Silvering the glass windows and reducing the normal clatter of the city, the early morning mist clung to the Tokyo skyline like a second skin. Ren sat by himself under a rusty fire escape down in the quieter reaches of the streets, where the sounds were more like rustles than roars.
He still held Ayaka's business card.
He hadn't slept well. He had spent perhaps an hour or two staring at the skyline while holding a card in his hand and wondering if he had dreamed her up.
However, he couldn't have received katsudon in a dream.
He gazed at her name once more. Takahashi Ayaka. Classy. Silver-embossed, clean serif font. Producer is underneath it. Director of creativity. Anime and Film Projects. Music is not mentioned. Only visual narrative. Dreams depicted in voice and movement.
His voice.
He pressed his thumb against the card's edge and let out a slow exhale. In some way, it felt warm even though it wasn't. Paper only. Just a chance.
He could discard it. Leave. Remind himself it didn't occur.
However, something deep within him, something ancient and buried, and louder than pride, whispered: Don't.
Flashback
He had stood beneath the lights once, not too long ago. Not a big show, not a big debut. It's just a tiny underground club full of independent fans and college students. With his eyes closed and his voice rising in time with the music, he had held the microphone as if it were a natural extension of himself.
People had applauded.
Not because he was well-known. but because he evoked an emotion in them.
Then he had been dragged away by someone. A scout. A broad smile. Huge promises.
"We'll develop you, refine you, and make you into something genuine."
He was a young man. In a desperate situation. He had faith.
However, the agency was false.
They never paid him for using his voice on demo tapes. Told him how fortunate he was to be present. They closed doors behind him when he attempted to leave—phone dead, contacts blocked. He lost his job, then his place, and finally his faith in everything.
He had never performed in front of an audience before.
Right up until Ayaka.
The memory faded like smoke as he rubbed his eyes. He pocketed the card and stood up.
"Let's see if this is something else or just another dream."
Meanwhile, in Takahashi Studios...
The studio's walls were sleek and contemporary, with storyboards taped in order and soundproof glass lining them. An animation loop featuring a lone girl standing on a cliff with the wind whipping her scarf around her was playing softly on a digital screen mounted on one wall.
With his coffee cup in hand and a furrow between his brows, Haruto Yamada stood and observed it. He drummed his knuckle on the screen's edge.
He whispered, "Still needs the right voice."
The door opened behind him.
Ayaka shrugged off her coat and said, "Morning."
He looked at the clock and said, "Barely. You haven't been inside since dawn."
She put her bag down and nodded. "Had to check something."
Haruto observed her. She had a spark in her eyes once more, and he could see it. One he hadn't seen in months. Not since the project in Kyoto. And before that, perhaps since... well, whatever.
He questioned, "This isn't about casting, is it?"
Ayaka tilted her head in his direction. "Why?"
He paused. "Because you're radiant. And the only time I've ever seen you shine is when you're betting on someone. Usually, an unknown individual."
She didn't respond. Rather, she approached the animation screen.
The scarf flapping in the wind on the cliff.
"Haruto," she uttered. "What do you think a voice needs to carry a scene like this?"
He sipped his coffee slowly. "Depth. vulnerability. Sincerity.
"Exactly."
She faced him.
"I located it."
He squinted his eyes. "Where?"
"In an alley."
"Ayaka—"
"Just listen." She took out her phone and pressed the play button.
There was an imperfect sound in the room. It was unfiltered and rough. Behind the convenience store, a raw recording of Ren's voice.
However, it was stunning.
Unclean. Not well-polished. But it hurts. Actual.
Haruto remained silent until it was over.
Then, softly, "Who is he?"
"A vocalist. not instructed. Not a contract. Just a voice capable of giving life to an animated character."
"Are you even aware of his true identity?"
"Not yet."
"And you wish to include him in the project that we are proposing next month? The one where investors are constantly observing?"
Ayaka gave a nod. "He's flawless."
Haruto ran a hand through his hair. "You're crazy."
"Perhaps. However, you stated it yourself: honesty, depth, and vulnerability. He possesses all three."
"And baggage, probably."
"Most geniuses do the same."
Haruto let out a sigh. "Aren't you going to do it anyhow?"
Ayaka grinned. "He still hasn't consented. However, I offered him an option."
"I'm going to blame you if he comes in here."
"A fair amount."
That evening
Outside Takahashi Studios, rain danced along the sidewalk as it fell in gentle silver sheets. Tall and contemporary, the building loomed, its pristine glass exterior reflecting the bleak sky.
Wet from head to toe, Ren stood at the doorway with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Every tentative step made his sneakers squeak a little, and his hoodie clung to his body. He gazed up at the door's shiny nameplate.
Studios Takahashi.
The font itself appeared pricey.
A part of him cried out, Run.
Sing. the other whispered.
Carefully entering, he caught the attention of the receptionist, a late-twenties woman with flawless makeup and perfectly curled hair. Her gaze swept over him, from the tattered backpack to the wet clothes.
She blinked. She pursed her lips.
She got up from her desk and said, "Pardon me, sir." "This building is private. "Are you... lost?"
Ren paused. He didn't take offense. He was aware that he appeared to be a stray.
He said softly, "I'm here to see Ayaka Takahashi."
Evidently not convinced, the receptionist scowled. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Not exactly, but—"
The glass doors behind the reception swung open before she could ask him to leave.
Midsentence, Haruto Yamada left the room with his phone in hand. "Yeah, the storyboard is complete—"
He looked at Ren.
He halted in the middle of his step and lowered the phone a little. "Hold on. "Are you Ren?"
Ren gave a clumsy nod.
Haruto hung up. went over. He turned to face the receptionist, who had a slightly embarrassed expression.
"He is not suspicious. Leave him through," Haruto said calmly before turning to face Ren. "You're completely soaked. Do you require a towel or anything else?
Ren forced a small smile. "I couldn't say no."
Just then, footsteps came from the stairs behind the lobby.
Ayaka came down slowly, her own clothes sticking to her from the rain: a loose cream pair of pants, an oversized white shirt, and wet hair that hung over her shoulders. Unaware of the picture she painted, she walked barefoot across the smooth flooring.
Ren froze.
His heart faltered. Being attracted to her voice, her vivacity, and her kindness was one thing, but this, in this unfiltered, unguarded state? She appeared to be something he had never dared to dream about.
When Ayaka saw him, a radiant, sincere smile spread across her entire face.
"You came," she said in a kind tone.
Suddenly shy, he nodded.
Then she saw the puddle that was growing under his feet.
Her brows furrowed as she said, "You're freezing." She looked over at Haruto. "Bring him upstairs. Give him time to dry off. The spare wardrobe ought to contain extra clothing."
Haruto nodded slightly and gestured for Ren to follow.
Ren gave her a final glance as they left. She was quietly humming something while wringing water out of her hair.
The day suddenly felt warmer.