VR isn't like regular PC gaming—you can actually hurt yourself if you skip the tutorials and safety warnings.
Chunan had spent two full days studying every manual after buying his gear. How could Xiaohan just dive in blind? Wasn't that the definition of stupid?
He genuinely worried this idiot might one day stupidity herself to death.
The spatial anchor module in VR gloves didn’t just lock position—it enabled coordinate-based movement. This tech mimicked real-world interactions, like gun recoil, boosting immersion.
Of course, these forces were manually suppressible. For safety, simulated impacts never exceeded half the average human’s max strength. No sci-fi horror scenarios where anchors crushed users from within.
But only if the user understood these functions—and braced for them.
Gun games offered two recoil modes: *Realistic* (gloves physically kicked back) and *Virtual* (just a vibration). Default settings always favored the former.
So when Xiaohan fired with zero prep and terrible form? She went sprawling.
Yet cradled in Chunan’s arms, she wasn’t upset by his scolding. Pure excitement lit her face: "But this game’s insane! You gotta try it, Chunan!"
He arched a brow. "Get off me first."
Xiaohan scrambled up, bouncing back onto the treadmill. "When’s your stream starting?"
"Soon." Chunan glanced at his PC. "Still downloading today’s game."
"Then I’ll keep playing!" She grinned, snapping on her headset. Back to the training ground.
Game recoil was milder than real firearms—prioritizing fun over realism. Once prepared, Xiaohan barely flinched. Thrilled, she whooped: "WAH-HA-HA-HA! Watch me school you on recoil control, Chunan!"
He watched her from his chair.
Honestly… ignoring her in-game POV on the monitor, her wild flailing on the treadmill looked like a madwoman dancing.
But even madness suited her.
*Tch. Good looks really do matter…*
Chunan pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.
Originally meant for his fan group—until he noticed her skirt had flipped up mid-jump, flashing a glimpse of lace-trimmed lingerie.
After two seconds of staring, he saved it to his private album. Took another shot.
This time, nothing exposed. *Perfect.* He posted it to the group.
**[Today’s stream star]**
He rarely chatted there. Fan groups were their stage; his mere presence killed the vibe. Over time, he’d limited himself to stream announcements or manager talks.
Same now. The group had been debating local food spots—until his photo dropped. The chat exploded:
**[Bro Chu’s here!]**
**[Respect, Bro Chu!]**
**[Streaming soon??]**
**[Already showered and waiting in bed for Bro Chu’s fencing lesson! 😏]**
**[WAIT. HOLY SHIT. ISN’T THAT BRO CHU’S WIFE??]**
**[Mrs. Chu is GORGEOUS. So jealous rn.]**
**[Jealous? Pfft. I’m alive without one. .JPG]**
**[Bro Chu said "today’s star"? Is Mrs. Chu guest-streaming??]**
**[YESSS!]**
**[YESSS! +1]**
**[YESSS! +2]**
…
Chunan watched the copy-paste spam flood in.
*Did I phrase it poorly?* Why did no one notice the VR rig she was wearing?
And whose fans *were* these people?
As for "Mrs. Chu"... he couldn’t be bothered correcting them. Not his loss.
Later, a few did spot the VR gear—but the hype over Xiaohan drowned it out.
*Whatever. This works.*
Chunan pocketed his phone, reopening the game guide for his stream.
VR adoption here mirrored his past life: niche but growing. The gear cost about as much as a high-end PC. The platform was new, libraries shallow, and VR gaming hadn’t broken through yet.
Most gamers were still hooked on PC titles. VR had long been commercial—virtual tours, property viewings—only recently pivoting to entertainment.
But his viewers were hardcore gamers. They craved novelty.
Frankly, the PC drought had pushed him toward VR.
Pity… Xiaohan stole all the spotlight on day one.
Even pre-stream, his live chat buzzed:
**[Heard Mrs. Chu’s guest-streaming today??]**
**[If it’s true, I’m NOT sleeping tonight.]**
**[OPEN THE DOOR, BRO CHU! WE DEMAND MRS. CHU!]**
…
Chunan stared expressionless at the barrage.
Then—a soft pressure on his head.
He tilted back slightly. Xiaohan had crept behind him, resting her chest atop his skull like a pillow. "Heh… seems I’m popular?"
Chunan: "…"
His hand shot to the chair’s height lever. *Click-click-click.* He rose sharply.
Xiaohan’s arms slipped off, unsupported.
She pouted, circling to squeeze beside him. "What’s wrong with using your head as a rest? It won’t break."
"If you’re tired," Chunan shot her a sidelong glance, "get a tray. My head isn’t a cup holder."
Xiaohan’s eyes flicked downward. She cleared her throat. "Uh… Chunan. Are you… *not up for it*?"
*Who rejects free head-pillow privileges?*
*Unless he’s… incapable?*
Chunan: "…"
Teeth clenched, he hissed: "Want to test that theory right now?"
