Pietà

　The internet reeks of rot.

　It’s packed to bursting with people, jammed so tight that everywhere is in a panic. At the slightest thing, everyone screeches like bugs while the spectators toss on fuel for fun. All the “adults” are desperate to drag down someone who slipped up—never mind their own faults.

　And yet, we love the internet. Compared to the offline world that demands we belong to “society,” a little lawless chaos is merciful.

　I decided to become an Internet Angel to save the lost souls wandering this cramped-yet-infinite electronic plane. If I do that, lots of people will look at me—people who’d ignore me in real life will want me… will want Ame-chan. I’ll bring a moment of calm to the minds of those who recognize me. Angels guide the lost.

　Tonight again, I descend upon the net as an Internet Angel. I gather my long black hair, slip on a golden wig.

　My favorite is the pink-and-sky-blue twin-tails; when I move on stream, the two colors ripple in spirals—so pretty. Makeup perfect. A little over the top is just right; that much makes me feel I can be a dreamlike, unreal being. Then I put on a sailor uniform that shimmers like aurora and sit before the camera wearing a smile the real me would never make.

　A ray of light, illuminating chaotic internet.

　Bringing happiness to the nerds floating in this electric sea.

　A promise of future peace.—I'm a little manic and moody, but it's all right.

　The Internet Angel descended!!!

　"Hey cuties! It’s me, KAngel, your beloved internet angel!"

　When I greet them, the comments accelerate in a chorus of [Hey KAngel]. My orderly, upright, and faithful fans. Thanks to them, I can be a devout angel again today. Even if there’s no god on the internet.

　“Today I’ve got… a work announcement! An analog record with my song on it just released! Isn’t that wild? In this day and age, a record—an actual record! It’s huge, look!!!”

　[Preordered!] [Amazing!] [I want one too!] …The comments are refreshingly honest. I love these unassuming posts—the purity of people pushing out words that vanish in an instant. Whether it’s good will or malice, it feels like a direct dump from the brain—there’s a kind of innocence either way, and it dazzles me. I want to respond to the flow as much as I can.

　“I’ve never played a record before either, so I bought a turntable for this! Now we can fool around until morning while listening to KAngel’s song!”

　[Maybe I’ll buy a player too] [What’s a record?] [One-man live when?] …Tonight again, the chat rushes like a waterfall. As long as I can float along this current, I imagine I exist as a little bit of peace for the viewers, and that makes me happy. There’s plenty of pain and struggle; even fun streams pile up fatigue and stress. And yet I can’t imagine quitting, because connecting with an unspecified mass like this is probably how I feel my worth.

　Night deepens with tens of thousands of "otaku".

・

　I end the stream, shut down the PC, slip off the wig, change into my clothes. The mirror on my desk reflects, of course, not an angel but the usual me—a lump of flesh marinated in desire, unknown to any of those tens of thousands.

　Once, someone slammed me with “streamers are all a fake industry.” Imaginationless idiots always say that. If you truly think it’s that easy to play in front of a screen and get paid, then try it yourself. Can’t you conceive how narrow the gate is to the small layer who can actually make a living? Because you can’t understand what it takes to perform a deliberately bright, humorous fool so the viewers won’t see your suffering, you chase approval by anonymously beating others.

　…Anyway, I don’t care about the billionth round of slander. It’s just the word “fake industry” that sticks. Supposedly the opposite of “real industry”—not solid, leaves nothing behind. True enough: streams leave only videos. Okay, merch exists. But it’s far from stable work.

　So, is KAngel a fiction? A slightly-too-strong mass hallucination birthed by the internet’s lost lambs. Of course she’s built on my body and mind, but the coated surface—if you call it fiction, I can’t deny it.

　Sorry for being fictional, a lie of a being. …But in reality, no one looks at me. What else can I do?

・

　Finding material for daily streams is critical. For streaming, volume matters most; by night’s live time, I spend the day zigzagging through topics. When I have nothing, I wander outside.

