[Representative: Our records indicate your video was reported by user #45678190 for alleged copyright infringement.]
"I knew it!" Cain exclaimed. "But who's this user?"
[Representative: Unfortunately, we can't disclose the identity of our users.]
"What do you mean you can't disclose it? Everyone's practically an open book online, and now you're talking about fucking privacy?" Cain snapped.
"Language," Fifi chided, her voice calm yet firm. "And stop giving the representative a hard time. She's just doing her job."
Cain clenched his fists, frustration boiling over. "But how am I supposed to find the person who reported me? There are billions of accounts on this platform. I can't just sift through them one by one."
Fifi eyed him skeptically. "And what exactly are you planning to do once you find this person?"
Cain cracked his knuckles, a menacing grin spreading across his face. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to . . ." he trailed off as he noticed Fifi watching him with a piercing stare. ".
. . have a polite and respectful conversation about why they reported my video."
"Uh-huh," Fifi replied, clearly unconvinced but curious about this person who reported the video, nonetheless. "Well, if you've got the user ID, I might be able to track them down."
Cain's eyes lit up with hope. "Seriously?"
"Just a second." Fifi's aura intensified as she channeled her Idol Goddess powers, filtering through the users on BuzzVid via her idol screen. Moments later, a match appeared. "Found him."
"They believe it?!" Cain couldn't believe this was happening that he stifled a laugh despite his growing anger.
Fifi wasn't laughing. Her expression grew darker. "Apparently, BuzzVid fully supports their top content creators — those with millions of followers — over smaller ones like you, with just ten thousand. These creators bring in huge amounts of revenue for the platform, and their blind fans won't see anything shady about their favorite idol.
They'd defend him to the death and bury you alive if you dared to go against him."
Cain clicked his tongue in irritation. "I don't care who he is — nobody steals from me and gets away with it," he said, punching his fist into his palm with a resounding crack.
Fifi continued her research, her expression growing even grimmer. "You're not his only victim, apparently. There are countless small content creators he's stolen from, but their complaints got buried under the weight of his legion of fans who defended him."
"What?! So this guy's nothing but a cowardly thief hiding behind his mask, stealing from everyone else's hard work!" Cain's anger was reaching a boiling point, his voice echoing through the room.
"And that's not even the worst of it . . ." Fifi's voice was tinged with something close to despair.
"What else?" Cain demanded, his eyes blazing with fury.
Fifi took a deep breath before continuing. "The video he stole from you . . . it's already garnered five million views overnight, and it's going viral. He's also gained hundreds of thousands of followers in that short amount of time.
It maybe because of his huge following that it gone viral overnight, but still . . ."
Cain's expression turned murderous. He let out a roar of frustration, swinging his fist into the hanging punching bag on his ceiling. The impact was so powerful that the bag exploded, scattering sand across the room as his anger reverberated through the walls.
"That motherfucker! I swear I'll kill him when I find out who he is!" Cain's voice was raw with rage.
Fifi was equally incensed. That fame, that video — if it hadn't been for this Rhythmic thief's interference, Cain could have been the one skyrocketing to viral fame. But she forced herself to remain calm and said, "Enough of that. There's nothing you can do about it now. Why don't you just post another video?"