"I'm fine now, Shion. You should get back to your practice."
Kuroha Akira, his spirits genuinely lifted after Shinomiya's gentle intervention, was ready to dive back into the creative trenches. The hell of creation could wait—first, he needed to check on his investment.
He suddenly realized he'd completely neglected Shinomiya's voice acting progress while he'd been lost in his own mental fog. When Kuroha Akira entered that state of hyper-focused concentration, the outside world simply ceased to exist. It was like putting on noise-cancelling headphones—not to enjoy the music, but to reach that paradoxical state where you stop hearing the music altogether. That was true focus.
He turned to her. "By the way, Shion, how's your practice coming along?"
"Um, I've pretty much memorized all the lines..." She fidgeted slightly, fingers twisting together. "Should I perform it for you now? You could listen and tell me what you think?"
The way her eyes sparkled betrayed her genuine desire to show off in front of him, but the slight tremor in her voice revealed the flip side—she was terrified of his criticism. Anticipation and apprehension, tangled together like headphones left in a pocket overnight.
Kuroha Akira shook his head. "Not yet. You haven't practiced enough at this stage. Performing in front of someone when you're still finding your footing will make your emotions fluctuate, and that'll magnify every little problem tenfold."
In the professional voice acting world, the voice director provided on-site guidance during recording sessions. The client—whoever commissioned the work—just sat in the booth and gave feedback. Kuroha Akira had been that client before, sitting on the other side of the glass. But he'd never been a voice director. He could point out general feeling issues, the broad strokes of what worked and what didn't, but detailed technical suggestions? That wasn't his territory.
And Shinomiya hadn't even reached entry-level standards yet. Throwing abstract concepts like "more emotion" or "make it cuter" at her would only confuse her practice, not help it.
For now, she needed to rely on herself. Imitate the pros first—top-tier voice actors whose techniques were proven and recorded. Get to 80-90% similarity through sheer replication. Then, once she had that foundation, she could start making her own adjustments and finding her unique voice.
"So for now, just show me your hand. Your left hand."
"Okay..." Shinomiya looked mildly confused but obediently extended her left hand toward him.
She remembered that when they'd first met yesterday, he'd asked to see her hand too, mumbling something about confirming her talent. Maybe this was just Akira-kun's unique quirk? His special way of reading people?
Kuroha Akira took her left hand gently, examining it with the careful attention of a jeweler inspecting a precious gem. He focused, waiting for the familiar interface to appear...
The proficiency related to voice acting hadn't materialized yet. Well, that made sense. Even someone with S-rank talent couldn't develop concrete skills in just one day.
But after a moment, he spotted something new—proficiencies that hadn't been there yesterday.
Acting Lv1
Bel Canto Lv1
...Huh?
She'd developed Acting already? That was amazing! Even if Voice Acting itself hadn't appeared as a proficiency yet, Acting had already reached entry-level. As expected of S-rank Soul Performance! The talent was genuinely terrifying.
And Bel Canto... when had she developed that? It definitely wasn't there before. But Shinomiya already had Singing Lv2 listed, so picking up Bel Canto made sense. As long as she could hit those high notes cleanly, the technique would follow naturally. And with her S-rank Heavenly Voice, hitting high notes was probably about as difficult as breathing.
*Bel canto (Italian for "beautiful singing") is a 19th-century operatic style and vocal technique characterized by agility, breath control, and smooth phrasing.
The progress bars beneath these two new proficiencies had barely budged—maybe 1% to 5% complete. But as he'd learned before, simply being recorded as a proficiency meant she'd already achieved entry-level status. She was in the door.
S-rank talent was absolutely terrifying.
Kuroha Akira felt increasingly certain that guiding Shinomiya toward becoming a voice actor was essentially playing the game on Easy Mode. The difficulty curve for her was practically flat.
"Very good. Excellent progress. Keep up the hard work."
