Satoru wasn’t just good-looking; he was magnetic, the kind of person who could grab every single attention in the room—or, in this case, a global audience—with nothing more than a smirk and a few sharp words. Streaming became his playground, a stage where he could bask in the attention he so clearly thrived on. For him, it wasn’t just about the games or the content; it was the art of holding people’s gaze, of making them feel like they couldn’t look away and the unpredictably it brought his brain.

Saturday nights were his sweet spot, his unofficial domain. The chat always went wild, an endless stream of messages flooding in as his fans eagerly awaited whatever he had planned. This night was no different. With his signature charm and a teasing edge to his voice, Satoru leaned toward the camera, dropping hints about something—or someone—special.

When he called you over, his tone was playful but deliberate, the kind of casual that was anything but. You stepped into view, only partially visible on the screen, the angle intentionally cropped to show just enough to send his chat into overdrive.

Instantly, the chat exploded, comments flashing so quickly they blurred together:

Wait, who is that?

OMG is that a girl?!

Not the hand around their waist 😭😭😭

Satoru, SHOW THEM!

He didn’t rush to address the chaos. Instead, he leaned back with a lazy grin, his arm slipping around your waist with deliberate ease. The frenzy in the chat didn’t faze him—in fact, it seemed to fuel him, his mischievous smile widening as the messages poured in.