Chương 47: The Interview Incident

Meno reached the Streamline building with seven minutes left and sweat under the collar of yesterday's donated shirt. The train ride had taken fifty minutes, plus three bad street crossings, one wrong lobby entrance, and a final half-run across a polished plaza full of people who looked like they belonged in glass buildings. The tower rose above him in smooth blue panes, each floor catching the late-day light.

He checked his reflection in the doors and saw Aureliana's clothes on him again: white shirt, blazer, expensive jeans, shoes that made him feel fake. The lobby smelled of lavender. A wide reception desk curved across the far side, backed by shifting Streamline logos and silent promo clips: cooking channels, travel streams, comedy shows, and Veyrath footage edited to look peaceful.

One clip showed a couple walking through a flower field with floating blue deer, which was a version of the game Meno had apparently skipped. The receptionist looked up before he reached the desk. Her smile loaded instantly.

"Mr. Varsh?" Meno stopped with his hand half-raised.

"Yeah. How did you know?" She glanced once at his face, then at the security screen near her hand.

"You are expected. Studio level thirty-seven. Stacy said to send you up immediately."

"Great," Meno said.

"I'm not late, right?"

"Almost," she said, still smiling like almost late was normal. She tapped something behind the desk, and a glass gate opened with a soft click.

"Elevator three. Someone will meet you upstairs." Meno walked through the gate and tried not to look like someone used to being stopped at lobbies instead of waved through them. The elevator bank had brushed steel doors and a screen showing floor names instead of numbers: Partnerships, Creator Support, Brand Strategy, Studio Services. Elevator three opened before he pressed anything. Inside, dark glass showed Meno from four directions, and he immediately understood why people wore hoodies.

Without one, there was nowhere to hide. The doors closed, and the elevator rose too smoothly. Floor numbers ticked upward in pale white: 12, 18, 24, 31. Meno swallowed, adjusted the blazer, then stopped adjusting it because every attempt made the clothes seem more aware of him. At thirty-seven, the doors opened into controlled noise. People moved through a wide corridor with tablets, headsets, coffee cups, and folded cables, their expressions tight with live-broadcast pressure.

Beyond a glass wall, Meno saw a studio floor with hanging lights, black cameras on wheeled mounts, and a curved desk facing a half-circle of empty seats. A woman with red-framed glasses hurried toward him.

"Mr. Varsh. Stacy. We spoke on the phone."

"Right," Meno said.

"Interview lady."

"Producer," she corrected without slowing down.

"We are tight on time. Come with me." She led him past the main studio doors, and Meno caught one clean view before they turned. Two hosts were already seated at the desk, papers arranged in front of them, water glasses placed at matching angles. Behind them, a wall display showed the Streamline Daily logo over a softened Veyrath skyline: forests, towers, airships, a dragon silhouette that looked friendlier than Kaerthalan had ever managed. Streamline Daily was not The Meta Desk.

The Meta Desk belonged to gamers, rank addicts, build freaks, market vultures, guild officers, and everyone who understood why a thirty-minute raid-trash solo could be bigger than a boss clear. Streamline Daily had started recently for the other audience, the huge one: people who bought Veyrath to relax, explore, cook in fantasy towns, romance NPCs, pet luminous foxes, and tell themselves they were above drama while clicking every dramatic segment. That audience still ate drama. Everyone did.

Stacy pushed him into a side room where two staff members descended on him with professional delight. One carried brushes. The other carried bottles, pads, clips, and a small device that looked medical enough to be suspicious.

"Sit here," the brush woman said. Meno sat because his resistance stat had failed before the encounter began.

"What is that?"

"Powder," she said.

"For what?"

"Your face."

"My face already has skin." The second staffer laughed like he had made a charming joke instead of a complaint. They tilted his chin, dabbed something cool along his nose, brushed his forehead, and made disappointed sounds at his hair. Meno looked at Stacy through the mirror, but she was reading timing notes and gave him no rescue prompt. The brush woman pushed his hair back, frowned, then let some of it fall again.

"Messy works for him."

"Does it?" Meno asked.

"It tests well," she said. That was not comforting. The other staffer clipped a small microphone inside his jacket and told him to avoid hitting it, which made Meno immediately aware of every possible arm movement. Someone handed him a glass of water, then took it back before he drank because the floor manager called two minutes. Stacy guided him out again with one hand near his elbow, not touching but ready to steer.

The studio looked brighter from inside, less like a room and more like a place built to remove shadows from people who wanted them. The female host stood first, elegant, dark-skinned, with close-cropped curls and a smile sharp enough to cut dead air. The male host rose beside her, tall and silver-haired at the temples, wearing a navy suit. Their name cards sat on the desk: Alina Greve and Tomas Rook. Meno took the side chair they indicated, angled slightly toward the hosts and slightly toward the main camera.

