"How'd the official recording go today?"
"Not bad! The atmosphere was really chill. No one was putting on airs. But Nagasaki-san suddenly asked me to redo a take, scared the life outta me."
Yin Ze sat in a cozy ramen shop warmed by a space heater, chatting on the phone as he slurped his rich tonkotsu broth. The chashu slices were thick—definitely generous.
There was nothing better than a hot meal after work. Pure bliss.
"I remember someone from IM was there too, right?" asked Ippei Kashiwai.
"You mean Nakajima Aima-san?" Yin Ze replied.
"Yeah, that's the one." Kashiwai chuckled. "He's like the 'dad' of the agency—loves seeing the younger talents getting along. Guy often pays out of pocket to treat the newbies and help them bond."
"What a kind person," Yin Ze said admiringly. "And a fantastic actor too."
"You should take the chance to network more on set. I just wish Matsuoka were half as socially capable as you," his manager sighed.
"Did something happen to him?" Yin Ze paused mid-noodle.
"He's always so tense. No issues with the acting itself—he's diligent as ever—but voice acting isn't just about the performance. I worry he'll miss out. Especially when you're in a lead role, people naturally look to you on and off the mic. There'll be radio shows, promos... if you're not quick on your feet, you're in trouble."
"Matsuoka just needs more field time. Not everyone's born with a thick skin and a silver tongue. Rather than worrying, maybe just throw him a lead and let him grow into it," Yin Ze suggested.
"I wish I had that kind of pull. Truth is, I had to fight tooth and nail to get you guys any auditions—sometimes even against others in the same agency." Kashiwai sighed. "It's a brutal game of politics."
"Sounds like agents live like royal concubines—your worth rises with the talent you bring in."
"We're in the same boat, thank you very much! What kind of comparison is that?"
"By the way, Kashiwai-san, have you ever launched a big name before?" Yin Ze suddenly asked.
"Big waves, huh? Not so easy." Kashiwai replied calmly. "Hoping for a personal mentor to lift you up is like dreaming you were born into royalty. Instead of daydreaming or complaining, better to climb step by step on your own."
"You actually believe that?"
"Do I have a choice? That's the pep talk my boss gave me!" Kashiwai grumbled.
Every boss is a master of emotional cuisine, serving piping hot inspirational soup.
"Anyway, if you're done with the morning session, swing by this afternoon. There's a new audition," Kashiwai said.
"So soon? I was planning to clean my place..." Yin Ze scratched his head.
"That's where Matsuoka's got you beat—he'd never turn down an audition! Sigh... if only I could fuse you two together."
...
Ayane Sakura sat alone in the waiting room.
The audition was more nerve-wracking than she'd expected. Her voice trembled uncontrollably. The techniques and experience drilled into her back at training school seemed to vanish the moment she needed them most.
The timid, uncertain voice echoing through her headphones made her cringe. It was unbearable.
Neither her manager nor the director looked disappointed, but that only made it worse. She'd sacrificed a normal, happy school life to learn those skills. To fumble like this... it stung.
They say life is a series of choices. Maybe she made the wrong ones from the start. Now all that remained was a distant, ocean-deep disconnection from the world, and lies told to her parents to cover it all up.
She buried her face into her scarf and collar. Her bangs drooped. It hurt.
She'd left the stage only to find herself just as useless behind the mic. After all this effort, it all felt meaningless.
Her phone had only ever rung with calls from her parents.
She couldn't break free of the chains around her. Her ability to talk to others felt like it was slipping away. She avoided eye contact. Any time she was in a social setting, fear crept in.
It was still winter. The snow hadn't fully melted. A hazy mist hung over the city. Spring would come, snow would wash the streets clean, and the fog would lift... but to her, everything remained gray and lifeless.
She had never done anything wrong. Never bullied anyone.
She'd held umbrellas over stray cats and dogs in the rain. Felt sorrow over the death of a cicada.
She smiled at sparrows playing on telephone wires. Clumsily comforted lost children.
So why... why did it have to be like this?
She'd worked so hard.
All she ever wanted was a little *happiness*. A little *something real*.
She stood slowly, cradling the warm cup in her hands. The heat seeped into her fingers, easing the chill inside.
On her lap was a short summary of the project and a few lines from the script. She idly flipped it open.
It was a good story. A simple, fantastical tale tinged with childlike sadness.
A blazing summer. Cicadas chirping. Clear streams. Long stone paths. Prayer statues. A deep green forest. Mossy red torii gates dripping with rain.
And a little girl who had lost her way.
Stories obey a certain logic, unlike reality.
In true despair, where no hope exists, the story cannot go on.
So someone *had* to find the lost girl. That's how the story could continue. That's how it could be worth telling. Just a girl, alone in the forest, with no one to hear her cries—there's nothing there. No meaning. No value.
She had been waiting a long time for the words "You didn't pass." Long enough that her cup had gone cold. Her fingers numb again. Was the director hesitating? Or had they simply forgotten this disappointing high school student?
Wouldn't be the first time she was forgotten.
She drained the cold drink, crushed the paper cup, and tossed it in the trash. Stuffing her hands into her warm coat pockets, she stepped out of the room. She wanted something sweet. Something warm.
She made her way toward the vending machine.
Bundled in a snug down jacket, she looked like a girl curled inside her shell. She froze when she saw the figure in front of the machine, bent over to grab a coffee.
She liked small animals. The quiet, gentle kind. Ones that would respond kindly if you were kind to them. Even if they lashed out, they were too small to really hurt you. Kindness brought kindness. Even if you got scratched, it barely stung.
Stray cats were skittish. Blink, and they were gone. You could feed them a dozen treats, but they'd still vanish in a puff of fur. Just as suddenly, they might appear again around the corner—like it was no big deal.
This boy wasn't anything like a cat, though.
Still, she couldn't help but remember a line from the script:
*The lost firefly met a silver spirit in disguise.*
The boy turned.
His eyes widened in surprise for a second. Then he smiled and held out the coffee he'd just grabbed.
"Belated Happy New Year. Long time no see, Sakura-san."
*Long time no see.*
It had been so long since she heard those words.
So sudden. It threw her off.
She clenched her sleeves, gaze flickering.
"Y-Yeah. Long time."
"Not gonna drink it?" he teased, shaking the can.
"I will." Sakura reached out and took it.
Warmth spread through her hands.
Just a can of coffee.
But it was so warm.