If Memcho knew one thing, it's that achieving your dreams is pretty hard when you're poor. Between the free lunch meals, afterschool day care, and a couple hundred square meters of home to live in, she respected everything her sole mother did for her and her siblings. No matter how hard it was to live in a single parent household, she always had one shining source of happiness: idols. And, like all mystified kids growing up in front of a TV, Memcho wanted to be just like Ai, her favorite idol.

Dreams, however, do not grow and flourish without action. Without actually taking the steps to achieve it. They don't care that the steps might be hassled by personal limitations like poverty. You do something to get closer - if you don't, you simply don't get there.

When there are mouths to feed, basic obligations take priority over nebulous fantasies. She tried to be an idol, but her mom fell ill. Her mom wanted her dreams to come true, but that wasn't going to pay the hospital bills. She has to feed her family. She has to work multiple part-time jobs for those monthly ends to meet. It doesn't matter how much stress and anxiety is piled on her. Work to survive - that's her reality, and being an idol is a fantasy.

But… dreams don't really die. They hide in the back of your head. You rethink your present. Is this really what you want to do with your life? What about your dream? Your aspirations, the passions that give you joy? Are the reasons you make for not paving a road toward it legitimate, or just excuses made out of convenience? Because it's the "most logical" route to abandon them, so you bury them in your psyche and simply wallow in regret whenever they unbury themselves while you're contemplating in bed late at night?

Memcho was no different. There's days where she lay in bed, a lingering part of her still wanting to be like Ai. Those questions are hauntingly sincere, all lost to time. At twenty-three - god, was she that old already? - the prime age of an idol had passed. She knew of some K-pop groups with members near her age, but the application process for J-pop ones would never accept her.

One day, though, she thought:

… what if she tried streaming on YouTube?

Content creation. Whereas social media elevated anyone with an account into a D-list celebrity, actually doing something and presenting it online could actually give her the popularity of an idol. At least, a similar status. Subscribers and followers are fans. Views and likes would create an audience. Channel merchandise and sponsors resembled the usual revenue generators in the entertainment industry. Collaborations with other YouTubers or content creators? Idol crossovers. TikTok's clout, but no monetary gain. Fancams, fanfiction, PO unboxings, fanmail, animatics, meet-and-greets - the whole ensemble of the Internet human centipede was at her disposal if she found her niche and hit the algorithm. If she utilized her potential, and had avenues to refurbish said ideas.

Which she did, amassing hundreds of thousands of subscribers and exponentially view counts for each video or clip submitted for anyone with an online connection to see on their feed.

All eyes on her.

Whether or not she liked it, some viewers tuned in because of her fake age. Because selling the idea of overwhelming popularity and prosperity at eighteen were faintly dreams of their own too.

All eyes on her.

Hell, some weirdos had yellow fever for Japanese girls and made that clear with random sexual comments in the scrolling chat, their digital gaze shrouded by the anonymity of the Internet and disposable usernames.

All eyes on her.

But it was a kind lie on both sides to act young. For a moment, through all the superchats, banter, and comedy, Memcho felt young again. Placated. Content with her reality.

Yet, those dreams of waltzing idols, celebrated and chanted by loving crowds, praised for their glimmering flare and irreplaceable talent, and the potential to stardom never stopped crossing her mind. Like a mental sickness, that fire never went out. It simply withered down to a smoke that rekindled to a lush warmth whenever she passed by billboards of idols. Saw YouTube videos of idols from Japan or other countries performing. Thought of how her life was financially secure now, and that her mother and brothers were doing well. Looked back to her childhood, of Ai, and of her tragic death.

No. She can't. There's work to be done as a YouTuber, not an overaged luckless idol. Memcho just got invited to work on a new series called LoveNow, so that's an opportunity to network and expand her collaborations. That's what you're supposed to do as a working adult. Popularity, influence, relevancy; she already has these, so why go further and risk ruining her YouTube career?

"… As if I could ever become an idol," she murmurs, putting on her horns and readying a half-smile.

A/N: anyone else see themselves in memcho or am i just self inserting too hard