I spent a long time in front of the mirror.

    That childish, cute voice eventually started to feel familiar after about 30 minutes of mumbling to myself.

    At first, it felt like I was listening to someone else’s voice, but as the sound began to resonate more clearly in my head, it started to feel like my own.

    And my face?

    Ever since I woke up, my hands hadn’t stopped prodding and poking at it, like kneading soft mochi.

    The texture was just too good to resist.

    How many times in my life would I get to touch a face like this?

    After spending an hour staring blankly at the mirror, poking at my cheeks and exploring my body, I finally started to think about something else.

    How on earth had I turned into a woman?

    Maybe I’d contracted some strange illness that left my identity unchanged but turned me into a woman.

    Perhaps I’d somehow shifted to a parallel world where everyone recognized me as female.

    Or maybe I’d reincarnated with all my past memories intact.

    There were countless possibilities, but the method to check was surprisingly simple.

    “My wallet... is the same.”

    The card wallet I’d used to pay for the taxi last night was still sitting in front of my keyboard.

    Inside was the credit card I’d opened when I started working, as well as my resident registration card.

    Checking my ID would reveal everything—who I was and how I’d ended up as a woman.

    My heart raced.

    [Magia]

    [001122-40XXXXX]

    My age was the same. My birthday was the same.

    Only my name and the final digits of my ID number had changed.

    I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the adorable face in the ID photo. After a moment, I shook my head and picked up my phone.

    The phone model, color, and the cheap jelly case were all the same.

    Opening the contact list on the phone showed the same numbers.

    “The CEO, the first-gen talents, Mom and Dad...”

    Everything was exactly as it had been.

    It seemed like I’d fallen into a world where I alone had become a woman.

    Then, my gaze shifted to the clothing rack in one corner of my small apartment.

    Instead of the white shirt I usually wore to work, there was a small women’s blouse hanging there. And where my gray trousers had been, there was now a women’s H-line skirt.

    There was no need to search further—I walked back to the mirror and pulled my eyelids apart to get a better look.

    The most striking changes were my bright blue eyes and my much smaller stature.

    “So eyes can be this transparent, huh?”

    Though initially surprised by my eye color, I quickly recalled my great-grandfather, who had fought in the Korean War and ended up staying in the United States.

    He was a soldier with black hair and blue eyes, and a few of my distant relatives had inherited his eye color, just like me.

    But despite the striking blue eyes, I didn’t feel entirely foreign-looking.

    It was probably because of my subdued facial features and my black hair.

    “But... isn’t this height way too short?”

    I felt at least a handspan shorter than before.

    There’s a first-gen elf VTuber named Midori Komari, and her official height is 148 cm.

    I felt even shorter than her.

    As I poked my thin arms that looked like they’d snap with a touch, I wondered if I’d even be able to carry anything.

    Though my job mostly involved sitting in the office chair until the end of the workday, there were still occasional tasks that required physical effort.

    To test it, I tried picking up an unopened box of instant rice sitting in one corner of the room.

    Lift.

    “...This should be fine, right?”

    Despite appearances, my muscles seemed surprisingly capable.

    Perhaps that’s why the CEO made the bold move of hiring me as her manager.

    She basically said, “Stop trolling, I’ll pay you, and you can handle trolls like yourself instead.” And she didn’t even propose this online—she demanded an in-person meeting, effectively calling for a showdown.

    That’s how we, once bitter enemies, ended up working at the same company. Though we’ve always kept a subtle distance, the relationship worked.

    But now, she was treating me like a close friend, and it was unsettling.

    The only difference was that I had become a cute girl.

    “... Could that be the reason?”

    If she had been keeping an eye on me out of caution because of my troll origins, that would make sense.

    But if my newfound cuteness had somehow melted away her wariness?

    Back when her subscriber count was only 30,000, I’d fill her lobbies. After she hit 100,000, I couldn’t do that anymore.

    The reason I became a troll was twofold:

    First, I liked that she paid attention to me.

    Second, I genuinely enjoyed helping her win.

    Even after Momo became a major streamer, I didn’t stop. Using alt accounts and borrowed IDs, I continued to snipe her games. She might not have realized it, but I never actually quit.

    It just kept getting harder. I had to adapt my tactics to avoid detection, making it increasingly difficult to break into her games.

    But if we were close enough to have dinner together regularly, why did I even need to snipe?

    I could just confidently ask her to play games with me.

    *****

    Momo Gallery

    [By the way, does anyone know what happened to Flare Gun lately?]

    They’re still playing games, but they’ve weirdly stopped sniping Momo.

    I honestly miss the days when that guy would snipe her all week long. It was hilarious.

    [Comments]

    — MongMong001: Did they switch streamers?

    ? MongMong050: No way. Flare Gun’s a diehard Momo stan.

    — MongMong091: Remember that rumor about them becoming her manager?

    ? MongMong005: Wait, that was real?

    ? MongMong005: I thought it was just another random troll post.

    ? MongMong122: Makes no sense. If they were the manager, we’d have seen them in one of Momo’s group streams by now.

    ? MongMong801: What if they participated but didn’t introduce themselves?

    ? MongMong801: Would you openly admit to being a former troll?

    ? MongMong801: I wouldn’t.

    ? MongMong122: Isn’t attention what trolls live for, though?

    ? MongMong369: You can’t keep sniping forever, lol.

    That evening.

    While waiting for Momo in the lobby of our office building, I scrolled through the gallery and found a thread speculating about my absence.

    I left a single comment: “Graduating from trolling soon.”

    After all, if Momo and I were friends who could play together anytime, there’d be no need for sniping.

    Excited by the idea, I ran up to her the moment she stepped off the elevator.

    “CEO, want to play a round of Battle Call after tonight’s stream?”

    She responded with a weary expression, the face of someone crushed by corporate life.

    “Sorry, my schedule’s packed for the next two months.”

    Wait, aren’t we supposed to be friends?

    Or is work more important than friendship?

    The disappointment hit me like a truck.

    Before I could stop myself, my troll instincts flared up.

    “CEO, I quit!”