Your eyes darted across the office, scanning for the source of that nagging sense of recognition. The answer came to you when your gaze landed on Nako.

Today, she was wearing one of her usual oversized sweaters, the sleeves swallowing her hands as she typed away at her computer. Her expression was neutral, her eyes focused on the screen like she was deeply engrossed in work. But now that you were paying attention, you noticed her glancing at her phone every few minutes, her fingers tapping at it with a practiced swiftness.

And that grin. It wasn’t the polite, work-friendly smile she usually wore. It was something smaller, almost mischievous, like she was laughing at a joke only she understood.

You scrunched your nose, watching her for a beat longer than was polite.

Couldn’t be.

Just to be sure, you replayed the clip. The voice filled your ears and minds again, bright and bubbly, complete with giggles and high-pitched squeals that had "Nako" written all over them.

You shook your head. This was ridiculous. There were millions of VTubers out there—what were the odds? But as you kept thinking, the resemblance became impossible to ignore. The intonation, the slight lilt at the end of her sentences, even the way she laughed—it was uncanny.

“Uh, hey….”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone as Nako appeared next to your desk. Her big brown eyes blinked up at you innocently. “Did you need something? You’ve been staring at me.”

Her voice was calm, level, nothing like the hyperactive VTuber’s voice… but now you couldn’t unhear it.

“Oh, uh, no. Just spacing out.” You forced a laugh and stuffed your phone into your pocket.

Nako tilted her head, unconvinced. “Spacing out? While looking right at me?”

“I was, uh, thinking.”

“About?”

Her tone was casual, but there was something sharp in her gaze, like she was trying to read your mind. And maybe she was—Nako wasn’t as innocent as she looked. You’d seen her casually manipulate her way out of covering shifts more than once.

“Stuff,” you said, shrugging.

“Uh-huh.” Nako squinted, then smiled brightly. “Okay! Well, don’t let me stop you from… thinking.”

She walked back to her desk, but not before throwing one last suspicious glance over her shoulder.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was pounding like you’d been caught sneaking into the office fridge. It was just a coincidence, right? There was no way Nako—your soft-spoken, slightly quirky coworker—was living a double life as a virtual anime girl.

Right?

But the more you thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed. Nako was always rushing off after work, claiming she had "personal projects" to take care of. She wasn’t particularly active on social media, and when she was, it was all vague posts about being "super busy."

And now, that voice.

You glanced at her again. She was typing away at her computer, completely unaware that you were mentally unravelling her secret life. Or maybe she wasn’t.

Either way, you needed to be sure. That Nako is…that Vtuber Yako.

-

"Nako-ya," you start casually, leaning against the edge of her desk. Your posture is deliberately relaxed, the perfect contrast to the laser-sharp focus you’re secretly aiming at her. The office hums with activity around you, the clatter of keyboards and faint chatter forming a pleasant backdrop.

Nako doesn’t look up, her face slightly illuminated by the soft glow of her monitor. Her fingers move briskly across the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Hmm? What is it?" she mumbles, barely sparing you a glance.

"Just curious," you say, tilting your head as if in thought. "Do you stream? Or, I don’t know, have some kind of secret hobby?"

She freezes. Not long—just for a split second—but enough for you to notice. Her hands hesitate above the keys, her lips parting in surprise before quickly pressing together. "Secret hobby? Me? No, not really," she replies, a little too casually. Her voice is steady, but the quick swipe of her bangs behind her ear betrays her nerves.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Oh, no reason. Just thought I heard someone with a voice like yours on YouTube the other day."

Her gaze finally snaps to yours. Wide eyes. A flicker of panic. Then she schools her expression, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Lots of people have similar voices," she says lightly, her lips curling into a small, tight smile.

"Yeah, totally." You nod, standing upright. But inside, your curiosity is only growing.

She’s hiding something. I can feel it.

-

A few days later, you approach her desk again, armed with a coffee cup as a peace offering. "Morning, Nako," you chirp, pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

She glances at the cup, then at you, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "What do you want?" she asks, her tone wary but playful.

