Some things are just standard: butter in fried rice, long johns in winter, tissue in bathrooms, doves and unlimited ammo in action flicks, soulful ballads at midnight. And roller coasters and Ferris wheels in amusement parks.
Even in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, a rusted Ferris wheel stands amid ruins, silently recounting the past.
As the most leisurely ride, it's already safe, no need for a kiddie version.
"See? This is the park's only adult ride. Your bumper cars are just denial," Takizawa said, gazing up at the towering Ferris wheel with a smirk.
"One loop's barely ten minutes. Using coupons feels like a waste," Matsuoka muttered, counting his vouchers.
"Can you chill? Obsessing over savings makes you indecisive and stingy. Girls don't vibe with that," Takizawa lectured.
"There's a perk to that?"
"…Didn't you say you became a voice actor because of Neon Genesis Evangelion?"
"Yeah, the main character's best friend—his acting blew me away."
"Not great. Those mecha plots are all weirdly similar. Don't end up like the protagonist, treating a guy as your life's only angel."
"?"
"Seems boring, and the line's so long," Sakura grumbled, craning her neck to look ahead.
Women are impossible.
To save her from bawling in a haunted house, he'd publicly faked a timid, unmanly side. Now she complained he'd shielded her too well. Craving normalcy yet fantasizing about dramatic TV crashes, amnesia, thrilling romances.
Sigh, classic naivety.
If Sakura met a slick, cunning playboy with patience and a plan, she'd be duped, counting his money as he sold her out.
"Where's Nakajima-senpai?" Takizawa glanced back. Their senpai, last in line, had vanished in the crowd. After searching, he spotted him waving from far behind.
"So far back, he might ride alone…" Matsuoka sighed. "Hope the ticket guy doesn't peg him as a lonely, midlife-crisis guy—failed investments, seeking solace in a kids' park. When I first moved to Tokyo, I did everything solo—eating, resting. Even solo karaoke got stares."
"I've done solo movies," Takizawa said casually.
"I practiced drama lines alone in junior high," Uchida chimed in naturally.
"What about you, Sakura-san?" Matsuoka asked.
"Lots of friends, always hanging out."
"Really? Never seen these friends," Takizawa said skeptically.
"Different circles," Sakura said coolly, her face unreadable.
Matsuoka took it as a guy-girl, student-adult divide.
Takizawa saw class—her peers probably had allowances rivaling office workers' salaries, all high-society charm.
Nice. In a few years, Sakura's friend circle could be tapped for a mixer—not for him, but to help his shy buddy score a girlfriend from a swanky harbor villa. His Hokkaido dad would be thrilled, giving a big thumbs-up.
The crowd inched forward.
The staffer managing entry mechanically blocked, released, blocked, released, hands rising and falling like a factory cutter, slotting them into Ferris wheel cabins.
When their turn came, the four youths handed over five or six coupons each, slashing the fare to 300 yen. Even the robotic staffer was speechless.
Waved through, Takizawa stepped in, the gate slamming shut like a guillotine. The cabin rose slowly.
A two-seater? So small?
Peering through the glass, Takizawa watched Matsuoka below—bewildered, then alarmed, resisting, giving up, finally trembling as he entered a cabin with Sakura.
Good luck.
It's a kids' park, but since arriving, he'd been drained. Now, finally, a moment to enjoy the view and rest.
He leaned back on the soft cushion, stretching, and accidentally locked eyes with the girl opposite. Uchida sat primly, legs tilted right, their silent gaze meeting amid the hum of machinery.
"…"
"Why the 'how do we get along' look, Takizawa-kun?" Uchida said. "Am I that hard to handle?"
"Was it that obvious?!" He touched his face, stunned his expression slipped.
"Guessed," Uchida smiled softly. "Relax, I'm not a monster."
Not a scary ghoul, nor Sakura's hot-and-cold type. From start to finish, Uchida was gentle, never suggesting or opposing, quietly joining in, her only big reaction being their first meeting's excitement.
"Where're you from, Uchida?" Takizawa asked.
"Born in Tokyo, raised in the countryside," She said.
"That's nice. A childhood in concrete lacks the joy of chasing dragonflies by fields at dusk."
"Aren't you a born-and-bred Tokyoite?"
"I've played in mud, set off firecrackers in fields."
"Oh, my brother did that," Uchida said, half-exasperated, half-disgusted. "Every festival, he'd sneak firecrackers to the fields."
"Didn't know you had a brother who's practically my soulmate. Gotta meet him sometime," Takizawa said politely.
"You'd hit it off. Lately, he's gotten vain—always a comb in his pocket, fixing his hair."
"Bet he's got a crush. Guys are wired to show off for girls."
"You too, Takizawa-kun?"
"Can't escape it."
"No wonder you're different now. Got a girl you like?"
"Nah, I'm past that childish phase, stepping into maturity. I aim to live clean and joyful every day—happiness is key."
A Ferris wheel ride is short, but sharing a private space, connecting, is precious.
Let it end in this calm chat.
Clunk.
With a jolt, the sky and scenery froze.
The Ferris wheel stopped.
Peering down, the whole park had stalled—the roller coaster, loved and loathed, rested meters above ground. The carousel stood dull, lifeless. Only a small stage show persisted, actors in costumes performing diligently.
Below, red-capped staff scrambled to fix the issue.
Takizawa scratched his head, emotions mixed.
In the cabin below, the air grew stranger, Matsuoka's face twisting in despair as escape faded.
***
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