Yin Ze stood in front of the open wardrobe, lost in thought.
On one hand, he was debating what to wear. On the other, trying to process his current predicament.
What the hell happened?
Wasn't he supposed to be aiming to become an animator or a manga artist?
How did he end up as a registered voice actor instead?!
All those sketching drills… was that just a detour? A decoy plan? Traitor! You sold yourself out!
Still, he had to admire the sheer determination to break into the industry. That much hadn't changed.
Yin Ze rubbed his temples. His head was starting to ache again. But the call had already come—he had to show up. Deep down, he wanted to respect Takizawa's effort.
So, what to wear?
He'd heard the stories—how brutal the workplace culture here was. Sure, shoving someone's face in a hotpot might be an exaggeration... but those tales about forced purchases and toxic seniority? Probably not far from the truth.
As a born-and-bred Mist City kid, Yin Ze had his principles.
Work is work. You do your job, the boss pays you. Fair deal. You could even call your boss a provider if you were feeling generous. But expecting loyalty like a feudal lord? Hard pass.
…Unless, of course, the paycheck was too good to turn down.
Apparently, switching jobs here was frowned upon—seen as a sign of incompetence or disloyalty. Yin Ze, a frequent jumper between gigs, felt a little guilty.
Was he about to be labeled a "three-faced lackey"?
Still a high schooler on paper, he figured casual wear was fine. But with Japan's professional culture, maybe he should aim for something a bit more formal?
The guy who usually stepped out in flip-flops and shorts was genuinely struggling.
In the end, he decided to look a bit more mature. But after rummaging through his closet, the best he could find was the classic tech bro outfit—light plaid shirt and track pants. That settled that.
No time to cut his hair. He quickly tied up a trendy little topknot to look a bit more put together.
He slipped on a pair of battle-worn army green sneakers and stepped out, worried whether he—an expat salaryman—could keep up with Japan's elite corporate warriors.
Taxis here were outrageously priced. But the subway map? A labyrinthine nightmare.
Tokyo's metro was one of the busiest in the world. It took him ages to find his stop on the display, the font barely bigger than a fingernail.
And of course—it was rush hour.
Before he could even think of yelling for help, a tidal wave of worn-out office workers swallowed him whole.
Balding men with beer bellies, mask-wearing guys with glasses, interns with lifeless eyes and crooked ties…
Yin Ze was helplessly swept into the dark tapestry of overworked drones.
The train car had AC, but the air was thick and stale. Everyone was silent, as if mourning their lost youth. Sighs and coughs echoed through the cabin.
Squeezed into a corner, Yin Ze didn't dare make a sound.
The train slid like a ghost through the tunnel, flickering lights casting distorted shadows on their blank faces—like puppets sealed behind glass, unmoving and hollow, like wax figures stripped of life.
This… was exhaustion in physical form.
In front of these apex corporate soldiers, these tireless cogs in the capitalist machine, Yin Ze didn't dare call himself a laborer.
When his stop finally came, he broke free from the mire and bolted out.
Was this really the world he wanted to work in?
The man who once prided himself on his free spirit… was starting to feel fear.
He trudged through unfamiliar streets, head low, eventually stopping to ask a pair of girls in school uniforms for directions. After winding through side alleys, he finally arrived at a food street that smelled like grilled meat and fried batter.
Most of the customers were, once again, salarymen unwinding after work—drinking in pairs and trios, faces flushed, arms around each other, laughter spilling from shop doors.
After comparing shop signs for a few more minutes, he finally found the place mentioned in the email.
It looked like a regular izakaya.
As soon as he walked in, the smell of grilled meat and the clink of glasses welcomed him.
"Welcome! Table for how many?" a server called out from several meters away, balancing a tray.
"I'm here for a company thing. Something like IM… something?"
"Oh! I'm Enterprise, right? Third private room, please."
"Thanks."
"No problem! Table 18's peanut butter beer is here!" the server called as they rushed off again.
…Peanut butter beer? That's… bold.
Yin Ze found the room. Even from outside, he could hear cheerful voices. He knocked.
The door was opened by a tall man wearing gold-rimmed glasses, neatly styled hair and beard, exuding the air of a polished intellectual. Though dressed like any other white-shirted, watch-wearing office worker, this guy clearly wasn't your typical weary drone.
They exchanged glances. Then the man smiled and extended his hand.
