Takizawa stood before the open wardrobe, deep in thought.
On one hand, he was mulling over what to wear; on the other, he was grappling with the bombshell that had just dropped.
What the hell?
Wasn't the goal to become an animator or a mangaka?
How had he ended up as an already-enrolled voice actor at an agency?!
All those sketching exercises—were they just a fallback plan? Damn it, what a betrayal!
Still, the resolve to break into the industry was rock-solid...
Takizawa rubbed his throbbing temples. The call had come through, so he had to show up. Honestly, he wanted to honor the effort Takizawa Satoru had put in.
So, what to wear?
Japan's workplace culture was supposedly brutal. Kissing up to the boss might be an exaggeration, but horror stories—like getting your head dunked in boiling broth—felt all too real. Juniors couldn't talk back to seniors. Handed ten thousand yen to fetch a bottle of Romanée-Conti? Good luck. If you couldn't get it, you'd be out of pocket until you could.
Yikes.
Takizawa, with his gritty, streetwise edge, had his own take.
Work? I put in the effort, the boss pays up—fair and square. Show some respect to the hand that feeds you, sure. But if they wanted to play emperor or lord above that? No thanks.
...Unless the paycheck was too good to refuse.
Also, job-hopping was apparently shameful here—a sign of disloyalty or incompetence. Takizawa, who'd bounced between gigs every year or so, felt a twinge of guilt.
Would they crown him the "Triple-Traitor Lackey"?
Still a high schooler, casual clothes might pass, but the workplace demanded seriousness. Shouldn't he step it up?
A guy who'd roll out in shorts and flip-flops was agonizing over this.
In the end, he decided mature was safer. But after rifling through the wardrobe and unearthing only a classic IT-guy light plaid shirt and track pants, Takizawa realized his worries were pointless.
His hair was still too long to trim in time. For now, he'd slick it back into a trendy little ponytail to look sharp.
Slipping on battered, battle-worn olive-green sneakers, Takizawa headed out, uneasy. Could a foreign grunt like him hold his own against Japan's elite salarymen?
Japan's taxis weren't for mere mortals, and the subway map looked like a labyrinth of chaos. Tokyo's metro was one of the world's busiest urban rail systems. Takizawa squinted at the display board for ages before spotting his station's name, smaller than a fingernail.
It was rush hour. Before he could yell for help, he was swallowed by a tide of weary office workers, swept along like a grain of sand in the ocean.
Potbellied bald middle-agers, masked guys in glasses, listless interns with loosened ties—he was powerless, dragged into the salaryman River Styx.
The carriage had AC, but the air was thick and stale. The workers maintained a chilling silence, as if mourning their lost youth, punctuated by sighs and coughs.
Tucked in a corner, Takizawa didn't dare make a sound.
The train glided like a specter through underground tunnels, tunnel lights flickering, briefly illuminating the crowd. Shadows jagged and uneven, faces frozen like puppets in a glass case—expressionless, like lifeless wax figures or a horde of corpses.
The exhaustion was palpable!
Before these top-tier wage slaves, these city cogs, these tools of capital, Takizawa didn't dare call himself a worker.
When his stop finally came, he fought his way out of the quagmire and bolted from the train.
Was this what it meant to join society here?
The self-proclaimed free-spirited man was starting to feel dread.
Head hung low, he trudged through unfamiliar streets, deliberately asking a group of schoolgirls heading home for directions. After some wandering, he arrived at a lively food street buzzing with energy.
A glance showed the same off-duty office workers, clustered in twos and threes, faces flushed from drinks, arms slung over shoulders, their boisterous banter spilling from shops onto the street.
Matching the distinct, artsy shop signs, he walked a few more minutes before finding the place mentioned in the email.
It looked like your average drinking and chatting spot. Stepping inside, he was hit with the clink of glasses and the sizzle of grilled meat.
"Welcome! Table for how many?" A server called out from across the room, balancing a tray.
"I'm here for a company event—IM something-or-other."
"I'm Enterprise? Third private room, straight ahead."
"Thanks."
"No problem… Table 18, your peanut butter beer's up!" The server hustled off.
Peanut butter beer? What kind of wild concoction was that?
Takizawa found the room, laughter and chatter spilling through the door. He knocked.
The door swung open, revealing a tall man with gold-rimmed glasses, hair and mustache impeccably groomed, radiating refined intellectual vibes. Same white shirt, watch, and slacks as the others, but clearly no downtrodden drone.
They locked eyes for a moment before the man broke into a smile, extending a hand.
"Takizawa-kun, right? I'm Kashiwai, the one who called earlier. You're a good ten minutes late! Come on in!"
Takizawa grinned back, shaking hands and exchanging small talk.
About a dozen people filled the room, split across two tables, mostly young folks in high spirits. Seeing the latecomer finally arrive, the outgoing ones started ribbing him.
