Humming a cheerful tune, Takizawa strolled out of the recording booth toward the vending machine, tilting his head to pick a coffee.
"Still in the mood for catchy pop? Life must be treating you well," Kashiwai remarked, leaning coolly against the hallway wall, arms crossed.
"Not bad. Early to bed, early to rise—healthy routine." Takizawa grinned. "Want something? My treat."
"Thanks, I'm good." The agent eyed the carefree guy, sighing like a weary dad facing a slacker son. "Too lax. Way too lax!"
"What's got you riled up now?" Takizawa asked, used to it.
"Look, you're sharp, a top grad. Let's skip the corporate dance and talk like buddies, yeah? Sound good?" Kashiwai said.
"Speak your mind." Takizawa bent to grab his hot coffee from the slot.
"Alright, let's start with you." Kashiwai's gaze held the appreciation of a homemaker spotting prime steak. "Early twenties, dazzling smile, a hint of star quality in every grin, still youthful but at your physical peak. Well-read, sharp-minded, brimming with passion, genuine to a fault. You're practically glowing inside and out."
"Fair point, true." Takizawa nodded.
"Now look at me." Kashiwai gestured to himself, face heavy with gloom. "Average looks, no standout traits, lost in the crowd. Work's numbing, life's meaningless, leaning on whiskey to sleep, with a touch of hair loss. Not even thirty, and I'm staring down a midlife crisis, future foggy."
"Sounds rough," Takizawa sympathized.
"It is." Kashiwai got serious. "This suit? Worn since my first job, never replaced, just washed. Swelter in summer, freeze in winter. This watch? Knockoff from a sketchy site. Gold-rimmed glasses? Financed. I live in a shoebox, bathroom barely fits a toilet—have to hit the public bathhouse to shower. Sure, I network with industry bigwigs, play cards, drink, but every month's a scrape-by, pinching pennies."
"Man, tough break." Takizawa nodded along.
"And you know why I picked this agent gig?" Kashiwai said wistfully.
"Rather than steal the spotlight, you love the thrill of pulling strings behind the scenes, shaping talent into legends instead of becoming one yourself?" Takizawa mused.
"What? No, I just told you!" Kashiwai frowned, indignant yet resigned. "If I had the looks or talent to charm the masses, I'd be out there, taking gigs, raking in fangirl cash, living the heartthrob life."
"…"
"Now look at what you're doing." The agent pointed accusingly.
"Drinking coffee."
"Broader."
"Living."
"Your job."
"Voice acting, duh. Just came out for a break."
"What're you voicing?" Kashiwai pressed.
"Baby Steps: Momo Family. I play the kind neighbor uncle, helping preschooler Momo pick up her dropped handkerchief and giving directions." Takizawa answered straight.
"Some daycare ad—is that fun?" Kashiwai asked, voice heavy.
"It's alright," Takizawa said, sheepish. "Pretty chill."
"Degenerate! Your vision's too small!" The agent fumed.
"You're the one who booked it!"
"I also got you auditions for Blaze of the Holy Sword, Omega Beyond the Stars, Cycle of the Automata, and Demon-Slaying Tempest!"
Kashiwai pounded his chest, face flushed, as if his blood was boiling over.
"But you end up as Momo's junior high neighbor! Wake up, Takizawa! This is a slow death!"
"It's the production team's call, not mine. Work's work—no high or low."
"The industry doesn't keep nobodies. You've got star potential, raw talent—content slumming in kiddie shows and nature docs?!"
"That's off-base. How many male voice actors are out there?" Takizawa countered.
"No clue, but with training schools nationwide, thousands, easy," Kashiwai estimated.
"Exactly. There's no such thing as an 'irreplaceable voice.' National anime run decades, swapping out actors for age or illness—two, three generations sometimes. Does it hurt their legacy?" Takizawa gestured grandly. "Not at all. The new voices ride the classic's coattails, becoming part of it."
"Not quite. Landing a role in those evergreen shows means your skills are top-notch—it's a two-way street," Kashiwai added.
"Even veterans are just a cog in the machine, like animation or music," Takizawa went on. "But now, it's less about the work and more about hyping voice actors to milk fans' wallets. Is that right?"
"Uh, the trend's a bit off," Kashiwai conceded.
"So, something like Baby Steps: Momo—where no one cares who's behind the mic—that's the real deal, back-to-basics grit." Takizawa's voice soared. "It's what'll sharpen me!"
"No, no, hold up."
Kashiwai rubbed his temples, cutting off the rhetoric.
"You miss out on big roles, take cheap ads, and that's correct? I'm not debating industry futures—I care about you breaking out!"
"Even if it's a fleeting meteor?" Takizawa teased.
"Fine by me. That'd still be a star I helped launch, boosting my rep as an agent."
"And me?"
"Don't worry, even if you flop, you'll still eat," The pro agent soothed.
"?"
No sync, only a split!
"Takizawa, they said your part's cleared… though it's just 'watch the road' and 'you dropped your hanky,'" Matsuoka said, stepping out of the booth. He voiced Breakfast Vendor A. "Oh, Kashiwai-san's here too?"
"Matsuoka, how's it going?" Kashiwai asked.
"Solid, got work every week." Matsuoka grinned. "Thanks for the gigs."
"Just doing my job. But you gotta aim higher! Set a goal—land a lead role this season!"
"No way, directors keep saying my acting's too green." Matsuoka shook his head. "Besides, even Takizawa's still honing his craft. How can I aim too high?"
"See! Your laziness corrupted a fiery young talent!" Kashiwai spun to scold the coffee-sipping man.
"…"
"What about Sakura under you? How's she doing?" Takizawa deflected.
"Handed her to a seasoned female agent—I was just a temp. She's still a student, can take it slow, unlike you guys."
"I'm a student too. College counts, right?" Takizawa puffed up proudly.
"Repent! Wake up! How long will these excuses hold?!"
"Grad school, maybe a PhD—dodging 'til thirty, no problem."
"…"
"Classic Takizawa, claiming degrees like they're his already," Matsuoka said, impressed.
"Enough!" Kashiwai waved sharply. "I've made my call, mapped your paths—trust me, it's solid!"
"Lay it out."
"First, I'm Enterprise's got a wholesome vibe, family-like. We've got a tradition of senpais guiding kouhais, and a reliable one's coming to lead you."
"Nakajima-san?"
"Nah, he's swamped." Kashiwai clarified. "It's an independent, approachable Yamato Nadeshiko!"
Takizawa pictured a poised woman in dark hair and simple clothes, holding a script, smiling reassuringly with elegant grace.
"Gotta be on my best behavior then."
Matsuoka's mind conjured something vaguer: a fierce aura, social frost, pickled plums.
"I think…" He started hesitantly.
"Hm?" Kashiwai fixed him with a stern glare.
"Nothing, nothing." Matsuoka swallowed his words.
"Any questions, ask her—she's your senpai, will guide you kindly. And the big one: Idol King 3's release!" Kashiwai lit up like he was soaring. "I feel it—this is your shot to shine. Events, Budokan concerts, collabs. Can't wait!"
"For real?"
"As a pro agent, you think I can't read the game?" Kashiwai huffed. "Backed by a conglomerate, huge IP, deep market—this is a slaughter!"
"Your opening move's got me nervous," Takizawa said, recalling a distant urban legend of a game-changing force, worry creeping in.
***
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