　Holing up to wander the net is fine, but sometimes the PC’s exhaust heat feels like it seeps into my body and drags my mood down. On those days, it’s okay to descend into the lower world.

　Today I picked Shibuya. I heard the ad from a recent gig is displayed by the station. I push through the crowd and stand at the plaza. On one of the walls supporting Shibuya Station, there’s KAngel, beaming with a juice bottle in hand.

　A group of girls spot KAngel and squeal “Kawaiii!” One of them even takes a selfie with a bottle of cola natto—the flavor I promoted—held up. People really love the Internet Angel that much. So much that the lump of flesh standing right beside them—the one not dressed as KAngel—doesn’t even enter their field of view.

　That cola… was not good. It was a gig, so I drank it, but if it weren’t work, I wouldn’t let a drop pass my lips unless I were being tortured. In the ad, KAngel holds it with a smile; influenced by that, those girls buy it, happy as can be. I’ve never once made that face.

　The girls finish their selfies and drift away from the billboard. If they knew KAngel—their beloved—was right beside them, how would they react? Maybe angels really do watch over people right at their side like this, I think.

　I walk to the Scramble Crossing.

　For streamers, it’s a jinxed place. Too many stunts done here to “stand out” have blown up; now there’s a miasma that makes it feel like shooting here brings bad luck. Not that it matters to me—I almost never shoot outdoors.

　Still, netizens are heartless. They devour content every day, chewing through it like locusts—then the moment a creator slips, they flip and tear them apart like demons. If KAngel posted a bit where I lay down in the middle of the crossing to sleep, I’d be swarmed with “Think about the pedestrians!” Sure, the one who causes a firestorm is at fault too. But consider, even a little, the feeling of the one forced to walk that tightrope every time.

　The internet is hard.

　In a blink it goes [This is hilarious!] [A new talent!] [No doubt a genius!], hoisting you high—and when the winds shift, the very same mouths and hands drag you down. People who just repeat that kind of instant consumption—do they have any faith at all?

　Someday I, too, might be used up and tossed aside like a toy they got bored of.

　That would make the Internet Angel very sad.

・

　“Hey Cuties! It's me. Scramble Angel, KAngel! I went incognito to Shibuya today! Guess what, the station plaza is running a poster for that cola-natto I drank the other day. Cute, right?”

　[So cute] [I saw it] [I took a pic with it!] …Fans who answer when the angel calls. The wave of positive comments carries a kind of holiness—dangerously close to religious.

　“Shibuya had so many people that KAngel got tuckered out… Angels can’t tolerate the lower world’s air for long. I’m in low-energy mode today, so please pamper me~?”

　[Good work!] [Proud of you] [I’m always here to listen] …Now colored comments start appearing.

　Superchats—money attached, more visible. You pay while posting and it becomes easier for me to notice you; or maybe it just feels good like giving an offering. It’s self-satisfaction all the way down, but if it makes everyone happy, that’s fine. I’m providing cuteness and content worthy of it, so I can accept it with my head high.

　By spending the superchats on what I love and turning them to blood and flesh, it’s like a part of your wallet becomes a part of KAngel. That sense of union probably feels good. I used to feel a twinge of guilt about supers, but lately I’ve begun to sense something sacred there. Planting devotion in others and easing their hearts—yes, it’s religion in a way, but it’s also one of the few good deeds I can offer.

　To do that, I’ll be the cutest angel of all in front of the camera.

　Stream over, I revert to Ame-chan—the ordinary me. After ego-searching to check the reception, I try to sleep. But maybe because of the stress of manifesting as an angel, I can’t drop off easily. As I crawl into bed and try to close down, the opinions of the internet’s teeming masses feel like they invade my brain.

　Sleep won’t come. The more followers I gain, the worse it gets. Every time, the number of meds from the hospital goes up.

