stream.