"Nothing! Just enjoying some coffee and a chat with my favourite coworker," you say innocently. Then, lowering your voice, you lean slightly closer. "By the way, have you ever heard of someone called 'Yako'?"

Her reaction is instantaneous. Her fingers fumble on the keyboard, and she nearly knocks over her water bottle trying to grab it. "Wh-what? No! Why would you ask that?"

You lean back, studying her with an amused grin. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darting everywhere but at you. She shifts in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as though shielding herself from further interrogation.

"Just curious," you say with a shrug, sipping your coffee. "Her voice sounds a lot like yours. And the way she talks? Weirdly similar."

Her laugh is high-pitched and nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "That’s ridiculous," she says quickly, waving you off. "It’s not me. I don’t even watch VTubers."

"Ah, fair enough," you reply smoothly, standing up. But you catch the way her shoulders tense as you walk away, her back stiff like she’s bracing for more.

Gotcha.

-

It becomes your new favourite pastime—seeing how far you can push her without outright accusing her. During lunch one day, you sit across from her in the break room, your tray clattering against the table as you settle in.

"Catchy tune, huh?" you say, humming the opening theme from Yako’s latest stream.

Nako’s chopsticks pause midway to her mouth. Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to gauge your intentions. "What’s that?"

"Oh, just a song stuck in my head," you reply nonchalantly, taking a bite of your food. "It’s from this VTuber I’ve been watching. You wouldn’t believe how many people think her voice is addictive."

Her laugh is strained, and she resumes eating, though her movements are mechanical. She doesn’t meet your eyes, her focus glued to the bowl in front of her. "Must be a coincidence," she mutters, stirring her rice with more force than necessary.

You nod, pretending to let it go, but you’re watching her closely. The way her grip tightens around the chopsticks. The way her jaw clenches slightly, as if she’s holding back a response.

"Funny thing," you add after a beat, "her gestures are so specific. Like that thing she does with her hands when she’s excited." You mimic the exact motion, your grin widening as her shoulders visibly stiffen.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she snaps, her cheeks bright red now. She shoves a piece of kimchi into her mouth, chewing like it’s her only way to escape the conversation.

"Sure, sure," you say, leaning back with a smirk.

-

The office meeting is the next perfect setup. After the boss asks for creative ideas, Nako surprises everyone with a well-thought-out pitch about animated characters for a marketing campaign.

"That was… really specific," you say later, catching her in the hallway. She’s holding a stack of papers, hugging them tightly to her chest.

"What do you mean?" she asks, her tone cautious.

"You clearly know a lot about animation," you say, walking beside her. "For someone who supposedly doesn’t watch VTubers, it’s kind of impressive of how creative your solutions are."

Her eyes widen slightly, and she stumbles over her words. "I—I just… read about it somewhere!" she blurts, her voice an octave higher than usual.

You smile, your gaze lingering on her as she fumbles with the doorknob to the break room. Her movements are jerky, her lips pressed into a thin line as she avoids your gaze. "Of course. Just something you read," you say, holding the door open for her.

She hurries past you, muttering a quick "Thanks," and you can’t help but chuckle.

You’re almost there, Nako. Almost.

-

That evening, you sit at your desk at home, your laptop glowing faintly in the dim room. You have the stream open, the lively chat scrolling endlessly beside the avatar of Yako. Her signature pink hair bounces every time she moves, and the soft tone of her voice—yes, her voice—is as distinct as ever.

You recline in your chair, sipping your drink, a knowing grin already spreading across your face. Tonight’s stream is titled “CGR - Chill, Gaming, and Rant” It’s only been ten minutes since the stream started, and she’s already flustered, her voice rising slightly as she rants.

"I’m telling you, chat, there’s this coworker of mine, and they’ve been so annoying lately!" she huffs, her virtual avatar mirroring the pout you’re sure she’s making behind the screen.

