"How'd it go with your colleagues?"
The steady, middle-aged man gripped the steering wheel at a red light, glancing at his daughter in the passenger seat, who looked utterly drained. He couldn't help but chuckle.
"Just a bunch of loud rowdy guys," Sakura said, her still-rounded cheeks twisting into a pout. "The stench of booze was suffocating, and their drunken antics were uglier than the last. Alcohol's gross anyway—I don't get it."
"That's one side of society," Her father said with a knowing laugh. "But now you see how tough it is for your old man, right?"
"If you ever come home plastered, I'll make sure Mom locks you out. And if you do get in, it's the couch for you!" His daughter shot back fiercely.
"…Can't you show a hardworking middle-aged guy a little kindness?" He sighed. "I'll tell you, it's no easy feat staying sober in those social scenes."
"Can't people just talk without drinking?" Sakura huffed.
"When you're in that world, you play by its rules—especially when you need something from someone."
The light turned green, and the car glided forward. Her father continued, calm and collected.
"That's why I grind so hard. Once I'm at the top, I'm the one getting toasted, not stumbling home drunk. Then you won't have to kick me out, Ayane."
"Then I'll find a boyfriend who's a CEO," She said with her eyes sparkling with a quick turn.
"Those types are usually pushing forty, at least," Her father replied, wincing.
"There's gotta be some young, ambitious ones out there," She said, tilting her head defiantly.
"Young and ambitious? More like young and inherited," He scoffed, then recalled something. "Oh, right, I saw a guy waiting with you earlier. Looked like a student, same as you."
"…Yeah, he's a senpai, I think," Sakura said, thinking back.
"Oh? A friend from training school?"
"Nope. He's a wildcard—skipped the usual route with some special audition."
"Sounds like a real talent. Did you two chat at dinner?" Her dad asked, surprised.
"Nah."
"Make sure to thank him next time you see him," He advised gently.
"Fiiine," She drawled.
Sakura slumped into the seat, watching the night blur past the window in streaks of colored light, exhaustion seeping out from deep within.
Hoping for relatable peers her age had been a mistake.
A pack of sweaty, loud men, their voices shrill, tossing out crude jokes they thought were clever. This wasn't the social scene she wanted.
The whole vibe felt forced.
You had to smile and clink glasses even if you didn't drink, nod along to grandstanding even if you had nothing to add.
Just a grown-up version of classroom cliques.
Same old.
That senpai who showed up late tonight—must've been awkward walking in, right? Yet he played it off like he was everyone's buddy.
"Ayane, you seem worn out," Her father noted, catching her mood.
"A bit sleepy."
"I'll speed up then. Let's get you home to rest—you've got school tomorrow. How's the new school treating you?"
"It's fine. Teachers and classmates are nice," She said softly.
…
Matsuoka staggered up the stairs, fumbling with his keys at the door of his cheap rental. After several tries, he got it open.
"I'm back," He mumbled to the empty, pitch-black room, muscle memory guiding him to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and twisted the faucet.
The cold water jolted him awake.
In the mirror, his face was flushed, dark circles heavy, eyes threaded with red. Plain and unremarkable, he was the type who'd get shoved to the corner in group photos, never praised for his looks.
As the eldest son, he paled next to his standout younger brother. His strong-willed mother had shaped his reserved nature from childhood.
He didn't know where he'd found the nerve to argue with his parents about his future.
Leaving home alone, without a yen of support, he scraped by in Tokyo's crushing pressure. Multiple part-time jobs barely covered the steep rent and food. A colorless, hectic life chasing an impractical dream.
After bombing his first agency audition, he'd sunk into a long slump.
He'd started bracing for failure, ready to accept he lacked the talent and return home. Then, somehow, he'd passed the second audition at the eleventh hour.
It felt like the heavens had taken pity and thrown him a bone.
Matsuoka flopped onto his futon, too drained to shower. Eyes heavy, he drifted off, his mind replaying the day he stepped off the train into this city.
Compared to his quiet, snow-draped hometown, Tokyo's gray skyline buzzed with thorny, relentless energy. Weaving through crowds, he was just a tiny cog already turning in the machine.
Delivering newspapers by bike in the big city had felt thrilling at first—blue skies and breezes cheering him on. But over time, the spark faded. Sleep deprivation, money woes, and school pressures wore him down.
Hustle turned to struggle.
He'd jumped into this swamp of a dream himself.
So, what about tomorrow?
Matsuoka let out a breath and sank into sleep.
…
Takizawa popped open a beer can, took a long swig, grabbed a bite of the packed-up gourmet leftovers, and puffed on a cigarette.
Pure bliss.
A happy stomach made for a happy mood.
He leaned against the window, soaking in the unfamiliar nightscape.
He never would've guessed Takizawa was already a registered voice actor. Total blind spot, completely caught him off guard.
Sure, working in game art meant dabbling in film, games, and anime. He'd toyed with voice acting, even belted out a few cheesy hero lines for fun. But actually stepping up to the mic? That was daunting.
The simplest things were often the hardest.
Everyone could walk, sit, or sleep, but how many could sprint like Usain Bolt or doze faster than Nobita?
Anyone could talk, but most untrained folks would trip over their tongues trying to say "she sells seashells, fuzzy wuzzy, toy boat." It was a humbling craft.
Voice acting sounded easy—talk and get paid—but that money wasn't easy to earn.
…Still, he couldn't just say "live your dreams" and bail, right?
Takizawa sighed.
"But… voice acting, huh? Sounds kinda fun."
He raised his beer can to the window.
The city's lights glowed, painting steel and concrete in vibrant hues, an industrial masterpiece. At the edge of his vision, a shimmering waterline stretched.
The arteries of the city blazed like fire. He took a deep breath, gazing at the star-chart night.
Even in this parallel world, looking up at that familiar sky gave him the illusion he was still at square one.
Alone or not, no matter where he stood—
We're under the same night sky.
"What's tomorrow got in store?"
The resigned man murmured to himself.
***
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