"Seriously, you don't need Dad to drive you?"
Felled by a cold, the family pillar lay in bed, swaddled in thick blankets to sweat it out. Though weak, his eyes still blazed with manly grit.
"This is Sakura's first theater-level project—a major promo event! How can I stay down?"
Sakura Masafumi declared, unyielding.
"Actors are close to the fame game. My elf-like daughter is bound to catch the eye of some bald director, shady producer, or pretty-boy co-star! That's when I roll up in my tailored suit, stepping out of a luxury car, Rolex gleaming, showing them she's got a rock-solid backer—not someone to mess with!"
"You're overthinking it," Sakura sighed. "It's not that dramatic."
"You're young, naive to the world's dangers. Girls must guard themselves outside, stay sharp. Every man hides a filthy shadow—faced with pure, snow-white beauty, not all can hold true," Sakura Masafumi lectured.
"Aren't you a man? Got that darkness too?" Sakura shot back.
"I'm no mere man—I'm a father, a nobler being!" He proclaimed.
"…Stop squirming. Rest. Water and phone are on the nightstand. Call if you need us. We'll be back after the event," Sakura said.
"At least take my card. Let me feel I'm with you."
His card as his proxy? Really?
"Fine, got it. Hang in there, sweat it out, take a hot shower after. No lifting the blanket to let in drafts, okay?" Sakura instructed patiently.
"Healing's pointless now," He mumbled, eyes vacant.
"Next time, I'll drag you along, okay?"
"Swear on it. Pinky promise…" Sakura Masafumi grinned, reaching out.
"No drafts!" Sakura snapped, tucking the blanket's corners under the mattress.
With the mighty, reliable family pillar secured, Sakura finally had time to pick an outfit and do her makeup.
A girl's wardrobe is a magical realm—you never know what you'll find.
Her bed was strewn with high-end designer clothes, each traceable to fashion magazines.
A beige dress, sleek and bold, flattered the figure, perfect for gliding through parties with a champagne flute. But too formal for this—pass.
A vibrant mini-dress, eye-catching, sweet with the right hair and makeup. But standing out in a crowd felt shy—pass.
Cropped denim jacket and casual pants?
Cool, practical, her style, but even for a small event, it was too informal—pass.
Wait, what's this?
Sakura puzzled over a small, faded child's jacket.
Her elementary school coat? Why'd her parents keep this?
Choice paralysis struck. Grabbing her messy, unwashed short curls, they grew wilder.
Every piece was love-at-first-sight or carefully chosen, yet when it came time to wear them, nothing clicked.
A woman's closet always lacks one piece.
Time was running out.
"Mom, help me curl my hair!" Sakura rushed downstairs with her curling wand.
At a Tokyo intersection, traffic roared, horns blaring.
Takizawa, mentally humming a mellow tune, cruised on his moped, weaving through gridlock, dodging crowds. His riding was loose, opportunistic, even pausing to tease a chubby street cat.
A stray dog, marking a pole, took his whistle as a challenge and charged. But his pink moped, however cheap, was modern tech.
Can't outrun four wheels? I'll smoke four legs.
Lost in the thrill, he switched his mental track to a high-octane Eurobeat.
After a heart-pounding chase—human, machine, beast—he reached the venue.
Into the Forest of Fireflies Light, novel or film, carried a wistful, ethereal charm, so its release and promo leaned understated.
The meet-and-greet was in a Tokyo theater, with modest media and fan turnout, but their clout was big. It'd be recorded for future disc bonuses.
Learning he'd attend, Takizawa was pleased—better than Dark Dream Talk.
Here, he was the lead, discussing legit behind-the-scenes, acting insights, and character work. Not playing a comedian, teased by fan letters or bullied by a younger host.
Plus, he hadn't seen Sakura-chan in a while.
She didn't text or treat him to dinner, despite him, model citizen, escorting her home after recordings.
The theater was being set up. Director Omori, early as always, smiled warmly. "Still time before we start. Head to the green room—Sakura-chan's already there. Chat with her."
"No way, I can't just lounge," Takizawa grinned. "Need help? I can move gear, count seats."
"Appreciate it, but meet your leading lady first. She's nervous—like a kid before a field trip, excited but jittery," Omori chuckled.
"Alright, see you later."
"Go, go," Omori shooed, clearly not wanting his help.
Takizawa slipped through the staff-only passage, guided to the green room. He knocked.
"Come in," A voice called.
He entered.
The familiar girl sat, brushing her hair at a mirror. In a sleek, mystic black dress, her pale neck and arms glowed, cheeks flushed, glossy lips shimmering like their first meeting. Her eyes flicked to him, startled, pausing her tousled curls.
"You just barge in?" She asked, blinking fast, head high.
"Didn't you say 'come in'?"
"I thought you were staff!"
"I am staff… I'm the lead," Takizawa muttered, then his face softened, voice gentle. "You look great."
Sakura froze, gripping her skirt, her bravado fading. "Just talk. True or not?"
"True," Takizawa nodded slowly.
The young woman beside Sakura was striking.
Graceful figure, refined features, exuding a gentle, scholarly charm.
A classic lady, elegant and serene, her faint smile memorable. Her beauty was subtle, quintessentially refined, her avant-garde style adding a playful edge.
Her features faintly echoed Sakura's… her sister?
Who'd guess the mercurial, less-feminine Sakura had such a captivating sibling?
"First meeting, lovely miss. I'm Takizawa Satoru. May I have your name?" He asked, adjusting his plaid shirt collar softly.
"?" Sakura blinked.
"Of course. I'm Sakura Shinobu," The woman said, surprised. "You're Takizawa-kun? A pro artist?"
"Just a voice actor. Why?"
"You're too handsome—better than Shoichi-kun. Not an idol?" Shinobu asked, hands clasped, bouncing curiously.
"Ha, you flatter me. You, Sakura-san, are the one who dazzles," Takizawa said.
"Oh, stop," Shinobu giggled.
"Here to chaperone Sakura-chan?"
"Yup, her first time at something like this."
"You two are close."
"Of course, I watched her grow up."
"You're so warm, heart tied to family."
"With just one daughter, who else would I pour my heart into?" Shinobu said, fondly patting Sakura's head.
Takizawa froze, smile faltering, struck by lightning.
"—One daughter?"
"Yup."
"You're…?"
"Ayane's mom."
Rarely, the upbeat man turned grayscale, sinking into silent sorrow.
***
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