The V-tuber Who Became Obsessed With Me

I stopped by the hospital before work.

Dropped off a few things she said she needed, sat with her for about twenty minutes while she insisted she felt better than she looked, and I nodded like I believed her because that was easier than arguing. By the time I got to the studio, it was a little past nine.

I hadn’t even settled into my workflow properly when my phone rang.

Unknown number.

"Ethan Cruxs here."

"Ethan. It’s Zayn."

Zayn , where have I heard that name before ? ...then it hit me.

I straightened immediately. "Mr Zedd? Holy sh!t"

"The same. Stop fan-boying and listen."

"Of course. Sorry. Go ahead."

"I spoke with my team this morning. I want my signature integrated into the promotional art. Nothing loud. Clean placement, aligned with the composition."

I was already jotting notes. "We can anchor it below the main visual and keep the hierarchy intact. It won’t compete with the focal point."

"Good. Also, we’re expanding scope. I want full event coverage—merchandise, print materials, everything tied to Abu Dahar. If a fan walks away with something, it should carry the design."

That wasn’t small.

But it wasn’t impossible either.

"We’ll loop in our merchandise designer and build out a full package. It’s tight, but it’s doable."

"I’m depending on you, Ethan."

"You won’t be disappointed, sir."

The line went dead.

For a second, I just stared at my notes.

Direct call. Expanded scope. Full package.

This wasn’t just another project anymore.

I got up and headed straight to Brian’s office, knocked twice, and stepped in.

"Mr Zedd just called me directly," I said.

Brian leaned back slightly, studying me. "Directly."

"He wants to scale everything. Full event package, merchandise, print, plus signature integration into the main design."

A pause.

Then a slow nod.

"I’ll get the merch designer briefed today. Send me everything you’ve got."

"Already documented," I said.

He gave a short, almost amused exhale. "That promotion is yours, Ethan. I hope you realize that."

I did.

Or at least... I should have.

But all I could think about was how much more work just landed on my plate—and how I didn’t really have the luxury to mess it up.

By evening, the Abu Dahar files were in a stable place.

Not finished. Not clean. But structured enough to move fast the next day.

I packed up later than usual and headed to the hospital. It had become routine now. Not something I planned anymore—just something my body did automatically.

I was halfway down the corridor when I heard voices.

My mother’s laugh first.

Then another voice under it.

I pushed the door open.

Raina was sitting beside the bed, holding a paper cup, posture relaxed like she’d been there long enough to settle in.

"Raina."

"Hi Ethan," she said.

My mother looked at me, already smiling. "You’re here. How was work?"

"Fine." I glanced between them. "What’s going on?"

"What do you mean?" my mum said. "A friend of yours came to visit. Is that a problem?"

"No, just—unexpected."

Raina rotated the cup slightly between her fingers. "I was at billing earlier for documentation related to my contract. I thought I’d stop by."

That didn’t fully explain how she knew the room.

But I let it go.

"Thank you," I said.

"No need," she replied lightly. "Your mum is good company."

I looked at my mum.

She looked right back at me, completely innocent in a way that wasn’t convincing at all.

"What did you tell her?"

"Oh, nothing serious," she said. "Just stories from when you were little. You were such a cute child."

"Mum."

"What?"

Raina laughed—short, real, unfiltered—and my mum lit up like she’d been waiting for that exact reaction.

I pulled up a chair and sat.

For a while, it felt... normal.

Too normal.

Like something I should question but didn’t.

Raina stayed a bit longer, then stood to leave.

She said goodbye to my mum properly—not rushed, not casual—the kind of goodbye that already assumed there’d be a next time. My mum held her hand for a second before letting go.

I walked her out into the corridor.

"You didn’t have to come," I said.

"I know."

She said it simply, like it didn’t need anything added.

Then she left.

I stood there a moment before going back in.

My mum was watching the door.

"She’s a good one," she said.

"She’s a client."

She gave me that look.

The same one she used when I was younger and trying to convince her everything was as I say it is

"Of course she is."

She lay back and closed her eyes.

I stayed until she fell asleep, then left.

And somewhere between the elevator and my car, it hit me again—

Raina had walked straight to the right room.

No hesitation.

No asking.

Nothing.

I frowned slightly.

Maybe she got it from billing.

Maybe.

That explanation felt thin.

But I took it anyway.

We met at Parallex the next morning for the final presentation.

Everything was laid out across the table—clean, structured, complete.

Logo system. Color palette. Typography hierarchy. Streaming overlays. Lower thirds. alert animations. scene transitions. social asset packs. merchandise templates.

And Kuro’s avatar redesign documentation—fully mapped expressions, motion data, micro-expression calibration across emotional ranges.

Months of work.

Raina went through everything carefully.

Not skimming.

Not pretending.

Actually looking.

I walked her through each section.

"The logo mark," I said, turning the brand book toward her. "We stripped back the gradients, rebuilt it on a geometric base, and integrated the heart into the negative space so it scales properly across formats."

She studied it. "The weight is better."

"It holds at smaller sizes now."

She nodded once.

We moved to color.

"Primary pink is slightly warmer. Secondary palette—ivory and muted gold. Everything’s standardized across HEX, CMYK, and Pantone for production consistency."

Her finger paused over the gold swatch.

"I wasn’t sure about this before."

"And now?"

A brief pause.

"It works."

Good.

We moved through overlays. I ran live previews.

Alerts. Transitions. UI motion.

She watched everything twice.

"The transition timing," she said.

"Point four seconds. Matched to your average scene cut pacing."

She looked at me.

"You timed my streams."

"It was part of the brief."

She didn’t respond to that. Just looked back at the screen.

We reached Kuro’s section last.

She slowed down there.

More than before.

"The tired expression," she said.

"Kuro had to recalibrate that three times. The eye drop speed was off initially."

She kept looking at it.

"It looks real."

"That was the goal."

She closed the file.

Silence sat between us for a moment.

Not awkward.

Just... final.

"This is exactly what I wanted," she said.

"I’m glad."

She looked at me.

"You did well, Ethan."

"We did well."

Something flickered in her expression—quick, controlled, gone.

She signed the document.

Clean. Unhurried.

Raina Takahashi.

I signed after her and closed the folder.

"It’s been a good project," I said.

"It has."

We walked to the entrance.

At the door, she paused.

"Ethan."

"Yeah."

"Your mother. How is she?"

"Better. Every day."

She nodded once. "Good." "Have a good day Ethan "

"You too " I said .

Then she left.

I stood there a second longer than I needed to.

Four months.

That was it.

Four months, and somehow everything in my life had shifted around one person.

Now the project was done.

Which meant—

No reason to see her again.

At least professionally.

I went back to my desk and sat down.

My phone lit up.

Raina.

"Dinner. Friday. To celebrate. You pick the place."

I stared at the message for a few seconds.

So much for "no reason."

I exhaled quietly, then typed back.

"I know a place."