Some things are set the moment you're born, helpless and wailing.
Inescapable tragedies, fated illnesses, unattainable desires, unavoidable mortality—all chalked up to destiny.
As someone who once lived under the shadow of a society lacking faith, Takizawa was a staunch skeptic of the divine
Ancient myths told of mortals daring rebels again the gods themselves. Heroes stole fire from the gods, slew serpents, outwitted death, and bent the seas to their will. Humans had their lot, but fate wasn't fixed. Even the rowdiest kids had legends like the ultimate troublemaker, a divine rebel.
So, gods and spirits? Dismissed, scoffed at, crushed under the fist of reason!
At least, that's what Takizawa thought before his bizarre isekai—while squatting in the bathroom.
No, it must've been metabolism aligning with cosmic orbits, resonating with primordial universe waves, nicotine as a catalyst, quantum fields breaching dimensional walls.
Thus, his "Takizawa Fate Theory," rooted in science, held firm.
Fate is just genes!
A teetotaling athlete gets cancer before a reckless gambler. A diligent student is outshone by a natural genius. Daily milk and pull-ups, yet shorter than a slacking friend. Pricey skincare, but no match for a roommate's natural glow.
Even abs—symmetry, number—are preordained.
Case closed.
Tiny biological code maps your fate.
Take good looks: they unlock life's perks. Who doesn't love a pretty face?
…Except maybe Takizawa.
Bangs like goggles, dark circles and acne like tattoos, exuding a vibe of utter defeat, backpack stuffed with light novels featuring busty elf girls. Frail, average grades, loner, no family or friends—prime target for classroom jabs.
Beauty means a lot.
You might unknowingly become a vital piece in someone's cherished memory.
A girl pushing her bike home, mundane.
But in some boy's mind, it's modern youth-pain literature, recalled teary-eyed over sake at a reunion years later.
"Kaoru walked ahead, bathed in sunset, her warm silhouette blazing like a crimson rose, too radiant to chase. Train whistles in the breeze, grass swaying. She took my dreams and longing, riding away on her fleeting youth. This river of love and pain lacks the courage to paddle across. I've been mad so long—why hasn't God ended me?"
But Kaoru was just pushing a flat-tired bike home.
Thus, for the innately gifted, men reserve a special memory box.
Uchida, by any measure, was a stunning beauty.
Her smile carried a natural shyness. A slight grin, and she radiated girl-next-door warmth, like the childhood friend waiting at the classroom door to walk home together.
Her gaze sparked a flashback to school days, bumping into the prettiest girl in the hall.
A striking, upright girl like her? Even without his mental archive, he wouldn't forget.
Yet.
"Can I sit?" Uchida asked.
"Of course," Takizawa said.
On the long bench, they sat side by side, half a body's distance apart—close enough to chat comfortably.
"I saw your debut. Really mature performance," Uchida said first.
"Nah, I fumbled plenty. The crew gave me time to mess up," Takizawa said humbly.
"I catch your radio show now and then. You're way more outgoing now," She said sincerely. "Seeing you thrive, your efforts paying off—it's great."
Then, teasingly, she added, "But debuting in a big project, voicing a fan-favorite, swamped with side gigs, shining bright. So busy, forgetting a small-fry friend's name is normal, right?"
"Fan-favorite's debatable… just the radio gig," Takizawa countered weakly, then thumped his chest. "As for names, it happens—thinking of something, then poof, gone. But rest assured, Uchida-san, after today, your name and face are etched in my mind!"
"You've gotten smooth. I thought your radio flair was scripted," Uchida said softly.
"Nope. Scriptwriters loaf when I'm there, getting paid to slack—outrageous," Takizawa griped.
"That's good. Less stiff, but don't go full silver-tongue."
"My words are a shield, not a spear. Speaking of… you're here for the team-building, right?" Takizawa asked hesitantly.
"Yup," Uchida laughed. "Late to the agency, but I made it. Looking forward to your guidance, senpai."
"We're both barely in the door—no need for formalities," Takizawa waved off. "So, Uchida-san."
"Uchida-san?" She echoed.
"Er, wrong way to call you?" He faltered, unsure.
"You just said drop the formalities, then go full polite?"
"Uchida?" He tried, stepping back halfway.
"Close enough," She said, feet swinging.
"Been a while, huh," Takizawa ventured, fishing for info.
"Yeah, I thought I'd see you at the office," Uchida looked up.
"Got sidetracked."
"Don't kid yourself. Nakajima-san said you've never shown," She said, impressed. "You used to play it safe. Now you're wild, in all ways."
"So the vets and bosses 'remember' me?" Takizawa sighed.
It reminded him of asking his boss if his above-average work earned a bonus. "No, but I'll remember you," The boss said.
Very cool.
Recalling his wage-slave days, the mood cooled.
Suddenly, words dried up.
Uchida was friendly but not overly warm, a touch awkward, her gaze fleeting, meeting his briefly.
Takizawa was clueless—what to say?
The faint awkwardness crept back.
"Nice weather today, perfect for a stroll," Takizawa smiled, pulling out the universal topic shield.
"Yeah, pretty good," Uchida nodded.
"…"
"…"
Both opened their mouths, then closed them, words failing, and turned in sync to pretend to admire the scenery.
***
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