VOLUME III: 51 – Tasty Pot

Sasha had insisted. Loudly. Repeatedly. With the unrelenting energy of a puppy who'd found a tennis ball.

“TEAM BONDDIIINNNGGGG!!” He had yelled, halfway out the door of HQ, nearly clotheslining Basil with his bag. 

And that’s how we ended up packed around a large circular hotpot table at Tasty Pot, one of those chaotic restaurants in the Richmond District where the broth is bubbling, the walls are loud, and someone is always screaming in joy or pain or both.

The induction burner was bubbling gently in front of us, divided between spicy hellfire and comforting pork bone broth, and the table was absolutely buried in plates of raw meat, noodles, crab, mushrooms, other vegetables, fish balls, tofu, pork buns on the side and Sasha's aggressive number of quail eggs. 

Jules was already trying to lower an entire crab claw into the pot with bare hands. Basil was quietly watching what in the heavens Jules was doing. Amy was scanning the laminated menu like it had a security flaw she could exploit. Noah just looked like he had emotionally checked out two minutes into Sasha’s original “team bonding” speech and was now trapped in meat-scented purgatory.

“This one’s on me, by the way!” Sasha grinned, already dropping a fourth quail egg into the pot with dangerous confidence. “I always wanted to try hotpot, looked bangin on the vids, yeah? First gen dinner, let's goooo. Now start trauma dumping, lads. I paid for this, I deserve content.”

“I don't think that's how bonding works,” Amy muttered, arranging the meat as she cooks it into the pot.

“It does help to get to know each other,” Jules said, snapping her chopsticks in half upside-down.

“Are you eating the wrapper?” Basil asked quietly. 

Jules blinked at the plastic stuck to her pork buns she's eating. 

“...Maybe.” 

I was seated between Noah and Amy, which felt like being wedged between a mom and a nosy sibling. Basil was next to Sasha, and Jules was directly across from me, which meant I was making direct eye contact every time she spaced out— which was often. 

“By the way, Amy,” Noah began casually, scooping another heap of noodles into his bowl, “I swear I’ve heard your voice before. You mentioned being in a previous company, right?”

Amy froze mid-bite, nearly choking on a quail egg. She grabbed her drink way too fast, pretending to sip but mostly buying time.

“Uh… hahaha. Yeah. I was,” she muttered, eyes darting briefly to the soup like it might save her.

“Ohh, so you're already a pro then,” Sasha chimed in with a grin, casually poking at a fish ball with his chopsticks.

“You're one to talk,” Amy shot back, her tone playful but just sharp enough to deflect.

Sasha raised his hands in mock surrender, but Noah wasn’t done.

“So… which company was it?” he asked again, this time more directly.

The table went just a little quieter. Even the broth sounded nosy.

Amy cleared her throat. “Hey, we all did NDAs. I'm legally not allowed to say—”

“I know that,” Noah cut in smoothly. “Just give us a hint. C'mon, we're all trauma dumping here, right?”

Amy hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. It was a big company. I was active in 2020-2024. One of the previous gens helped me get settled here, and Rurira’s been super supportive about me being with Parfait. So... yeah. That’s the story.”

“I knew it.” Noah smirked, like he'd just won a conspiracy theory bingo. 

“The revelation,” Basil stated, popping a mushroom into their mouth like it was a communion wafer.

“You've been in this industry for four years?” Sasha blinked. “You’ve got to give us some survival tips or summat. Proper ones, not just ‘drink water’ and ‘touch grass’.”

Meanwhile, Jules hadn’t been listening to any of it. She was fully focused on trying to pick up a crab leg with chopsticks, brow furrowed like she was defusing a bomb.

“How about you, then?” Amy asked, pointing Noah with her chopsticks. “Tell us your tragic anime backstory. What made you become a VTuber?”

Noah didn’t miss a beat. “I was an indie, if you must know. Then I met Aoi, and I’ve been friends with her since.”

That’s when all eyes suddenly turned to me.

Oh god. Social spotlight. Immediate panic. My soul left the chat.

“Yeah, uh…” I forced out a smile. “We were both indie VTubers.”

Everyone nodded like that explained everything, and mercifully, no one pushed. For now.

Noah took another bite of noodles before continuing, casually. “I already told you most of it back at HQ, anyway. I was seriously burnt out. Needed a break from... everything. But playing games, cooking—it calms me down. So I started doing that on stream. Therapeutic, I guess.”

That earned a few hums of agreement around the table. Basil nodded like a therapist. Sasha was already fishing out another fish ball. Jules was still making war with her crab.

But Amy wasn’t done.

“Okay, but why hide behind a character then?” she asked, tilting her head.

Noah barely looked up. “Privacy.”

Just that. One word. Calm, matter-of-fact, like it had been rehearsed or lived through.

Everyone seemed to accept it instantly. No one pressed further.

Then Basil turned to me, as if I hadn’t been doing an excellent job of becoming one with the wallpaper.

“What about you, Aoi?” they grinned, leaning their chin into their hand. “What’s your tragic anime backstory?”

Oh no.

The broth kept bubbling, but I swear it was just echoing my pulse.

“Me?” I blinked. “Uhh. I mean. I was also an indie. You knew that, right?”

“Mmhm,” Basil said. “But I want the emotional trauma cut. What made you stay in it?”

