Inside Yume Animation's recording studio in Shikoku, the air still held that good, end-of-the-run exhaustion. Sora Kamakawa walked in with a bouquet in his arms, wearing a smile that gave away just how relieved he was to finally wrap up the voice work.
"I really appreciate your hard work. We were supposed to finish recording at the start of the month, but I got stubborn and insisted on redoing the battle scenes… which meant bringing you back in to re-record. I'm sorry for adding to your workload."
He handed the flowers to Mio, the voice actress for the heroine of Voices of a Distant Star. Twenty years old with an effortlessly sweet presence, she accepted the bouquet with a bright, open smile.
"Oh, don't worry about it. It's my job," she said lightly, as if none of it weighed on her.
Beside her, Haruto - the voice of the male lead - looked noticeably more awkward. He'd received a bouquet too, and his face was the kind that clearly didn't know what to do with such straightforward kindness.
"But seriously… you're amazing as a director," Mio said, still admiring the flowers before looking up, energized. "This new version is way better than the original. I was dubbing and… the animation was so gorgeous it honestly threw me off a little. Those cuts are ridiculously cool."
"Y-yeah… same," Haruto agreed quickly, his words almost tripping over each other as he nodded several times. Even though he was a few years older, he treated Sora with real respect.
They were both newcomers, without the weight of experience behind them. And yet it had been Sora who'd picked them out during the January auditions, handing them an opening that very few people got. Whether the series exploded after its premiere or not, this alone was already a real start. From here on out, any audition for an anime, film, or drama would come with proof on their résumé: worked on a released production. That single line changed everything.
Sora kept the same smile he'd walked in with as he said goodbye.
"It's late. The whole studio is grinding through post and effects right now, so I need to get back to my station too. When we premiere and the celebration happens… I'll invite you both. Don't miss it, okay?"
"Of course," Sumire said.
"I'll be there. Absolutely," Haruto added, like he was afraid of sounding ungrateful.
After the two of them left, silence settled over the studio. Sora sank into his chair and let out a slow breath, like his body only now remembered it was exhausted. Four days remained until the premiere, and only at this moment had the recording work truly ended.
Sumire, who was sorting documents on the table, noticed his tired expression and spoke without raising her voice.
"Go home and rest today. You've been sleeping less than five hours a night for two days. If you get sick now, it'll be a disaster."
Sora let out a short laugh.
"We're in the same boat. You haven't collapsed, and you've been carrying half of this… you really think I, an eighteen-year-old, am going to get crushed by this level of work?"
He said it with the confidence of someone who'd pushed through worse nights. And at this pace, Voices of a Distant Star still hadn't reached his limit - no matter how much it was draining everyone.
Even so, anxiety came in waves, and he couldn't hold the question back.
"How's the progress? Can we make it?"
Sumire tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, measuring her answer carefully.
"Dubbing is done. Some sound effects are still being finished by the audio team, but everything should be wrapped by tomorrow. The photography team is pulling all-nighters, then it's sound-and-image compositing… and finally V. In short… if everyone pushes hard for the next three days, endures the fatigue, and stays up a few more nights, we'll meet the broadcast deadline."
Sora felt his shoulders loosen, like something heavy had finally lifted. He knew what was left, but only someone like Sumire - someone living the production grind from the inside - could judge precisely how much time it would take.
"Then it really has been a marathon… and it was worth it," he said, lighter. "What an intense production."
Sumire glanced sideways at him, catching the smile that refused to leave his face.
"Three months at this intensity, and you still look like you're enjoying yourself."
She hesitated, as if comparing him to other directors she'd known.
"Most people, once they reach this final stretch, start hating the studio. You can see it in their eyes - they just want to escape."
Sora thought for a moment.
"I guess it's because… I'm making something I genuinely like. If you made me direct one of those cookie-cutter 'another world' shows - hero vs. demon king, everything the same - I'd lose my soul by the end too."
Sumire blinked, confused for half a second, then her mouth curved into a restrained laugh.
"'Cookie-cutter another world shows'… you really do come up with names for everything, huh?"
The studio felt lighter for a few seconds. Sora noticed how much prettier Sumire looked when she laughed without even realizing it - but he swallowed the thought before it could slip out. It would be too easy to sound intrusive.
When the mood settled, he shifted into a more serious tone, like he'd been holding this conversation in his chest for a while.
"Speaking of dedication… you poured more energy into this than I did, and I'm the director and writer. If we made it this far, it's because you were beside me - guiding me, catching details I didn't even see… handling so much behind the scenes."
He paused and met her eyes honestly.
"Thank you. Really."
Sumire stopped, as if she hadn't expected the weight of that thank you, and replied quietly.
"No need. I just did the same as you… I worked on a project I truly like."
Silence returned, thick and heavy, lingering for several seconds. Sora inhaled, gathering courage.
"Sumire… three months ago, you came into my office with a resignation letter. I asked you to stay until we finished Voices of a Distant Star."
Her face turned slowly, pale and composed, her clear eyes fixed on him.
Sora held her gaze, his heartbeat a little faster than it should've been.
"If… after the premiere the show does well. If we can pay off the debt, protect the inheritance, and put the company back on its feet… and if I have a new project ready… would you stay? Would you stay with me and work on the next one?"
The question hung in the air like a taut string. Her silence made Sora's thoughts spiral: maybe it was too sudden, maybe she'd already signed with a bigger studio, maybe he was putting her in an uncomfortable position. Even without the debt, Yume Animation would still be small, with limited resources. And Sumire had talent - she could land a job at any stronger studio.
Then she answered without looking away.
"I'll stay."
Sora froze, genuinely stunned.
"Just like that…?"
Sumire tilted her head, as if the surprise was his problem, not hers.
"Did you want me to set impossible conditions before I said yes?"
"No, it's not that…" He laughed, a little awkward. "I just thought you'd at least ask what the project was before deciding."
Sumire stood, slid the papers into an envelope, and tightened her grip on her folder strap with calm steadiness. When she spoke again, there was something in her voice that wasn't haste or obligation - it was choice.
"A reason?" she repeated, as if searching inside herself.
And as she organized everything, it was like she replayed the last three months in flashes: the script he'd brought from day one, the kind that struck a place in her she didn't even know was still there; the storyboards completed in less than three weeks, filled with directing solutions she'd never seen here; the conversations with the art lead, where he threw out ideas like the world was too big to have a single "correct" way; and finally the battle sequences he called "circus," drawn with an energy that felt impossible for someone who'd only just learned in practice.
Sumire stopped in front of him and spoke with a bluntness that somehow hurt and warmed at the same time.
"You're not like me… you're a genius."
Sora's eyes widened.
Sumire didn't dodge the feeling behind her words.
"I've been doing this for five years. And most of the time, I just… found it boring. I did it because it was work. But Voices of a Distant Star wasn't like that. I truly liked this piece. And I believe you'll create things even better than this someday. More interesting. Stronger. I want to be there when that happens."
Sora fell silent, trying to reconcile the version of him she saw with reality. "Genius" was a heavy word… but from the outside, it made sense. He was bringing techniques and directing choices to the table that still felt new in this market - and the results really did leap off the screen.
The conversation didn't need to go any further. It was as if both of them knew that anything extra would only crack what had just been set in place.
Sora let out a long breath.
Even if the premiere came with strong numbers, Voices of a Distant Star would only be the beginning - a breath to put out the fire, not the whole road ahead. Still, knowing Sumire would stay, knowing she was choosing to follow him into whatever came next, made something inside him finally loosen.
As if an old stone he'd been carrying without noticing had, at last, touched the ground.
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