Why Fushimi Gaku Became the Demon Lord: The Last Boss's Justice
A major incident shakes the virtual streaming world. Fushimi Gaku, a popular VTuber from the second generation of Nijisanji, suddenly stops all broadcasts. The only official word is an indefinite hiatus. No reason is given, and his presence slowly fades from fans' memories. But in a place no one knows, Gaku is caught up in a different battle.
It begins with a single message from a girl named Miyako. She confesses that her older brother has gotten involved in illegal modification streams behind
Why Fushimi Gaku Became the Demon Lord: The Last Boss's Justice - Consultation Email — My brother is a second-generation member of the same agency
2:00 a.m. In a single room of an apartment, his own voice still lingered, half-dissolved.
Fushimi Gaku pressed lightly against his throat, staring absently at the stream-ended screen on his monitor. Until moments ago, he had been singing for thirty viewers. Someone whose name and face he didn't know had been listening on the other side of the screen. Just that fact gently loosened the day's fatigue from his body.
"Good work. See you tomorrow."
The stream had already cut off. Even knowing no one could hear, his mouth still moved. He'd developed that habit. His eyes traced the comments scrolling along the edge of the screen. <Thanks again today> <Gaku-kun's voice, it calms me down> <Good luck with tomorrow's lectures>. A stranger's words glowed faintly in the dark room.
Gaku let his weight sink into the backrest and looked up at the ceiling.
The room was a single six-mat space. A bed and desk, streaming equipment, and university textbooks piled on the floor. Soundproofing mats lined the walls, and on top of them, several sticky notes fluttered. Memos for reports nearing their deadlines, a list of songs to sing on the next stream, expiration dates on vegetables sent from home. All of it mingled half-finished, giving shape to the life of this room's occupant.
When he opened the refrigerator, the cabbage and tomatoes his brother had sent were still there. Gaku took out one tomato and bit into it whole. The cold juice spread through his mouth, sharpening his mind just a little.
(Big bro, wonder how he's doing.)
His family home was in a mountain region about two hours by train from Tokyo. A small town, where his brother had taken over the farm their parents used to run. When Gaku said he wanted to go to university in Tokyo, his brother had said nothing and simply pushed him forward. *You do what you love.* Without those words, he probably wouldn't be here streaming now.
Gaku leaned against the window and looked out at the darkness. Streetlights stood in a sparse row. The sound of a train running in the distance mixed with the wind, faintly audible.
The outskirts of Tokyo. This town, about thirty minutes by train from the city center, grew astonishingly quiet at night. As if the bustle of Shibuya and Akihabara were a lie, time flowed slowly here. Gaku didn't dislike this quiet. The night air slowly cooled the nerves that streaming had wound tight.
His smartphone buzzed.
It was a notification from the platform's management screen. Unusual at this hour. Gaku furrowed his brow and opened the screen. A single email had arrived. The sender was an anonymous user who had gone through the emergency consultation form. The name was Miyako.
The subject line read: <Please. Help me.>
Gaku set the tomato on the desk and straightened his posture. Emails that came through the consultation form were mostly support and questions from fans. Occasionally, one would be mixed in from someone saying they were suffering and needed someone to listen. When that happened, Gaku always made sure to read through them. He couldn't leave someone in trouble alone. That hadn't changed since before he became a streamer.
He opened the email.
What was written there was a desperate plea, in words that didn't seem like they could have been typed by a seventeen-year-old girl.
<My brother is a streamer at Nijisanji. About half a year ago, something changed. He talks on the phone with strangers in the middle of the night. The content of his streams is completely different from before. When I enter his room, he immediately hides his computer screen. The other day, when I peeked secretly, the word "Nocturne" was displayed on the screen.>
Nocturne.
The moment he saw that word, Gaku's fingertips stopped. He'd never heard of it. No — precisely speaking, he felt like he had heard it somewhere. Where? He couldn't remember. But something stirred deep in his chest.
<When I looked it up, I learned that there's such a thing as illegal modification streaming. A frightening technology that changes streamers. My brother has probably gotten involved with it. At this rate, my brother will break. But I don't know who to consult. Gaku-san, you're a senior at Nijisanji. Please, I'm begging you.>
Gaku exhaled slowly.
Illegal modification streaming. Filters that amplify emotions, algorithms that make viewers dependent, modules that overwrite the personality itself. Technologies whispered about in the depths of the internet, preying on streamers. He'd thought they were urban legends. No — he'd wanted to think so.
"...A prank, or someone trying to sabotage me."
Gaku said it aloud. Someone was trying to trap him. Sending a suspicious email like this to a Nijisanji-affiliated liver, watching for a reaction. Thinking that way was only natural. Gaku moved to close the email, then stopped his finger.
At the very end, there was one more line.
<My brother is a Nijisanji second-generation member.>
His heart gave one heavy throb.
Second generation. The same as him. Comrades who debuted at the same time, who laughed together in the same place. One of them had gotten involved with illegal modification streaming? That couldn't be. Everyone should still be streaming seriously. Gaku scrolled down the screen and checked the attachments. Three images. Two video thumbnails.
He opened the first image.
