Edeshei
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VOLUME III: 50 – To Be, or Not To Be?
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 08:55:01 +0000 UTCThe whiteboard already looked like it had survived a cult meeting.
There were five bullet points, three question marks, a sketch of me falling into a pit labelled algorithm, and a lone note that just said pudding? I hadn’t even started speaking yet.
Weaver tapped a marker against the desk, too casual for someone about to kick off psychological warfare.
“So,” he said, “before we loop in design, rigging, artists, or debut planning, we conceptualize. This is ideation. Your sandbox.”
“I don’t play in sandboxes,” I muttered.
“It’s a metaphor, Aoi.”
He turned to the whiteboard and scrawled the word CONCEPT in capital letters, boxed it, and underlined it twice like he was trying to summon something.
“You don’t have to come up with your final lore or anything,” he said. “But I need to know what’s at the heart of this persona. What’s the performance vehicle for your VTuber identity?”
I blinked. “Wait. So, do I have to figure all of this out by myself?”
He tilted his head like that was obvious. “We’ll help shape it. But the initial push has to come from you.”
“I just thought there’d be a team for this. Writers. Concept artists. A guy in a robe pulling tarot cards. Not just me standing in front of a whiteboard having a breakdown.”
“There is a team,” Weaver said, “but they can’t build something you don’t believe in. This is the blueprint. You give us the heartbeat. The rest follows.”
I made a sound that might have been a laugh or a dying animal. “Cool. No pressure.”
He shrugged. “The chaos is the point.”
I slumped back in the chair like a possum playing dead. The seat creaked like it had already given up.
“Why do I have to decide this? What if I just show up with a PNG of a sock puppet?”
Weaver didn’t blink. “Sure, that could work.”
“Don’t validate me,” I groaned.
He calmly turned and wrote on the board: sock puppet vtuber??
We spent the next twenty minutes throwing concepts at the wall and hoping something stuck. Sometimes, we wandered too far into a single idea and then laughed it off. Other times, something small and sharp slipped in and sat there between us before either of us acknowledged it.
“I’m not going to be an idol,” I said eventually.
“That's ironic, but good.” Weaver nodded. “Idols are overrated. Be something else.”
“What if I don’t know what I want to be?”
He looked at me like that was the whole point.
“Then we build it anyway. That’s half the fun.”
I sat quiet for a while, chewing on something that didn’t want to be words.
“I’ve been thinking about roles,” I said finally.
Weaver glanced over, waiting.
“You know. Archetypes. The knight. The queen. The villain. The hero. The sage. But none of those fit. I’m not noble, or wise, or evil, or brave.”
He didn’t say anything.
“But the fool? The fool always survives. Nobody expects anything from them. That’s kind of freeing.”
He clicked his pen once. “The fool who sees everything. Hidden in plain sight.”
“Exactly. They laugh, but they watch. And nobody notices they’re bleeding until the curtain drops.”
That came out more real than I meant it to. I regretted it immediately.
But Weaver didn’t say anything. He just turned and wrote one word in the corner of the whiteboard.
Jester.
No commentary. No flourish. Just the word, clean and quiet in black ink. It sat there with more weight than I expected.
“Okay,” he said, switching gears. “Once we lock in this direction, I’ll loop in the design team. You’ll meet a few potential character artists who match your style.”
“My style,” I repeated slowly, like it was cursed.
“You’ll send them a visual prompt and a concept brief. Keywords. Vibes. Things you do and don’t want. Then you’ll talk to your chosen artist and start collaborating.”
“Oh god,” I muttered. “What if they assign me someone who only draws pastels and I show up like, ‘Hi, I’m a feral who dresses in pink.’”
“That would be funny,” Weaver said.
“So ideal, then.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
I buried my face in my hands. “I’m not emotionally prepared to be born.”
“Sure you are, you chose this job,” he said, handing me a manila folder labelled TALENT CONCEPT SHEET – PARFAIT INTERNAL USE ONLY.
The first question on the form was: What does your character want?
I stared at it for a long time. It stared back.
Eventually, I wrote:
To be a fool.
The words sat there like something heavier than they should have been. I didn’t erase them.
After the meeting,I stepped out into the hallway, Rika passed by with a clipboard in one hand and a matcha latte in the other.
“Good session?” she asked.
“I think so. We built a concept.” I said.
She smiled. “Great. That means we’re getting somewhere.”
She then passed me and continued down the hall.
I lingered at the edge of the hallway, ready to leave. Then I paused.
Something tugged at the back of my brain. I frowned, then I remembered— Oh, right.
I turned on my heel and stepped back inside.
Weaver was still by the whiteboard, capping a marker, half-lost in thought. I hovered near the door and cleared my throat.
“Hey." I said. "Thanks for the sandwich, by the way.”
He looked up, mild confusion in his expression.
“At the bodega,” I said. “The sad ham one. I didn’t say anything at the time, but... yeah. Thanks.”
He blinked. “It was egg salad.”
“Oh.” I stared. “Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Well. Thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. No embellishment, no follow-up. Leaving it at that.
“Okay. Just... email me if there’s more to conceptualize, manager.”
He looked at me then, faintly amused. “I look forward to this partnership, Miss Aoi.”
I turned and left before I could say something, even dumber, like “you too.” Or “you’re welcome back.” Or tripping over a chair on the way out. Anything was possible at that point.
Comments
No_Creative_Name
“The words sat there like something heavier than they should have been. I didn’t erase them.” You’ve got a skill for lines like this. Thanks for the chapter!
Edeshei
Fr tho! VShojo flopping is not rlly on my 2025 bingo card like wthh 😭😭
David Zimmerle
Man after the shit show in the vtuber space this week this story is refreshing but I hope the company doesn’t pull a vshojo.
