Yin Ze picked up a thick book titled The Origins of Civilization: Modern History 3. He started flipping through it from the first page, scanning each one carefully to make sure there were no garbled fonts or watermark errors in the history logs.
He gave each page around three seconds. With books this long and dense, one volume took at least five minutes to skim, a far cry from the mythical "quantum wave hyper-reading" ability he wished he had.
Honestly, it was pretty boring. Even if he had photographic memory, he still had to "photograph" each page one by one.
He'd been doing this for three days now—reading from the Big Bang all the way to the Renaissance.
In theory, he could multitask: reminisce about childhood TV dramas while cramming facts. But his brain couldn't handle it. After binge-playing ten episodes in his mind, his face would go pale, his limbs turn weak, his back ache, his knees wobble, and his stomach growl like crazy.
This skill was way too draining. Could he bring meat buns into exams?
Rubbing his tired eyes, Yin Ze stood up, lit a cigarette, and gazed out the window to take a break.
Initially, the dean and the principal had been ready to grill him alive—metaphorically burning with fiery rage—but since there wasn't much they could do to help with memorization, they eventually let him go home with the textbook. He'd be tested again tomorrow.
After a quick break, he stretched his neck and sat back down.
His legs weren't so weak now. Time for another episode of Shuiyue Cave Heaven, then on to a geography volume.
I am but a soulless vessel of knowledge.
Just as the drama's opening theme began playing in his head, he heard a knock at the door. He paused the mental playback and got up to answer it, peeking through the peephole first.
"Hello? Who is it?"
"Room 207, right? I'm the landlord," said a stocky man with a buzz cut. He slipped a notice through the mail slot. "Next month, you'll only need to pay utilities—no rent."
"…Is that even possible?" Yin Ze blinked, picking up the paper suspiciously as he opened the door.
"This building's been included in a new commercial street development. It's scheduled for demolition," the landlord said, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "You'll need to move out by the month after next."
"…Well, congrats on your windfall," Yin Ze muttered, not feeling celebratory at all.
"Yep! Already planning my 60-day world tour. Don't worry, kid—you'll make it big too!" The landlord tossed him a cigarette and proudly stomped upstairs to flaunt his luck to the third floor.
Yin Ze closed the door and looked down at the notice. His heart sank. Just when he'd finally gotten used to the place and stopped feeling homesick, he was being kicked out. Tokyo was not an easy place to find a decent place to live.
He returned to his desk. Everything now felt tasteless and dull.
The sudden eviction had extinguished even the landlord's last shred of ambition—and made Yin Ze's life that much harder.
He'd been rationing the money Takizawa left behind, not even daring to buy large bento meals anymore.
The school project wasn't due for another three months—and there was no guarantee it'd pass the review to get funded.
No word from the agency either. No calls to get him into the field, no connections, no exposure.
Online freelancing? Nothing. No name, no portfolio, and barely any samples to convince anyone.
Yin Ze put down The Origins of Civilization, his symbol of intellectual wealth, and pulled out his wallet.
Just a few sad bills stared back at him.
Reality was... brutal.
Maybe the convenience store downstairs needed someone to stock shelves.
He splashed water on his face in the bathroom, combed his hair, and pulled on his signature IT-guy checkered blue-and-white shirt.
With My Future's Not a Dream playing in his head, he stepped out.
Sōma Saitō squirted dish soap onto a sponge and scrubbed a greasy porcelain plate under hot water. He moved fast, efficient, and thorough—each cleaned dish was immediately followed by another.
The exhaust fan roared overhead, kitchen fires burned hot, and the staff bustled shoulder to shoulder. It was chaos, but it had rhythm.
Soon, another load of half-eaten dishes arrived at his station. He wiped sweat from his brow with the towel slung around his neck and kept going.
This restaurant was in a prime location with booming business, which meant even part-timers like him earned a decent hourly wage.
When the lunch rush finally ended, the pace slowed. Sōma straightened up and stretched his aching back. Someone asked if he wanted to step out for a smoke break, but he politely declined.
He dragged over a chair, sat down, and checked his messages.
Sōma was a simple guy. Ever since he came to Tokyo, he'd been too busy working to enjoy the city.
But now he had a chance to be part of a recording project. Just having that to look forward to helped him handle the grind.
His agent told him to wait for a call.
The industry was still forgiving to newcomers. They'd tolerate a few stumbles and rookie mistakes. Right now, it felt like a dish ready to be served—waiting for the customer's review with nervous excitement.
He figured he'd stop by the agency later. Junki Iwasawa always reminded him: you need to show your face now and then, get familiar.
Truth be told, Sōma preferred just doing the work—nailing the script, understanding the role, giving it his all. He wasn't great at small talk, charming strangers, or closing deals with drinks.
He knew that about himself.
If he hadn't randomly decided to become a voice actor, he might've stayed in a low-key trade, like car repair.
All he really wanted was a hobby he could throw himself into, a circle of fellow enthusiasts, and the joy of doing good, meaningful work—quietly helping others and spreading a little happiness. That, to him, was the perfect life.
Sōma cleaned out the sink, picked out the leftover bits of food to avoid clogs, and wiped down the counters.
Once everything was tidied up, he headed to the staff room to change clothes. He'd be back later to help with the dinner rush and clean up after closing.
"Thanks for the hard work." He changed into his regular clothes and greeted the chefs and manager.
"Heading home to rest?" the manager asked casually.
"Gotta stop by the company first."
"Got it. Good luck then." The manager didn't know which company, but offered encouragement anyway.
"Thanks. I'll do my best," Sōma replied with quiet sincerity.
"The changing room's up front," the manager said to a young man behind him. "Pick something that fits. I'll run you through the basics in a bit."
"I live to serve! I'll welcome every guest like a ray of sunshine!" the young man beamed with passion and determination.
The three passed each other in the narrow hallway.
Sōma stepped out the front door… and paused.
Wait a second. That guy looked familiar.