What was shown there was a screenshot of a stream. A dim room. A man illuminated by pale blue light. His eyes were hollow, his mouth slack and loose. The traces of who he used to be barely remained.
Ayatsuji Minato.
The same second generation. The Minato Gaku knew was always cheerful, loved making people laugh, had a loud voice, was a bit of a goofball. That was the man he was.
The man on the screen was like a completely different person. His cheeks were sunken, deep dark circles pooled beneath his eyes. And yet, only his mouth was smiling. A manufactured smile. An unnatural smile, as if he were being controlled by someone.
Gaku couldn't move for a while, clutching his smartphone.
"...Why, Minato."
His voice was trembling.
Late-night Akihabara wore a different face from the daytime. Neon light reflected off the wet asphalt, and the shadows of people swayed unsteadily. Gaku pulled his hood low over his eyes and slipped through the bustle of the main street, heading toward the back alleys.
His destination was a twenty-four-hour internet café.
(If that email is real, it's dangerous to look at it on my phone.)
Gaku was thinking with a calmness that surprised even himself. What was shown in Minato's stream archives? To confirm that, he needed a safe place. Opening it on his home connection was something he wanted to avoid, just in case.
Akihabara was also a holy land for VTuber culture. All over the electronics district, shops dealing in streaming equipment lined the streets. The main streets were crowded with tourists, but one step into the back, and there were even shops selling illegal modification tools. Gaku had heard about that from fellow streamers.
He entered a private booth at the internet café and closed the door. In the small, soundproofed space, only his own breathing echoed. Gaku booted up the computer and opened the attachments Miyako had sent.
The video played.
It was an archive of Minato's stream. The date was three days ago. The stream time was 3:00 a.m.
On the screen, Minato was saying something. But his voice was terribly distorted. The audio cracked in places, and only the emotions swelled unnaturally. Anger, sorrow, joy. They switched without context, as if the voices of different people had been stitched together.
"...Do you guys really like me? No, you don't. You're just praising me because I give you money."
Minato's voice echoed through the booth. A tone that provoked and mocked the viewers. The Minato Gaku knew was a man who treasured his viewers. At the end of every stream, he would always bow his head and say thank you for watching. How could a man like that—
Gaku stopped the video and opened another file.
Displayed there was what appeared to be an analysis of the stream data. He didn't know where Miyako had gotten it. But its contents were abnormal even to an amateur's eye.
<Emotion amplification filter: Traces of use confirmed>
<Viewer dependency: 4.7 times the baseline value>
<Personality overwrite module: Pending application approval>
Gaku read the last line over and over.
Personality overwrite. Pending application approval. In other words, Minato wasn't completely broken yet. If it was now, there might still be time.
(But how?)
Gaku held his head in his hands. What could he do? He was just a university student, just a streamer. Should he report it to management? No — before that, he should hear Miyako's story directly.
Gaku took out his smartphone and began typing a reply to Miyako.
<I read your email. I want to hear the details. Can we meet?>
Send.
A few minutes later, a reply came.
<Thank you. I was worried you wouldn't believe me. Actually, this is the first time I've talked to anyone about my brother.>
After that, several exchanges followed. Miyako's writing was trembling at first, but once she realized Gaku was taking her seriously, she gradually calmed.
<Would you be able to meet me three days from now, on Saturday, at a café in the back alleys of Akihabara?>
Gaku agreed to the proposal.
The next morning.
The university lecture hall was too cold from the air conditioning, chilling his skin. Outside the window, the early-July sun blazed down. Gaku sat in a seat toward the back, jotting something in his notebook. The lecture content wasn't entering his head. What he was writing in his notebook were memories of the stream footage of Minato he'd seen last night.
Minato's transformed face. Hollow eyes. A manufactured smile.
And the face of his brother, who had taken over the farm back home.
The two faces surfaced and faded, alternating.
(What did Big Bro say when I told him I was going to be a streamer?)
*You love making people happy, so I'm sure you're suited for it.* He'd said that and smiled. Because of that smile, Gaku was here now.
(Minato must have family supporting him too.)
A little sister named Miyako. She'd noticed her brother's change, mustered her courage, and reached out to a stranger for help. That fact tightened Gaku's chest.
The lecture ended, and Gaku went out to the university's back courtyard. The summer wind brushed against his sweat-dampened neck. Gaku took his smartphone from his pocket and reread the exchange with Miyako.
In the evening, a reply came from Miyako.
<Saturday, 2 p.m., at a small café in the back alleys of Akihabara. I'll send you the exact location later.>
Gaku gripped his smartphone.
"This isn't just a consultation email."
The murmured words dissolved into the wind and vanished.
His own sense of justice was about to carry him somewhere irreversible. That premonition pulsed quietly deep in his chest.
(But I have to go.)
Someone was in trouble. He couldn't leave them alone. That was the one unchanging part of the person called Fushimi Gaku.
The sky was dyed in sunset colors. The boundary between orange and purple slowly sank into darkness. Gaku stood still for a while, watching that scenery.
Nocturne.
That word rang over and over in a corner of his mind.
This was the beginning of something.
That was what he thought.
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