Once a free-spirited guy who'd rather skip the crowded school cafeteria, Takizawa now battled Tokyo's fiercest commuters daily, stuffed into train cars like filling, pressed against balding, potbellied salarymen. It was downright tragic.
Wedged between two burly men, expressionless, he passed the time with Schrödinger's Life Corridor.
Only then did he recall his past self's foresight, scouring the internet for rebirth get-rich schemes.
Sports betting is one of the classic ways to score a first windfall for someone like him who has come to the past—even if this is a parallel world.
He knew of gems like Germany's 0-2 loss to South Korea in 2018, a 350-to-1 longshot in the second half. Or Barcelona's 2-8 thrashing by Bayern in the Champions League, complete with an own goal—bet right, and you're set for life.
Then there was the legendary 2014 World Cup semifinal: Brazil 1, Germany 7, at home.
And, of course, mining Bitcoin.
His Life Corridor flashed these data points in a high-speed matrix, his eyes gleaming.
But then it hit him: in this world, Japan's national team made the World Cup three times, even outplaying France on their turf. This reality was so warped it was practically an A+ anomaly. Betting's a bust.
Sighing, he trashed the data, switched to the entertainment section, and queued up an episode of Man vs. Wild.
Twenty minutes later, free from the commuter crush, he walked to the studio.
Nearly two weeks had passed since his Into the Forest of Fireflies Light audition. Word came—he'd been cast. Director Takahiro Omori loved how his voice fit the ghost character, selecting him after careful thought.
I'm Enterprise had snagged both leads for this near-two-hander. Kashiwai Ippei must've pulled strings behind the scenes.
Takizawa rubbed his hands, slipping into the warm studio.
The other actor was already there, zoned out on a corner of the sofa.
"Sakura-chan, hey," He greeted.
"…Oh, uh, hi," She mumbled, glancing at him before sinking back into silence.
What, bad mood?
He pondered.
Every time he saw her, her vibe shifted—sometimes bubbly, sometimes withdrawn, sometimes serene. Today, she was in shy, reserved mode.
As a socially savvy guy, he knew to play along.
Everyone needs quiet moments. A husband, drained after work, might linger in his parked car, zoning out. A middle-aged man might fish silently by the river, letting the breeze strip away the day's grime. Even Takizawa himself sometimes felt the only time truly his was that hour before bed, post-shower, scrolling aimlessly.
Mortals, forever busy.
Loneliness could be torture, but also a balm for restless exhaustion.
High school must be brutal, balancing heavy coursework with studio gigs, skipping friend hangouts to hone her craft. Tough stuff.
The quiet studio was perfect for recharging.
Don't worry, young Sakura-chan. I'm tactful—I won't disturb your precious peace before work starts!
She sat in the corner; he took the door side, leaving a wide gap between them—a distance called emotional intelligence.
Pleased with himself, he resumed his mental stream of Bear Grylls feasting, where beef was the least impressive protein, outclassed fivefold by whatever critters were caught.
In their silent world, no third party intruded.
Sakura pretended to study her script.
Truth was, her heart was pounding before she arrived. Back when he was a part-time waiter, she could chat as a paying customer, holding the upper hand. But as equals, she struggled.
They were colleagues, had met a few times, even bickered lightly, but they weren't close. Did they even have common ground? Their talks were mostly polite small talk.
Closing the gap between hearts wasn't her strength—otherwise, she wouldn't walk home alone after school.
From experience, though, this guy was a natural talker. Best to let him start, and she'd follow. Years on the fringes had taught her how to nod along.
Half a day passed. No sound.
She peeked over, only to find him sitting at the edge of the universe…
What's he doing?
Do I smell weird?
Confused, Sakura inched closer.
Takizawa, arms crossed, stared at the floor, lost in thought—or rather, adventuring with the food chain's apex predator. He spared some mental bandwidth, though, catching her intense gaze. With an apologetic smile, he turned away, signaling he wouldn't bother her, and dove back into learning the practical uses of elephant dung.
Turned away, polite smile, not a word.
Sakura knew this rejection tactic all too well.
She'd faced it at school—cold shoulders, subtle dismissals. Her anxious heart chilled, her expression froze.
Another failure.
She'd rehearsed countless ways to talk smoothly.
She'd thought, with momentum, they could be friends.
Emptiness and a sinking feeling flooded her. The studio's dim lights seemed darker, shadows roaring like tides in her ears. She sank into the sofa, trapped.
Where did I go wrong?
Her fingers twisted, lips pressed into a thin line.
She glanced at his back, leaning against a cushion, flashes of their few talks crossing her mind.
—The sweet tang of strawberry cake, the warm, bitter comfort of coffee.
Her heart stirred.
Clenching her fists, she stood slowly, walking over.
She desperately wanted change, craved friendship.
Each step took all her strength.
Let them mock her, call her clueless.
Her gaze didn't waver.
Her stubborn spark burned fiercely.
No waiting for chances, no crafting topics, no slipping seamlessly into conversation.
She'd state her wish boldly, show her heart.
Fancy, heartfelt exchanges were beyond her, but raw courage—she'd saved that up for ages.
Reaching him, she looked down.
Takizawa sensed something, paused his documentary, and looked up, surprised.
Sakura's fingertips were white from gripping. Steeling herself, she spoke clearly, firmly.
"Sorry—would you be my friend?"
The studio hushed, the heater seeming to pause.
Her mind went blank, courage and hope draining with her words.
After a moment.
"Sure," Takizawa said, nodding, caught off guard.
"…Huh?" Sakura blinked, her bright eyes wide. "Really?"
"Yup."
"Wait, I mean friends. Like, talking about hobbies, venting about life, walking to school together if we were classmates, passing notes in class, celebrating birthdays with cake and good wishes?" She rushed to clarify.
"No problem," He said.
"You're sure? Friends with me?" She pointed at herself.
"Why hesitate? Honestly, I'm kinda happy you asked," He said.
She went quiet, then, unconvinced, asked again.
"So, we're friends now?"
"If you're cool with it, yeah," He said cautiously.
Joy and a flush spread visibly across her baby-fat cheeks, like she'd guessed a coin toss right. She clenched her fists, stomped, hair flying.
"You okay? Feeling sick?" Takizawa asked, startled and confused.
Outside, through the glass, the director and agent, who'd been watching, exchanged a glance and tiptoed away.
***
Every 100 Power Stones and 5 Reviews will earn you a Bonus Chapter.
And if you want to read up to 50 chapters ahead, don't hesitate to visit our patron: pat reon . com / XElenea (remove space)