He instinctively raised his right hand for a high-five, then caught himself just in time. His right hand was his copying hand—any physical contact would erase the talents he'd carefully copied from her. He quickly switched to his left hand instead.
"Mm!"
Shinomiya, radiant from the praise, happily slapped his left hand with enthusiasm. Then, naturally as breathing, she didn't let go. Her fingers intertwined with his, palm pressed against palm.
The last time she'd tried to hold his hand, he'd pulled away. But now, facing each other like this, she could finally hold on. Fingers laced together, skin against skin—it felt like their bodies were connected somehow. Shinomiya realized she really, really liked holding hands.
Happily, she began swinging their clasped hands back and forth, like little girls playing together during recess. This was the kind of casual intimacy that existed only between friends.
Friends... that word was still foreign to Shinomiya.
Growing up, her family had moved constantly. New cities, new schools, new faces—but never enough time to form real connections before they packed up and left again. She'd never had the chance to make close friends.
Which meant Kuroha Akira was technically her first real friend.
But then a troubling thought crept in. Was that really accurate? Their relationship was built on cooperation—like an artist and their manager, bound by mutual interest rather than genuine affection. Could that kind of arrangement truly be called friendship?
She grew uncertain, the worry evident in her voice. "Akira-kun... are we... friends now?"
"Huh?"
His bewildered response made her heart skip a beat—and not in the good way. She quickly lowered her head, waving her free hand in front of her face. "Ah, I'm sorry! That was too presumptuous of me to ask..."
"You misunderstood." His voice was calm, cutting through her panic. "I was just wondering—if you didn't consider me a friend, would you still have dared to come home with me?"
"Eh?"
"Think about it. I've brought you to my place. We're literally living together in the same room. What else could people who share a living space be, if not friends?"
If cohabitation didn't qualify as friendship, the only remaining categories were marital relations or... something purely physical. Neither of which applied here.
"Friendship isn't measured by how much time you spend together," he continued, a small smile playing at his lips. "You trust me, and I trust you. That's what makes it friendship."
He squeezed her hand gently. "Outside of work, I'd like to treat you as a friend. Or do you find it embarrassing to consider me one?"
"No, that's not it at all!" The words tumbled out in a rush, desperate and sincere. "I just... I thought... maybe Akira-kun only saw me as... as..."
She trailed off, unable to articulate the fear that had been gnawing at her. Her bangs fell forward, curtain-ing her face as she stared at the floor.
"You think I just want to use you?"
Her body trembled slightly at his blunt accuracy.
Kuroha Akira's smile didn't waver, but his voice softened. "Well, you're not wrong. But even if there's an element of utilization, it doesn't have to be exploitative. It can be a win-win situation. A friendly mode of interaction where both parties benefit. Not scheming against each other, not becoming enemies down the line."
He released her left hand and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
"So how you view our relationship is up to you. As for me? I consider you both a friend and a business partner."
Though, if he was being honest with himself, starting a business with friends usually ended one way: a spectacular falling out somewhere down the road. Fair-weather friends, relationships built on mutual benefit—when the profit dried up, who could really rely on who?
That was the thing about benefits and human hearts. They were the two most unpredictable variables in any equation.
"...Mm!" Shinomiya finally looked up, her eyes shimmering with determination. "I'll also treat Akira-kun as a friend! We'll be best friends forever!"
Shinomiya Shion, who had spent half her life moving from place to place without ever planting roots, finally had her first real friend. And she was determined to keep this one forever. If everything she'd endured was the price she'd had to pay to finally find someone sincere, then she considered it a bargain.
"Hah."
Kuroha Akira couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He'd heard almost the exact same phrase from the class president earlier today, and now from Shinomiya tonight.
You really do value friends highly, don't you? Both of you...
Well, that was fine. More than fine, actually.
The deeper the affection, the higher the price tag. And when the time came to collect on that 'friendship fee,' he was going to cash in with interest.
He just hoped, for their sakes, that they wouldn't regret it when that day arrived.