"So, how are you getting along with your coworkers?"
The mature, composed man gripped the steering wheel as he waited at a red light. Glancing at his daughter slouched in the passenger seat, looking completely drained, he couldn't help but chuckle.
"Just a bunch of loud, annoying guys," Ayane Sakura muttered, puffing out her still slightly baby-faced cheeks. "The smell of alcohol made me nauseous. And drunk people are just—ugh—gross. Not to mention the drinks tasted awful. I don't get the appeal."
"Well, that's one face of society," her father laughed knowingly. "But now you understand a little better what your dear old dad puts up with."
"If you ever come home drunk like that, I'll make sure Mom locks you out. And even if you make it in, the couch is your only option," she snapped.
"...Can't you show a little sympathy for your hardworking, middle-aged dad?" he sighed. "You know, for guys like me, it's tough to get through these social events without drinking."
"What, people can't talk without booze now?" she snorted.
"In that kind of setting, you play by the rules. Especially when you're the one who needs something from others," her father said matter-of-factly as the light turned green and the car smoothly pulled forward.
"That's why I'm working hard. If I make it to the top seat, I'll be the one people are toasting. Then I won't come home drunk, and Ayane won't kick me out anymore."
"Then I guess I'll find myself a boyfriend who's a company president," Ayane replied, eyes gleaming mischievously.
"The average age of that crowd's gotta be at least forty," her dad winced.
"I'm sure there's a few young and successful ones out there!" she said confidently.
"In this day and age? Maybe more like young and inherited," he scoffed. Then something clicked. "Oh, right—there was a young guy waiting with you earlier. Looked about your age, maybe a student too?"
"...Yeah, he's a senior in high school," Ayane recalled.
"Oh? A classmate from your training program?"
"Not at all. He's a transfer, got in through a special screening."
"Sounds like a real talent. Did you two chat during dinner?" he asked, a bit surprised.
"Nope."
"Well, make sure to thank him next time you see him," he reminded her gently.
"Fiiiine..."
Ayane stretched out the word as she replied lazily.
She sank back into her seat, watching the city lights blur into colorful trails outside the window. Exhaustion oozed from her core.
She'd hoped to meet people her age who shared her wavelength. That hope was clearly misplaced.
A room full of sweaty men laughing too loudly, cracking crude jokes, pretending it was all good fun—this wasn't the kind of social life she wanted.
The entire vibe was forced.
Even if you didn't drink, you had to smile and raise your glass. Even if you weren't talkative, you had to nod along and play along.
It was like a classroom group project—only grown-up, and worse.
No different anywhere, really.
That senior who showed up late today—he must've felt awkward walking in. But he still tried to act like he belonged.
"Ayane, you look tired," her father noticed.
"A little sleepy."
"I'll drive faster so we can get home sooner. You've got school tomorrow, right? Settling in okay at the new place?"
"Yeah. The teachers and classmates are all nice," she said softly.
...
Meanwhile, Yoshitsugu Matsuoka staggered up the steps to his cheap rental apartment, fumbling several times before the key finally clicked in the lock.
As always, he announced his return to the empty, pitch-dark room: "I'm home."
He moved by memory to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and splashed cold tap water on his face.
The chill snapped him awake.
In the mirror, a red-faced young man stared back. His dark circles were heavy, his eyes bloodshot. Plain-looking and forgettable, he'd always been the type to get cropped out of group photos. Compliments had never been a part of his life.
He was the eldest son, but his younger brother had always outshined him. His mother was a strict, dominant presence, and under her shadow, he grew up painfully reserved.
Even so, at some point, he'd summoned the courage to seriously discuss his future with his parents.
He left home with nothing—no financial help, no safety net—and came to Tokyo to chase a dream in a city that didn't care if he made it or not. Juggling multiple part-time jobs just barely paid the rent and covered food. Each day was a haze of exhaustion and scraping by.
After failing his first audition at the agency, he'd fallen into a long slump.
He was all but ready to accept defeat, pack up, and go home.
But somehow, miraculously, he passed the second round—at the last possible moment.
Honestly, it felt like the universe had taken pity on him and decided to throw him a bone.
He collapsed onto his futon. Too tired to shower, too drained to move.
As he drifted off, he saw in his mind the memory of arriving in Tokyo—the day he stepped off the train.
Compared to his quiet, snow-covered hometown, Tokyo's towering gray buildings buzzed with thorny, electric life. From the moment he stepped into the crowd, he'd become just another cog in the ever-turning machine.
Back then, delivering newspapers by bike in the early morning felt like a fresh adventure. Blue skies, cool breeze, the city welcoming him.
But now? That energy was long gone.
Sleep-deprived, broke, buried in classwork—he was worn down to the bone.
The dream had turned into a daily struggle.
And yet, he'd jumped into this swamp of a dream with his own two feet.
So… what would tomorrow bring?
He let out a breath and sank into sleep.
...
Yin Ze cracked open a beer and took a long swig, followed by a mouthful of takeout and a puff from his cigarette.
Ahh. Pure bliss.
With a full belly, his mood lifted.
He leaned against the window, savoring the unfamiliar skyline.
He never would've guessed Takizawa was already a registered voice actor. That came out of nowhere—a total blind spot.
Sure, he'd dabbled in anime, games, and films as a storyboard artist, and had even joked around with a few cheesy "hero lines" in the past, but actually becoming a voice actor? That felt way out of his league.
Things that seem simple always turn out to be the hardest.
Everyone walks, sits, stands, and lies down—but how many can run like Usain Bolt or fall asleep like Nobita?
Everyone talks, sure. But untrained folks twist their tongues on a basic tongue twister. People from Sichuan or Chongqing especially know the pain of mastering crisp pronunciation.
Voice acting's the same. Sure, you get paid to talk—but that paycheck isn't easy.
...Still, quitting on the spot with a "we all have our dreams" excuse wouldn't fly either.
Yin Ze sighed.
"That said... voice acting does sound kinda fun."
He raised his beer can toward the window.
City lights twinkled. Concrete and steel bathed in neon looked like industrial art. At the edge of the horizon shimmered a thin line of water.
The city's veins—its roads—burned bright, connecting everything like constellations.
Even in this parallel world, just looking up at the same old sky gave him the comforting illusion that he hadn't moved at all.
Lonely or not, near or far—
We're all under the same night sky.
"I wonder what tomorrow'll be like..."
The man, who always went with the flow, whispered into the night.