The chat explodes with reactions: "LOL who is it??" "Drama at the office?? Spicy!" "Is it someone cute??"

You can’t help but laugh, stifling the sound behind your hand. There’s no mistaking the frustration in her tone, and the knowledge that you’re the source of her irritation makes it even better.

She sighs dramatically, the avatar’s shoulders slumping. "They keep asking me the weirdest questions! Like, 'Do you stream?' or 'Have you heard of VTubers?' Like, seriously? What kind of question is that?"

Leaning closer to the screen, you rest your chin on your hand, utterly amused.

Poor Nako. If only you knew I’m watching right now.

"I mean, sure, maybe my voice sounds a little like a VTuber they watch, but come on! Do I look like someone who has time for that?" she says, her tone dripping with faux indignation. The chat eats it up, spamming laughing emojis and teasing comments.

"Nako-chan sus" "Sounds like they’re onto something " "Give them a break! Maybe they’re just a fan?"

Her avatar mimics her throwing her hands up in exasperation. "A fan? Ha! If they were a fan, they’d leave me alone! But noooo, they have to keep pestering me every day."

"Come on, Nako-chan," you mutter under your breath, smirking. "It's fun trying to figure you out ."

As if on cue, she leans closer to the virtual screen, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "And the worst part? They’re so smug about it! Every time I say it’s not me, they just smile like they know something. It’s driving me crazy!"

You laugh out loud this time, unable to help yourself. The timing, the delivery—it’s comedy gold.

The stream continues, and Nako eventually moves on to gameplay, but the occasional quip about her “annoying coworker” keeps slipping in.

"Chat, imagine this: you’re trying to work, minding your own business, and someone just waltzes over to your desk like, ‘Hey, are you this another person?’" she says, mimicking your voice in an exaggerated tone. "Who does that?! Who has that much audacity? Who even bothered?!"

Your sides hurt from laughing now, and you type into the chat with your anonymous username: "Maybe they just want to get to know you better, Nako-chan! "

She reads it aloud, her avatar squinting. "‘Maybe they just want to get to know you better’—psh, yeah, right. More like they want to ruin my life! YOU MOTHER*****!!! "

The chat erupts again, and you lean back in your chair, cackling your ass off and satisfied. It’s almost too much fun watching her complain about you without realizing you’re listening.

As the stream wraps up, she sighs dramatically one last time. "Anyway, thanks for listening to me rant, everyone. I needed that. And if my coworker somehow sees this—" She leans closer, her avatar's face filling the screen. "Stop. Pestering. Me!"

You grin, saluting the screen. "No promises, Nako-ya. No promises."

-

It’s just another ordinary day at the office—except it’s not. You’ve been inching closer to the truth for weeks now, and every interaction with Nako has only added more fuel to your suspicions. Today, though, feels different. There’s a tension in the air, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Nako is sitting at her desk, her head bent over a stack of papers. She’s unusually quiet, not even giving you her usual half-hearted glare when you casually stroll past her cubicle. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, her knee bouncing under the desk—a sure sign she’s on edge.

You seize the moment.

"Hey, Nako-yaaa," you say, leaning over the partition with an innocent grin.

She doesn’t even look up. "Ugh. What now?" she mumbles, her voice clipped.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply casually, pretending to examine a report in your hands. "Just thought I’d ask if you caught that new Yako stream last night. It was hilarious."

Her hand freezes mid-motion, the pen slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the desk. Slowly, she looks up, her eyes wide with a mixture of panic and resignation. "I—I don’t watch VTubers," she stammers, her voice a pitch higher than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Really? That’s a shame. She was continuing her ranting about this super annoying coworker who keeps pestering her. Sounded oddly familiar."

Nako’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and she immediately averts her gaze, pretending to rummage through her desk drawer. "That’s… a coincidence," she mutters.

"Sure, sure," you say, watching her closely. She’s avoiding eye contact like her life depends on it, her shoulders hunched as though she’s trying to disappear into her chair.