The seat was too comfortable. That felt like a trap.

"Hi," he said. Alina's smile did not flicker. Tomas gave him a polite nod, then turned toward the camera as the floor manager counted down with raised fingers. Three. Two. One.

"Welcome back to Streamline Daily," Alina said, voice smooth and warm.

"Tonight we are joined by one of Veyrath's most talked-about launch-week players, the streamer known worldwide as PrayerBeadGod." She said the name with a straight face. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Tomas continued with the same impossible professionalism.

"He has opened the Lost Temple world raid, designed multiple high-profile item concepts, defeated raid-class enemies far above his level, and built one of the fastest-growing audiences on Streamline. Mr. Varsh, thank you for joining us." Meno leaned toward the mic too late, then corrected.

"Thanks for having me." Alina turned to him.

"Mr. Varsh, our viewers would love to get to know you better. Is it true you never went to university?" Meno had expected Veyrath. Classes, the raid, Karmabeast. Really anything else.

"True," he said.

"I worked in a warehouse supervising robots until I quit because it was impossible to compete with the free time I had." Tomas nodded with practiced sympathy.

"That must have been difficult on your family. Do you regret the decision?"

"No." The answer came out sharper than Meno intended. Alina saved the space before it got awkward enough to grow legs.

"The commitment is respectable," she said.

"Most people don't realize how hard it is to make it as a streamer."

"Yes," Meno said, then remembered his mother standing in his apartment with roast chicken and tired eyes.

"I am thankful for my mother and sister. They supported me." That part was true enough to sting. Tomas looked down at his notes, and Meno relaxed by half a degree because the next question had to be game-related. Nobody warmed up with warehouse robots unless they planned to pivot into the climb.

"Mr. Varsh," Tomas said, "is it true you are romantically involved with Miss Aureliana Sorell?" Meno almost fell off the chair. His left hand grabbed the seat edge, his right foot shifted wrong, and the microphone cable tugged inside his jacket. Tomas's expression stayed pleasant.

"Uhm," Meno said.

"No. There is no romance." Alina tilted her head.

"Is it a casual fling? You did use your audience to boost her follower count above one hundred thousand."

"I did that because…" Meno stopped because every possible answer walked into a different spike trap. He saw Aureliana's heart message, the typo, the car ride, her face when she said friends, and his own stupid phone glowing with I will love on.

"I mean, can you ask me a question related to Veyrath?"

"Certainly," Tomas said.

"But half the fan-submitted questions were related to Miss Sorell. It would be irresponsible for us not to ask. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable."

"She doesn't make me uncomfortable." The words came out too fast. Meno heard them after everyone else did and added, "I mean, it's personal." Alina smiled like he had handed her a wrapped gift.

"That makes it clear, thank you." Meno stared at her for one second, wondering what had become clear, then decided he did not want the answer. The camera light stayed red. There was no respawn shrine for interviews. Tomas moved on with merciful violence.

"JaxxonVale recently announced that you could participate in his fashion show if you ever caught up in levels to him. You are very well dressed tonight, Mr. Varsh. Honestly, I think many viewers expected you to show up in a hoodie. Have you always had an interest in fashion?" Meno looked down at the blazer.

"Uhm, no. Not exactly… These clothes are from…" His brain slammed both hands on the emergency stop.

"Yeah," he said.

"Don't think so." Alina's smile sharpened again.

"But would you accept his invitation to display his summer collection?"

"Summer what?" Meno asked.

"I mean, if they have good food, I'll accept. But he shouldn't waste his time on clothes. He's at a pretty good position on the ladder." Alina winced with only her eyes, which was impressive. Tomas drank water from his glass and made it look like pacing instead of recovery.

"OxideChoir said she would love to meet you in real life," Tomas said.

"Would your relationship with Miss Sorell allow this?"

"What?" Meno turned toward him fully.

"Why would she want to meet me?" Alina glanced at her notes.

"She said she would want to compare notes. Her words, not mine."

"I don't take notes," Meno said.

"And I don't have time to teach her." Tomas coughed into his hand. Somewhere off-camera, Stacy's headset hand rose slowly to her forehead.

"Recently," Tomas said, tightening his voice back into broadcast shape, "you earned another Mythic I design credit. What do you plan to make?"

"I hate these design things," Meno said, relieved to finally reach something with mechanics.

"It's like the AI expects me to do its job for free. If Feltforge Systems can't design their own items, they should pay me." Tomas looked at Meno like he had just stepped on a holy symbol during a wedding. His hand went to his tie, adjusted it once, then again. Alina leaned in fast, smile now doing emergency labor.