　I can’t sleep tonight either. I keep flashing back to how the fans taking selfies in front of KAngel couldn’t recognize me at all. Time for meds. I take a little more psychoactive and sleeping pills than usual. A few tablets slide down with water, pass my throat, dissolve in my stomach.

　The components ride the blood and tickle my brain. They blur my awareness bit by bit, so I don’t have to think. A coolness spreads at the back of my head. I don’t hate it.

　There’s time before full drowsiness. I stagger to the bathroom, then glance at the mirror—and jump.

　For a heartbeat, my face looked like KAngel's.

　Even though I’d removed the wig and makeup, the girl in the mirror smiled at me, twin-tails of pink and blue swaying. I drop my gaze, panicking; the hair clogging the drain looks golden and I squeak. Slowly… slowly, I breathe deep and look up again. The mirror shows a downer girl, frightened. The hair in the drain is black. Good. Right now I’m Ame-chan.

　Back in bed, I think about what just happened. I’m merging—my ego and KAngel. Shuttling between lump-of-flesh and angel, the two brains are melting together. Both are me, and neither is me.

　If you want to put it bluntly, maybe the “Ame” personality is unnecessary. The one who entertains and guides nerds in public is KAngel, I’m merely a component that supports her activity. No one is looking at me.

　The counter rolls into the thousands and tens of thousands, but not one of them knows “Ame.” Unlike KAngel, I’m not needed. If I died right now, no one would mourn. They would mourn only that KAngel vanished from the net. And after a few months, they’d be following someone else anyway.

　My breathing tightens. My heartbeat is loud. The more I think, the more the thoughts loop, and the voice keeps echoing: you aren’t needed. I don’t want this. I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want this—

　I somehow get a hand to the bedside, pop a sleeping pill from the blister, swallow it fast. Ahh, my head is going soft. This feeling is surely a bad dream coming. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a strange knack for sensing nightmares right before I fall asleep. Tonight I’ll suffer in dreams again. Help me…

・

　A pure white space. The usual me. I find myself sitting in a chair. In the chair opposite sits KAngel, beaming the brightest smile as always.

　"Hey Cuties! It's me."

　The angel greets me. Pink and blue twin-tails glitter as they sway. Even I think the colors are beautiful.

　“You don’t have to greet me. There’s no viewers here. It’s just me looking at you.”

　“Got it. Sorry, Ame-chan.”

　Even so, her expression doesn’t change. An angel’s smile is always pasted on.

　“You don’t have to apologize. I know you work hard…”

　“That goes for you too, doesn’t it?”

　“I don’t know. I’m just a rotten, ordinary girl… not like you—walk me through Shibuya and no one would bat an eye.”

　“Ame-chan, you’re KAngel too.”

　“I’m not KAngel.”

　“Ame-chan, you’re KAngel too.”

　“I’m not. If anything, I’m a piece of her.”

　“No. We’re the same.”

　“Unlike me, you’re not stained. The whole world, the whole net loves you.”

　“That’s true for you too. Because you’re me.”

　“That’s exactly why we’re different.”

　“Because KAngel is a beautiful being loved by many?”

　“Yes.”

　“I love you, Ame-chan.”

　“I told you—I’m stained.”

　“Even if you’re stained, even sinners—guiding them is a guardian angel’s role.”

　“You don’t need to protect me.”

　“No, I do. Because when you’re hurt, I’m hurt.”

　“Let it be just me who’s hurt. I’ll make sure your brand isn’t affected.”

　“That’s impossible. You and I are two-in-one. Lifelong partners you can’t cut apart.”

　“Then I’ll give you my ego. Today I panicked because I couldn’t tell which of us was the main self—me or KAngel. If it’s going to be like that, I’ll just hand over my whole mind to you.”

　“No. If you did, I think I’d disappear too. We’d both vanish.”

　At some point, she had placed her hand over mine.

　“If we both disappeared, what would happen?”