You decide to press your advantage. "You know," you say, your tone turning teasing, "I know I talked a lot about this but I’ve been thinking. If you were a VTuber—and I’m not saying you are—it’d be pretty smart to complain about your coworkers on stream. Get it all off your chest, you know?"

Her head snaps up, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights. "I—what—why would you even think that?" she sputters, her voice cracking slightly.

You lean closer, resting your arms on the edge of her desk. "Oh, I don’t know," you say, smirking. "The voice, the mannerisms, the very specific hand gestures you do when you’re excited. It’s all a bit too familiar, don’t you think?"

Nako’s face is now as red as a tomato. She opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Instead, she drops her gaze to her lap, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says weakly, but the tremble in her voice gives her away.

You chuckle, leaning back. "Relax, Nako. I’m just messing with you."

But she doesn’t relax. In fact, she looks even more panicked now, her fingers clenching the edge of her desk so tightly her knuckles turn white.

That’s when it happens.

Her phone buzzes on the desk, and in her haste to grab it, she accidentally swipes the screen. For a split second, you catch a glimpse of her notifications—one of which is a message from someone named Mod-Kazuya: “Great stream last night, Yako-chan!”

The world goes still.

You glance up at her, your eyebrows raised. She freezes, her hand hovering over the phone, her eyes darting between you and the screen.

"So…" you say, breaking the silence, "…you don’t watch VTubers, huh?"

Her shoulders slump, and she lets out a long, defeated sigh. "Fine," she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. "You win."

The victory feels sweeter than you imagined. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face as you watch her squirm in her seat.

"I knew it!" you exclaim, pointing a finger at her. "You’re Yako!"

"Keep your voice down!" she hisses, glancing around the office in a panic.

You chuckle, dropping into the chair beside her desk. "So, how long were you going to keep this from me?"

"As long as I could," she mutters, burying her face in her hands.

Her vulnerability softens your teasing just a bit, and you lean in slightly, lowering your voice. "Relax, Nako. Your secret’s safe with me… for now."

She peeks at you through her fingers, her expression a mix of relief and suspicion. "What do you mean, ‘for now’?"

You smirk, folding your arms. "Well, let’s just say you owe me a favour or two. You know, for keeping quiet."

Her groan is muffled by her hands. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you say cheerfully, standing up. "Come on, Nako-chan V. Let’s grab some coffee. My treat."

Her glare follows you all the way to the break room, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips doesn’t escape your notice.

-

It began innocently enough—or so you’d like to think.

You weren’t a tyrant, just opportunistic. After all, you held a golden ticket: the knowledge of Yabuki Nako’s secret life as a VTuber. And to her credit, she had taken your harmless requests in stride—at first. And the first test of her patience starts with coffee.

“Nako-chan, could you grab me an extra cup from the breakroom?” you ask, flashing a polite smile. “I’m drowning in emails here.”

Her head snaps up from her monitor, her brows furrowed in disbelief. “You were just in there five minutes ago. You had a fresh cup in your hand.”

You tilt your head, feigning a moment of thought. “True. But I drank it all. And you’re, well…” You let your voice trail off, shrugging as if the answer is obvious.

She narrows her eyes. “I’m what?”

“…good at grabbing coffee?” you offer sheepishly, your grin betraying your faux innocence.

Her lips press into a firm line, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. You see the flicker of a battle waging behind her gaze—outright refusal versus the undeniable fear of your leverage. With a huff that’s more air than sound, she rises from her chair, muttering in Japanese under her breath. You don’t catch the full meaning, but the sharpness of her tone makes the message clear:

You’re a piece of sh*t.

When she returns, her lips twitch into a strained, professional smile as she sets the cup down a little harder than necessary. “Your coffee. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Nako! You’re the best!” you reply, suppressing the grin tugging at your lips.

Her forced smile tightens, and she pivots back to her desk, muttering something again. This time, you swear it’s about wishing coffee burns weren’t fatal.