Takizawa was no stranger to this game.
"Got held up on the way—my bad! I'll down one as penance!"
Back home, he'd have said three, but wary of that peanut butter heresy, one seemed safer.
Kashiwai Ippei swooped in, eyes gleaming.
"Takizawa-kun, you're still in high school, right? No drinking for minors!"
"…Yeah, true."
"Your seat's right there. Stick to orange juice." Kashiwai clapped, chuckling.
A few others joined in, teasing.
"Trying to play grown-up already? Careful, Mom'll spank you if she smells booze."
"But I feel the vibe! Crack open a pineapple beer for the kid!"
"How about my mineral water instead?"
"Water? That's straight-up sake! One sip and the student's out cold—that'd be a hassle."
"Yeah, good point, haha!"
Oof.
They dared underestimate him, thinking he was just posturing as a big shot.
Takizawa bristled.
But honestly, this was perfect—schmoozing was such a pain.
Pleased, he settled into the seat Kashiwai pointed out, finally taking a good look around.
Kashiwai and a middle-aged guy seemed to be leading things, the latter mid-speech, passionately congratulating everyone on their successful selection and urging them to keep pushing toward their dreams.
Once done, self-introductions kicked off—apparently delayed just for him. The other table was already chummy, mingling naturally.
…His table, though, felt oddly chilly.
"Want a drink?" Takizawa popped open a bottle, offering it around.
The non-beer drinkers smiled, thanked him, and passed their cups. After pouring, he turned to the two nearest.
The guy to his left saw him glance over, hurriedly raising his cup under the bottle with a flurry of thanks. After a sip, he set it down, sneaking glances at the other table's intros, fidgeting restlessly.
Takizawa shifted to his right.
A short-haired girl didn't even look up, glued to her phone, muttering, "No thanks."
"…"
He glumly sipped his water.
Finally, introductions reached his table.
"Takizawa-kun, you're up," Kashiwai said with a smile, seeming oddly invested in him.
Takizawa stood, projecting confidently.
"Hey, everyone! I'm Takizawa Satoru, the guy who showed up ten-and-a-half minutes late, still in high school. Hobbies? Sleeping, sketching, and gaming. It's awesome to meet you all—pure fate. Let's grow together, keep each other sharp. But most importantly, let's join hands to build this agency's bright future! Fulfill our potential! Because overtime pay's where the real money's at!"
"Client demands? No sweat. Boss's critiques? Not scary. Slacking off's the real shame. Everyone gives ten pounds of effort, ten pounds of sweat, feeding back into this company to score better perks and pay. Ride the wind, cut through thorns! The world and future belonged to our grandparents, our parents—but ultimately, they're ours!"
His tone was fiery, orange juice raised like a shot of hard liquor.
Kashiwai took it in stride, but the middle-aged company man beside him nodded approvingly.
"Well said! Such upright values and passion—youth at its finest!"
Amid warm applause, Takizawa sat, the rhythm suggesting either the guy on his left or the girl on his right was next.
He glanced left first.
Feeling the weight of eyes on him, the guy grew even more nervous, standing with fidgety hands, bowing slightly, voice trembling.
"Good evening, everyone. I'm Matsuoka Yoshitsugu, born in Hokkaido… uh, I hope we can improve together and keep honing our craft."
No flair like the last, short and sweet. Polite, scattered claps followed.
Next.
"I'm Iwasawa Toshiki. Honored to be your peer. Let's get along and strive for the same goals!"
"Yoshimura Haruka. I've loved anime since I was a kid. Joining the industry feels like a dream come true, but the road ahead's long. I hope we can reach the end with no regrets."
"Suzuki Chihiro. I'm into gaming, especially competitive stuff. Any fellow gamers, let's swap tips later."
"Fujimi Chusei. I like to doodle in my free time. Big fan of Rembrandt and Picasso."
"Akiyama Kokoa. Born by the coast, I love sailing. Collect ship blueprints."
…
Soon, it was the last one's turn.
The short-haired girl, still in her school uniform, had tucked her phone away. She stood, bowed, glanced briefly at the group, her voice clear and pure.
"Sakura Ayane, first-year high schooler. I like drawing and reading. Please guide me."
***
Note:
Matsuoka Yoshitsugu: Voice Actor for Sora, Kirito, Futaro and Soma.
Iwasawa Toshiki: Voice Actor for Rokusuke Koenji.
Yoshimura Haruka: Voice Actor for Mika Jougasaki, Ema Yasuhara, and Momo Kashiwabara.
Suzuki Chihiro: Voice Actor for Shigino Kisumi, Luke Fon Fabre, and Asch.
Sakura Ayane: Voice Actor for Uraraka, Aira Shiratori, Nakano, and Isshiki Iroha.