I stared into the soup like it would unlock a personality for me. “A mild-to-moderate quarter life crisis. Y’know. The classics.”

That got a few laughs. I twirled a mushroom in my ladle and kept my tone light.

“I think I just… wanted to do something new for myself. Streaming gave me something to cope with.” I shrugged. “Also I like yelling at video games. And people seem to enjoy watching me suffer. It works out.”

Basil raised a brow. “And?”

“And what?”

“Relationships?”

I blinked. “What about them?”

They grinned, teeth sharp. “Come on. That’s always part of the lore.”

I hesitated. The table felt just a little too quiet. Even Jules had stopped chewing.

“Well,” I said slowly. “I used to be married.”

There was a synchronized blink around the table.

“Oh shit,” Sasha whispered, mouth full of egg. “Lore drop.”

“Divorced now, obviously,” I added quickly. “It wasn’t... dramatic. Just life being life. Sometimes love isn’t enough, y’know?”

I meant to laugh it off. It came out softer than expected.

“Anyway,” I stabbed a fishcake. “Hotpot’s cheaper than therapy.”

There was a pause.

Then Basil, with perfect timing: “That should go on a shirt.”

Everyone laughed again—somehow louder this time, like someone had let the steam out of the awkward.

“It's okay love, some people just don't deserve to be in our life. This is why I don't commit to anyone.” Basil stated. 

"Better off single. No drama, no grief. And that’s straight from the gospel, mate," Sasha muttered, waving a chopstick like it was a holy relic. “You think romance is cute ‘til you’re three months in and crying over someone who can’t even pick a restaurant.”

I raised a brow. “Who hurt you?”

“No one!” Sasha said, far too quickly.

Basil snorted mid-slurp. “Bit dramatic, are you?”

“No, no, he’s right,” Amy chimed in gently, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “I once dated a guy who told me I was ‘too emotionally consistent.’”

“See?!” Sasha pointed accusingly with his spoon. “That’s what I’m talking about. They say they want stability, but the second you give it to them, they crave chaos. I’m not a flavour of gelato, I’m a person!”

I blinked. “I—okay.”

Noah quietly reached for more tofu, pretending not to exist.

Amy touched my arm briefly. Didn’t say anything. Just a small, grounding squeeze. It was enough.

“Alright Basil,” she said, moving things along. “Your turn. Hit us with your lore.”

Basil sipped their drink like they were preparing to win a courtroom trial.

“I used to do math.”

That was it. No elaboration. No expression.

“Intentionally?” Amy said, flabbergasted. 

Sasha laughed. “Another victim right here.”

“Tragically, yes.” they uttered, “I used to be a data scientist in a high-growth startup.”

“But now you make art?” Noah tilted his head.

They nodded. “Made enough spreadsheets to realize capitalism wasn’t it. Ran off into the woods with a tablet and unresolved issues. Been freelancing since.”

“Valid,” Sasha said.

“I still do math recreationally.” they added.

Everyone stared at them.

“What?” they shrugged. “It’s fun.”

“You need help,” Sasha muttered.

“And you need a muzzle,” Basil shot back.

“Noted,” he grinned. “Okay MY TURN.”

He didn’t wait for permission. Of course he didn’t.

“I wanted free merch,” Sasha declared proudly. “That’s it. That’s the dream. I became a VTuber so someone would send me a mug with my own face on it.”

“That’s so real,” I said, solemnly, like he'd just spoken gospel. 

Noah nearly spat out his drink from laughing. “So you just went with it? Said screw it and moved halfway across the planet for a mug?”

“Yes,” Sasha said cheerily, like moving continents for a ceramic mug was the most sensible thing in the world. He speared a sad little wedge of cabbage like he was on a mission. “Still no mugs. But I’m nearly there…”

Amy raised a brow. “You were a streamer. You have your own merch.”

Sasha gasped, completely scandalized. “Good gracious. You’re right.”

He paused dramatically, eyes widening. “Wait. I’ve had the mug this whole time…”

Amy rolled her eyes and snorted. “You're actually hopeless.”

“Hopelessly branded,” Sasha corrected, grinning like an idiot. “That’s marketing, innit?”

Basil snorted behind their glass of water. “I swear, you’re all insane.”

“We’re fun,” Sasha replied. “Absolutely skint, living off takeaway, Red Bull, and poor life choices— but vibes are immaculate.”

“Speak for yourself,” Noah mumbled.

“I am,” Sasha said smugly.

Jules, who had been quietly rolling a shrimp ball in her spoon like it was a tiny planet, finally looked up.

“I became a VTuber ‘cause I had this recurring dream about a crab battle in a neon aquarium,” she said. “Woke up, drew the whole model in one night, and here we are.”

Silence.

“My brother also told me I should.” 

Then Basil clapped. “See? That’s art. That’s inspiration. We’re all out here flailing and she’s fighting crustaceans in the astral plane.”

“I had a pet crab once,” Jules said, contemplative. “His name was Cinnamon. He escaped and was never seen again.”

“Probably started a dynasty,” Sasha mumbled.

“To Cinnamon,” Amy raised her glass.

Everyone clinked their drinks together.

The clink of glass echoed, soft and silly. Somehow, the hotpot felt warmer after that.