"The legendary sword you designed recently has caused quite a stir," she said.

"Famous theorycrafter VantaRush suggested it may be possible to replace healers with burst DPS players using it for friendly fire. How do you respond to that?"

"I agree with him," Meno said.

"Playing with healers is really lame. You can just stand there and make mistakes all day while your HP magically refills. Also, you have to share XP with them, totally inefficient." Alina looked like she had swallowed lemon and found a second lemon inside it.

"BrineSaint doesn't use a healer either," Meno continued.

"A damage-amp support makes more sense if it scales better than another DPS. You can't outheal skill checks anyway." Tomas set his water down carefully.

"Silverwake and Stormhold formed an alliance and pushed deep into the first ring of the Lost Temple world raid, reportedly opening two side routes and earning two legendary drops. Kestrel, guild master of Crownfall, has blamed you for this alliance. How do you respond?" Meno felt the interview tilt under him and stepped on the tilt like a bad tile.

"Blaming me for everything is easy. Maybe they should form an alliance with Highbanner if they can't manage it themselves." Alina's eyes flickered.

"You may be unaware, but PikeNorth and Kestrel have a strong dislike for each other. Many analysts believe that makes any alliance between them impossible."

"Crownfall players blocked me in Westmarket for hours," Meno said.

"I think Kestrel should worry more about himself than others. He can't even catch up to BrineSaint, yet he has time to talk." Tomas reached for his water again.

"What he is doing with his guild contracts is no different than people buying level boosts," Meno said.

"And now he can't even kill trash packs inside the raid. What was the point of wasting so much money?" Tomas drank. A bead of sweat had formed near his temple under the studio lights, and the camera probably loved it. Alina took over, her voice still smooth but thinner now.

"So you are saying Highbanner is right not to work with Crownfall? Are you friendly with Highbanner?"

"I don't know much about them," Meno said.

"I don't remember them winning anything, ever." Alina held her smile by force. The silence behind the cameras became a living thing. Meno finally noticed Stacy off to the side, one hand pressed to her headset, eyes wide with producer pain. Tomas inhaled.

"You announced on your stream that you might know a way to kill the first boss of the raid through an exploit. Did Feltforge get back to you on that, and what do you plan to do with this information?"

"No," Meno said.

"Their AI doesn't seem to function properly. It can't even classify a stool." Stacy stepped into view so fast Meno wondered if she had a movement skill.

"Okay," she said brightly, voice pitched for broadcast and panic at once.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Varsh. It was nice meeting you. We'll take a short commercial break and return with more on Veyrath. You're watching Streamline Daily." The red camera light went dark. Tomas turned on Meno before the studio floor had finished exhaling.

"Have you lost your mind?" Meno blinked.

"Recently, maybe."

"It's one thing to talk trash with guilds," Tomas said, voice rising now that the audience was gone.

"But you insulted Feltforge twice. Specifically the AI. Did you not know Streamline is owned by Feltforge?" Meno looked from Tomas to Alina to Stacy.

"Oh," he said.

"My bad." Stacy's face tightened until her glasses looked nervous.

"Bad indeed. They really do not like it when people talk down about their AI. They may cancel your streaming contract over this, and if they do, you can only blame yourself." Meno sat there with makeup on his face, a microphone clipped inside Aureliana's blazer, and the ruins of his first platform interview cooling around him. The adrenaline had gone, leaving the tired part underneath. He removed the mic carefully and handed it to the nearest staffer.

"Whatever." The word came out flatter than he wanted. Nobody stopped him when he stood, and nobody offered water this time. Alina looked away first, Tomas kept glaring, and Stacy followed him to the studio door already looking like she was writing a damage report. The elevator ride down felt longer than the climb. Meno saw his reflection in the dark glass again, except now the clothes looked less borrowed and more like evidence.

The makeup had settled into his face, making him look awake in a way his eyes refused to support. The lobby was quieter when he crossed it. A few people looked up from couches and screens, then looked harder after recognizing him. Outside, evening had deepened around the plaza. The glass tower behind him reflected the city lights in long broken stripes, and the air smelled like rain on concrete though the pavement was still dry. Meno stood beside the building entrance and let the automatic doors close behind him.

The interview had been a total disaster. He had known better for maybe ten seconds, then Aureliana's name had hit the table and his brain had started taking counterdamage. After that, the hosts had steered him through fashion models, famous women, guild politics, Feltforge's AI, and every route he should have avoided with both feet. From the side came a voice.

"Well. That went about as well as I expected." Meno recognized her voice immediately.