"Alright, with the persona settled, let's get down to the practical details," Kuroha Akira said, clapping his hands together with an air of a seminar instructor. "The 'how' of it all. Do you actually know the steps to becoming a voice actor?"
The black-haired girl—Shion—shook her head once, a slight, almost imperceptible motion. It was a typical response for a high school girl her age. In Japan, while career surveys were a regular part of school life, most students were still floating in the blissful, ephemeral bubble of youth.
Their concerns revolved around club activities, after-school hangouts, the latest hit song at karaoke, or which trendy café to visit next. The concrete, daunting shape of a future career was a foggy silhouette on a distant horizon. Someone like Akira, with a blueprint already etched in his mind, was an absolute outlier.
"Listen up, then. The standard route," he began, holding up a finger. "First, you attend a specialized vocational school or a voice actor training institute. Then, you audition for a voice acting agency's newcomer recruitment.
With luck, you get signed, become an affiliated talent, and start from the very bottom—bit parts, background chatter. You showcase your unique color, grind for experience, land slightly bigger roles, build your resume piece by piece, and years later, maybe—just maybe—you become a recognized name in the industry. That's the orthodox, slow-and-steady path."
"Mm." Shion nodded, her expression one of focused absorption. She was mapping his words onto the blank canvas of her own future.
"Route number two," Akira continued, raising a second finger. "Join a theater troupe now. Hone your acting and vocal projection through live stage performances. Use that as a foundation to crossover into voice acting later. That theatrical backbone can give you a leg up, sometimes landing you more substantial roles faster since your fundamentals are tested."
"Mm."
"In short," he concluded, his tone dropping for emphasis, "it is absolutely impossible for a complete outsider to just waltz in and become a professional voice actor overnight."
"Mm… Huh?"
She had been following along diligently, but the word 'outsider' finally registered. He was talking about her.
"And," Akira added, driving the point home, "your refusal to show your face—which could have been a major asset—actually becomes a significant handicap. A huge obstacle blocking your path."
"Why?!" The question leapt from her lips, laced with a flicker of defensive frustration.
"Because sponsors and agencies love visuals. A voice actor with a marketable appearance can do promotional events, photo shoots, fan meets—they're a more versatile, profitable package. If you flatly refuse to show your face from the start, people in the industry will see it as wasteful, pretentious, or just too much trouble."
"..."
Silence descended upon her. So her stubbornness, born from a deep-seated aversion, would strangle her career before it could even breathe. This face… it really is a curse. The familiar, bitter thought resurfaced. But a new resolve was hardening within her. She had chosen this path with him. She couldn't afford to be naive.
Just as she steeled herself to speak, to force out the words that she would, reluctantly, agree to show her face, Akira cut in.
"But it's fine. I've already got a workaround in mind."
"…There is?"
"Of course. This is the third path we're taking. See, whether it's vocational school or a theater troupe, they both require one crucial thing as a stepping stone: money." He spread his hands in a blatant, empty-handed gesture. The meaning was clear.
A runaway girl and a boy living as a dependent under someone else's roof—their combined assets likely wouldn't buy a decent bento.
"And besides," he added, "both those routes take time. Years of it. I'm not interested in waiting that long."
"So…?"
"So, you'll train yourself. Self-study."
"Self-study… really?"
It was the ultimate zero-cost option. But a deep doubt gnawed at her. If anyone could succeed through self-study alone, wouldn't everyone be a voice actor? The very existence of schools and agencies proved that guidance was necessary—that the path was hidden, locked behind gates of technique and connection.
Yet the boy before her wore an expression of unshakable confidence. He gave her a bright, almost dazzling thumbs-up. "Don't sweat it! I'll tell you exactly what to practice and how to practice it. Just follow my lead, give it everything you've got, and you'll be a famous seiyuu before you know it!"
His confidence wasn't baseless. While Akira had never been behind the mic himself, his previous life as a game developer had placed him squarely on the other side of the glass—in the recording booth, as a client.