"You must be Takizawa-kun? I'm Kashiwai—the one who contacted you. You're more than ten minutes late, you know. Come in, come in!"
Yin Ze smiled back and shook his hand, playing it cool.
There were about a dozen people inside, spread across two tables. They were all young, and the mood was lively. Seeing the last arrival finally show up, the more outgoing ones started heckling good-naturedly.
Yin Ze was used to this.
"Sorry I'm late—got held up. I'll take a penalty drink!"
Normally that would be three, but who knew what was in that peanut butter beer? One should be enough.
Suddenly, Kashiwai appeared beside him, eyes sharp.
"Takizawa-kun, aren't you still in high school? You can't drink if you're underage."
"…Right. Good point."
"We saved you a seat. Just over there—have some orange juice instead," Kashiwai said with a chuckle.
A couple of people laughed and chimed in:
"Trying to act grown-up already? Better hope your mom doesn't smell it and spank you when you get home."
"But hey, the vibe's there! Let's get him a pineapple soda!"
"How about this water?"
"That's sake, man! One sip and this kid's toast."
"True, true. Hahaha!"
Wow. So they think I'm just trying to act tough?
Yin Ze was mildly offended—but also kind of relieved.
Dealing with socializing was such a pain.
He settled into his seat, finally taking in the room. It seemed like Kashiwai and a middle-aged man were the ones leading things. They were delivering a heartfelt speech, congratulating everyone on passing the audition and encouraging them to keep striving toward their dreams.
When the speech ended, it was time for self-introductions—delayed, it seemed, because of his lateness. Most people already knew each other, at least a little. The table next to his was chatting easily.
His table, though… felt a little cold.
"Want a drink?" he asked, opening the soda bottle and offering it around.
A few people smiled and passed their glasses. He filled them, then turned to the others.
The guy on his left quickly raised his cup with both hands and thanked him several times. After a sip, he quietly turned to watch the introductions from the next table.
Then to his right—a short-haired girl didn't even look up.
"I'm good, thanks," she murmured, eyes still on her phone.
"…Alright then."
Yin Ze took a sip himself, a little deflated.
Finally, it was their table's turn.
"Takizawa-kun, why don't you start us off?" Kashiwai said with a smile.
Yin Ze stood up and spoke clearly.
"Hi everyone! I'm Takizawa Satoru, the guy who showed up ten-and-a-half minutes late. I'm still in school, and I love sleeping, drawing, and gaming. It's a pleasure to meet you all. I hope we can help each other grow and improve. And most importantly—let's work together to build a bright new future for our company and ourselves! Achieve our personal goals! Because let's be real—the best raises come from overtime!"
"The client's demands aren't scary! The boss's scolding isn't scary! What's really shameful is slacking off! So let's all give our best—ten pounds of effort, ten pounds of sweat! Let's give back to the company and earn the rewards we deserve! Push forward, break through! The world and the future once belonged to our parents and grandparents—but now it belongs to us!"
He raised his orange juice like it was a shot of grain alcohol. Kashiwai looked amused, and the middle-aged man beside him seemed impressed.
"Well said. Such integrity and passion—youth really is full of energy."
After the round of applause, the next person was either the boy on his left or the girl on his right.
Yin Ze glanced left.
Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes, the boy stood up nervously. He fiddled with his hands and bowed slightly.
"Good evening, everyone. I'm Matsuoka Yoshitsugu, born in Hokkaido… uh, I hope we can all improve together and keep working on our performances."
Not as confident or charismatic. The speech was short and met with polite, scattered applause.
Then came the rest:
"I'm Iwasawa Toshiki. It's an honor to be here with everyone. Let's get along and work toward our goals."
"Kagamura Haruka. I've loved anime since I was little. Being here feels like a dream come true—but I know the road ahead is long. I hope we'll all make it to the end without regrets."
"Suzuki Chihiro. I like gaming—especially competitive stuff. If anyone's interested, I'd love to swap tips sometime." The guy's stubble wasn't completely shaved.
"Fujiumi Nakahiro. I like sketching in my free time. Big fan of Rembrandt and Menzel." A stylish guy twisting his hair.
"Akayama Kozuru. Born by the sea, I love sailing and collecting ship encyclopedias." The boy smiled gently as he spoke.
Finally, it was the short-haired girl.
She had already tucked away her phone. Standing up, she bowed slightly, her voice clear and youthful.
"Sakura Ayane. First year in high school. I love drawing and reading. Pleased to meet you all."