EXTRA 2.3 – Phone

[Weaver’s POV]


They dragged me out for Mom’s birthday. Said something about “family bonding” and “put the laptop down for once, Otis.” I hate when they use my real name. But I love Mom more than I hate that name, so here I am: stuck in a faux-fancy fusion place, elbows pinned to my sides so I won’t knock over a hundred tiny plates we didn’t order.

Across the table, my little sister—Poppy, the menace—was face-down on her phone, earbuds in, cackling like she’d invented joy itself.

“Poppy,” I warned, low, so Mom wouldn’t jump in yet. “Put the phone down.”

She ignored me, eyes glued to the screen.

“Poppy.”

She flinched, yanked out one earbud just as the phone speaker blasted some high-pitched gremlin scream. The whole table flinched.

“Sorry! Sorry—” She tried to muffle it. Too late. Mom shot her a look sharper than my performance review slides.

“What is that nonsense you’re watching?” Mom snapped.

Poppy hugged her phone to her chest, defensive. “It’s Ketsusaki. She’s doing a collab—”

“Ketsa-what?” I cut in.

Poppy glared at me like I’d committed a war crime. “Ketsusaki. She’s a vtuber. She yells at pudding and fights ghosts. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said dryly. “It’s rotting your frontal lobe.”

Mom, having heard enough, barked, “Put that down or I’m taking your phone away.”

Poppy obeyed—barely—pouting so hard her soul nearly left her body. I reached over, snatched her phone before she could sneak it back, and glanced at the paused video.

A 2D gremlin with glitchy horns. Bright eyes, broken voice filter, chat box crawling with spam emojis. Something about it pulled at the back of my brain.

“…She good?” I asked, softer, nudging the phone toward Poppy.

Poppy perked up instantly. “She’s the best. She’s chaotic and scuffed and does PowerPoint streams about ghost shrimp. She reads every comment. She—she just feels real, y’know."

I didn’t know. But I knew numbers. I knew engagement. I knew how many half-baked talents burned out in six months because nobody gave a damn. This… didn’t look half-baked. This looked alive.

I handed her back the phone just as Mom set down her spoon with an ominous click.

“Otis, stop encouraging her,” she hissed.

“Yes, ma’am.” I raised my hands in surrender. But in my head, I filed the name away: Ketsusaki.

After cake and Dad's forced karaoke, I slipped outside, sat on the curb by the car, and pulled up Ketsusaki’s stats on my phone. Indie. No corp backer. Audience growth spiking. Fan retention through the roof for a solo gremlin.

Interesting.

Back inside, Poppy caught my eye through the window. I flipped her off discreetly. She stuck out her tongue.

That night, I added Ketsusaki to a slide deck. Just a footnote.

Just in case.