He'd sat through countless auditions, selecting voices from a pool of talent. He'd directed recording sessions, offering feedback on line reads, emotion, and technical delivery. He knew, with a client's discerning ear, what made a voice 'work' for a character. More importantly, he understood the industry's unwritten checklist: what kind of voice actor gets chosen, and why.
He was sure he could sculpt her raw, SSS-tier talent into a professional instrument.
"Once you've polished your skills to a shine," he outlined, the plan taking clear shape in his words, "we'll produce our own demo recordings. Then, we send those audition files to the agencies we're targeting. We make them fall in love with the voice first. That way, by the time the topic of your face comes up, it won't be the first thing on their minds. The foundation will already be laid. Simple, right?"
"..."
He had already thought this far ahead. Every obstacle, every shortcut. He wasn't just offering vague dreams; he was engineering a launch trajectory. The realization settled over her, warm and heavy. He was utterly serious.
"So, get ready!" Akira declared, his energy spiking. "Life's about to get seriously busy! Neko no te mo karitai busy!"
The Japanese idiom—'so busy you'd want to borrow a cat's paws'—was meant to emphasize the coming whirlwind. For demonstration, he made a playful grab for Kuroo, who was weaving around his ankles. The cat, utterly uncooperative, responded with two swift bats of her paw (claws carefully sheathed, but the message was clear) before darting away.
With a disgruntled nya, Kuroo trotted over to Shion's feet, looking up with plaintive, expectant eyes—the milk was still the priority.
Shion knelt, her movements graceful. She unscrewed the cap of the milk bottle and, using the cap itself as a tiny improvised bowl, poured a portion of the milk and set it gently before the black cat.
Akira watched, a flicker of surprise passing through him. So the milk wasn't for her after all. She'd bartered half her future… for a bottle of milk to feed a stray? The absurdity of it was profound. To sell one's destiny so 'cheaply' spoke of a desperation that sought to burn all bridges, leaving no path for retreat.
"I should thank you," Shion murmured, her voice softening to a tone she hadn't used with him.
"Meow~" Kuroo trilled, happily lapping at the milk.
"What's her name?"
"Kuroo."
"I see. Thank you, Kuroo." Her words were gentle, carrying a weight of meaning only she understood. Thank you for finding me. And thank you for leading him to me.
A turning point in life could hinge on a single, seemingly random encounter—a difference of a millimeter altering a trajectory by a thousand miles. Had she not met him in this park, today… what would have become of her? The shadow of becoming a 'god-waiting girl,' or something far darker, loomed in the back of her mind.
"And you?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Oh, right!" Akira chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "It's pretty weird, isn't it? We've forged a life-altering contract and we don't even know each other's names."
Striking a casual, hands-on-hips pose, he announced, "I'm Kuroha Akira. Just your average, everyday high school boy."
"Kuroha… Akira," she repeated slowly, tasting the syllables. "Kuroha… Akira." Finally, she settled on, "May I call you Akira-kun?"
"Sure, go ahead. I don't mind the formality." In truth, the rigid surname/first-name conventions of Japan had never fully stuck with him after his previous life's more informal work environment.
"Now that I've shared mine, it's only fair you tell me yours, right?"
The girl rose to her feet, smoothing her skirt. She met his gaze, and for the first time, she offered her name not as a hidden girl, but as a prospective partner.
"I am Shinomiya Shion. You may also call me Shion."
"Oho…" The name sparked an immediate association in Akira's mind—a certain legendary, white-haired S-tier maid, the polar opposite of the dark-haired, cool beauty before him. The coincidence amused him.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, not at all," he said, a genuine, approving smile touching his lips. "It's a name with great ikioi—momentum. Just hearing it, I'm certain you're destined for massive popularity. The kind that turns from red-hot to purple-black with fame."
"That's… a peculiar way of phrasing it." The color metaphor was a bit lost in translation, its original punny flair dampened.
So, Akira switched to a more direct, potent declaration. He looked at her, his earlier playful energy refined into a steady, unwavering conviction.
"What I mean is, you don't need to wait for any god, Shion. I'm going to make you into your own."