Chapter 345

Yuhaka sat at the desk, her fingers twitching with a fire she couldn't ignore. Her eyes flicked over the screen, pausing on the channel she had once adored. Now, it felt like poison in her veins. The content creator—Ryan Hayes—had once been a voice of reason, a shining example of what could be achieved through passion. But that was months ago. Now, it was all about money. He had sold out.

She wasn't blind. She saw the ads, the overpriced merchandise, the constant "donations" at the start of every livestream. It all grated against her, like nails scraping down glass. He didn't care about his fans anymore.

It was clear. The passion was gone, replaced by greed. But what pissed Yuhaka off the most? The betrayal. He used to care. At least, he pretended to. And that was enough.

But now? No. It wasn't enough anymore. The person she had admired had turned into someone she could barely recognize. He had a deal with every brand in the book, selling his soul piece by piece. Yuhaka had sat in silence, stewing in her frustration. Until now.

There was a sharp snap as she slammed her hand down on the desk. Her breath came in shallow bursts.

"I'll make him regret it," she muttered under her breath. "I'll make him pay for this."

Ryan was going live in an hour. Yuhaka had made sure of it. She had studied his schedule for weeks. The streams, the videos, the timings—all memorized. It was an obsession now. And tonight, she would be there.

She leaned back in her chair, letting the slow drip of rage fill her chest. The clicking of her mouse was the only sound in her apartment. Her eyes darted from one window to another, running over the details. She had gathered everything she needed.

Her phone buzzed. A notification. It was him, of course.

"Join me live in 30 minutes!" Ryan's message was all over his social media.

Yuhaka's fingers hovered over the screen. She had done it all before. Watched him live, laughed at his shitty jokes, felt like she was part of something bigger than herself. But that was before. Now, it felt like a trap. Like the worst kind of advertisement.

Before she could stop herself, her fingers moved. They clicked into the stream link.

The screen flickered to life. There he was, grinning, leaning into the mic with that fake enthusiasm he had gotten so good at.

"Hey guys! Ryan Hayes here, and you know what time it is!" he announced in his usual, over-the-top tone. "It's time for another livestream, and this time, we're doing something real special. Big surprises ahead! You know the drill. Drop a like, donate, and let's get this party started!"

Yuhaka clenched her jaw. The chat was already flooded with messages of "Hey Ryan!" and "You're the best!" from people she'd once considered just like her. But they were fooled. Just like she had been.

Her hands trembled as she typed into the chat.

"Ryan, you've lost everything. You've sold your soul."

The message appeared in the flood of comments. It was instantly lost, but Yuhaka didn't care. She had said it. And now, she would make him hear it.

The stream continued, as if nothing had happened. Ryan continued to talk, the light in his eyes flickering with a momentary lack of focus. He was reading through his notifications—his sponsors. His eyes glinted when he saw the big numbers flashing. Yuhaka's stomach twisted.

"You know, folks," Ryan said, leaning into the camera, "it's been a wild ride to get here. But honestly? We've still got a long way to go. Your support means everything, and I'm working hard to make sure you get what you deserve. All those donations? Every penny goes right back into making better content for you."

Every word felt like a stab.

"No," Yuhaka muttered. "You don't care anymore. You never did."

A pang of guilt gripped her heart. What was she even doing? This felt wrong, but it also felt... right.

The chat was lighting up with more donations. People were just throwing money at him, thinking it made them part of something. They thought they were supporting him. The man who once cared about his fans, the man who used to look at the camera and speak like he really saw them.

Not anymore.

Yuhaka's gaze shifted to the clock on her desk. She knew he would be getting off the stream soon, moving on to the next sponsorship or product promotion. She had one shot.

The screen blinked. Ryan's face was now blurry. He wasn't even paying attention to the live chat anymore. His mind had already moved on to the next thing.

Yuhaka stood from her chair.

She grabbed her jacket, the fabric cool against her skin, and headed out into the night.

------

Ryan's office was as empty as ever, save for the massive studio lights and equipment that made his videos so "professional." He didn't need any of this anymore.

Yuhaka had studied the place in detail. The location, the layout, the times he would be alone. She knew exactly where to go. And now, standing outside the locked door, she took a breath and pushed it open. No one would stop her. She had planned this down to the smallest detail.

The room was cold, too cold for comfort. The pale glow of the lights painted everything in a sickly hue. The silence felt heavy, like it was waiting for something to happen. The kind of silence that felt like a countdown.

Her eyes locked on the desk in front of her. His computer sat there, a ridiculous amount of money flashing on the screen, all from the same thing: donations, ads, products.

Her heart pounded. She moved toward it, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was close. So close.

Then, she heard the sound.

The soft tap, tap, tap of footsteps. Coming closer.

Yuhaka's breath caught. She didn't have much time.

Her hand went for the drawer. She knew what she was looking for—what she needed to do.

But the footsteps stopped.

She froze, holding her breath.

"Who's there?" a voice rang out. It was Ryan's voice. The smug, entitled tone she had come to hate.

Yuhaka spun around, her eyes darting to the source of the sound. There he was, standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of water. He looked at her with mild surprise, almost amused.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, his face slack with confusion.

Yuhaka felt a chill run down her spine. For a moment, there was a flicker of doubt. She had never actually thought she'd come face-to-face with him. But here he was, staring right at her.

"You don't care about them anymore," she said, her voice flat. "You just want the money."

Ryan shrugged. "It's business. What do you expect me to do? Work for free?"

"People trusted you," Yuhaka spat. "They thought you cared. And you turned your back on them."

Ryan scoffed. "Trust me, it's easier this way."

Yuhaka stepped forward, her hands shaking with the fury that built in her chest. She didn't care anymore. She wanted him to understand.

"I'm done," she said, the words coming out hollow.

Ryan smirked. "What are you going to do about it?"

Yuhaka didn't answer. Instead, her hand shot out, grabbing the nearest object—a pen holder—off the desk. With a swift motion, she hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, and Ryan flinched.

The room was filled with tension.

"Leave them alone," Yuhaka said quietly, her voice dead calm. "You're done here."

Ryan took a step toward her. But before he could get too close, Yuhaka made her move. Her hand went into her jacket pocket. The cold steel of a knife was reassuring in her palm. It was sharp, made for precision. Just like she needed.

Ryan's eyes widened, but it was too late.

Yuhaka moved fast.

------

The next morning, when the news spread, no one could quite explain what had happened. Ryan Hayes was gone. The stream had ended abruptly, the final moments recorded as a jumbled mess. The police couldn't figure out how someone had gotten into his studio undetected.

But Yuhaka knew.

She wasn't done.

She walked away from the scene like nothing had happened.