　“Maybe when you woke up you’d be in a white hospital room. And then it would be hard to meet everyone on stream.”

　“KAngel, what should I do?”

　“Isn’t it the other way around? Ame-chan—what should I do?”

　“I don’t know.”

　“Ame-chan, do you love me?”

　“Sometimes you get on my nerves, but yeah—I love you.”

　“More than anything?”

　“No, there are plenty of things I’d prioritize over you.”

　“Do you like being near me?”

　“Not particularly. To me, you’re too beautiful—it’s eerie.”

　“Do you like looking at me?”

　“I do. I think it’s a well-formed face. I’m vain because it’s the same face, but… I genuinely find it cute.”

　“Do you think I’m dumb?”

　“No. You’re playing a convenient fool for the viewers. The real fool is me, since I can’t tune myself like that.”

　“Do you think I’m charming?”

　“Yes. Charming enough to draw tens of thousands. Every ribbon feels precious—like your look is complete.”

　“Really?”

　“Really. Because I’m you and you’re me—I won’t lie.”

　“Do you love me?”

　“I love you.”

　“Really love me? Love me? Love me lots?”

　“Yeah—really, love, love, love you.”

　“…Then it’s okay.”

　She lets go of my hand, rolls up her sleeve, and shows me her arm.

　It’s not pure white angel skin; it’s covered in scars, red lines running everywhere.

　“I told you, didn’t I? You and I are the same. I’m hurt, too. I’m stained, too.”

　Even now, she doesn’t let her smile falter.

　“I can save the internet—but only you can save me, Ame-chan.”

　She flashes her best smile of the night, then ascends straight up and disappears.

・

　Tonight again, I will become an Internet Angel.

　I don the blonde wig, the aurora-uniform, the twin-tails of pink and sky blue.

　“Hey cuties! It’s me, KAngel, your beloved internet angel!”

　[hey kangel] [hey kangel] [hey kangel] …The otaku cheerfully reply. A smile spills from the angel on camera.

　Among the comments, a red-framed superchat appears: [I dreamed about you last night!] Red is the biggest tier. They must have been so happy to meet me in a dream. Comments like that—I want to pick up.

　“In a dream with me!? Ahaha! Angels sometimes appear in dreams with important messages. Most of the time they’re mysterious—that’s because we’re faithfully carrying out God’s will. So remember what Dream KAngel told you, okay? That’s the oracle God gave you.”

　[Lucky—I want to meet you in a dream too] [Is there really a God?] [Angels sure know a lot!] …The chat flows on.

　“Come to think of it, I’ve been doing just chatting lately. Tonight I’ll do an Angel Lecture! Something proper for an angel—let’s study God. Who do you think is the world champ of taking other people’s attacks?”

　Names of wrestlers fly past. I don’t know a thing about pro wrestling, so I glide past and get to the point.

　“It’s Jesus Christ. He took on the emotions of so many people and returned it all with love—the strongest pro wrestler of all. …That’s what the manga said!”

　With every word Super KAngel says, the net lights up. Taking both the smothering love of fans and the slander of antis, the Internet Angel spreads her wings in the window again tonight.

　Maybe because I talked religion on stream last night, I wanted to see a church. A few stops away, there’s a fairly big one open for visits. It might be good material, so I step inside.

　Stained glass carved with sacred images—so solemn. Especially the skylight cut into a cross; the beam falls to the floor and forms a crucifix of light—beautiful. At the end of that light stands a great, great cross. The most important symbol of all: Jesus Christ crucified.

　On that cross, I envision KAngel. Her bluish skin glows with red wounds; that usual smile is gone, her eyes peacefully shut.

　I slowly lift the phantom KAngel down and cradle her. I whisper to her:

　“I love you. Truly—love you, love you, love you.”

　The angel opens her blue eyes for just an instant, sees my face and relaxes, then closes them again and sleeps in peace.