The second favour comes during the weekly rush to print reports.

“Hey, Nako,” you whisper conspiratorially, leaning over the divider between your desks. “Could you grab the printouts for me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up. “The printer’s ten steps away.”

“…I know,” you say, resting your elbow on the divider and propping your chin on your palm. “But you’re already standing. It’ll save me some precious seconds to finish this email.”

Her shoulders rise and fall in a slow, exasperated sigh. This time, she turns her whole body toward you, lips twitching downward in irritation. “You’re sitting. You’re literally doing nothing.”

“I’m multitasking,” you counter smoothly, pointing at your screen where your email draft has precisely one line. “See? Hard at work.”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she stands and stomps toward the printer. Her ponytail bounces aggressively with each step, a physical manifestation of her frustration.

When she returns, she drops the papers onto your desk with a loud slap and leans over, her face close to yours. Her lips are pursed, her cheeks puffed out slightly in barely contained fury, and her eyes bore into yours like twin daggers.

“Next time,” she says in a low, dangerous tone, “I’m shredding them.”

You blink innocently. “Thanks, Nako. Truly. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Her jaw tightens, and she storms back to her desk, muttering again. You’re starting to think her muttering is a stress response you’ve singlehandedly cultivated.

It’s after the third week of subtle pestering that her patience begins to fray in earnest. By now, she’s learned to recognize the telltale grin on your face and the overly polite tone you reserve just for her.

“Nako,” you start sweetly, leaning over her desk during your Friday team meeting. “Could you take notes for me?”

Her eyes widen imperceptibly, and she stiffens in her chair. “Why?”

“I forgot my notebook,” you whisper. “And you’re so much better at taking notes than I am.”

Her lips press into a tight line, and her cheeks flush faintly. “Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. Still, she takes the papers from your outstretched hand, her fingers gripping them a little too firmly.

Halfway through the meeting, she glances sideways at you, her brows knit tightly together. “You owe me,” she hisses, her voice barely audible.

You glance at her, trying not to laugh at the mixture of irritation and resignation written across her face. Her brows are furrowed, her nose scrunched slightly in annoyance, and her lips are pulled into a sharp pout. It’s almost endearing—if she weren’t so obviously plotting your demise.

“Of course,” you whisper back. “Anything for my favourite coworker.”

Her expression shifts ever so slightly, her glare softening just a fraction. But then, as if remembering she’s supposed to be angry, she elbows you in the side, her pout deepening.

“Quiet,” she mutters, her cheeks now faintly pink.

-

The breaking point comes one chaotic Monday morning.

“Nako, can you—”

Her chair screeches as she bolts upright, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “No! Absolutely not!”

The office falls silent, every head turning in your direction. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and her eyes glisten with unshed frustration. Her normally calm expression is replaced with one of raw exasperation, her lips trembling as she speaks.

“You’ve made me your personal assistant for weeks! Coffee, notes, files—I’m not your errand girl!” she snaps, her voice rising slightly before cracking. She takes a deep breath, her gaze lowering to the floor. “And if you tell anyone about...you know...I’ll—” Her voice falters, and she slumps back into her chair, her frustration giving way to quiet defeat.

The silence is deafening until you finally break it with a quiet, “Okay.”

Her head snaps up, her wide eyes meeting yours. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely, rubbing the back of your neck. “I thought we were just messing around. I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. She stares at you, her eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit.

“I mean it,” you say softly. “No more favours. No more pestering. I’ll keep your secret because I respect you, not because I can use it.”

Her expression softens, and the tension in her shoulders eases. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you say with a nod. Then, a small grin sneaks onto your face. “But I do feel bad, so...how about lunch on me?”

Her lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. “Lunch and dessert.”

“Deal,” you say, standing and grabbing your wallet. “Come on, my favourite coworker.”

She huffs but follows you, her cheeks faintly pink. “You’re still insufferable, you know.”

“Oh wow, never knew that.” you reply, holding the door open for her. “Just your good old insufferable coworker.”