Takizawa untied his white apron, taking a break on a kitchen stool after the lunch rush. He eyed his coworker, Matsuoka, pacing and muttering, curiosity piqued.
"Matsuoka, you about to be a dad or something? You're brooding like you're stressing over diaper money, patrolling back and forth for ages."
"Huh? Disturbing your break?" Matsuoka said, rubbing his hands nervously.
"Nah, just wondering," Takizawa said, shaking his head.
"Well… I got my first voice acting gig," Matsuoka admitted hesitantly.
"That's awesome!" Takizawa said, grinning. "What's the role? Lines? Spill it!"
"A bit part," Matsuoka said, sheepish. "A clone soldier escaping, just yelling random stuff. Oh, and Kashiwai-san told me you beat out nine others and impressed the sound director. That's you, alright."
"No big deal. You'd do just as well," Takizawa said, staying humble.
"Gotta give it my all," Matsuoka murmured.
"Next to you, I feel like a slacker. Even the floor tiles shine brightest when you mop," Takizawa said, a bit embarrassed. "Speaking of, got any leads on high-value part-time gigs?"
"For hourly pay, this place is tops around here. There's a small bar hiring bartenders—not as hectic, meals included, but you need mixology skills," Matsuoka said, diving into thought. "Also, Shinayama bookstore needs shop minders—mostly cleaning and shelving, super chill, and you can read on the side. The video store's the easiest; you can watch movies. There's a unique nightclub, but that's not for you."
"Why not? Think I'm too pure for dancing?" Takizawa said, frowning.
"It's a male-focused spot. The testosterone might overwhelm you…"
"You worked there?" Takizawa asked.
"Uh, yeah. I'm bad with female customers. Nightclub girls are more outgoing, and I still couldn't handle it," Matsuoka said, scratching his head.
"So you're cool with that vibe?" Takizawa took a subtle step back.
"It's not like that. They're not into me—standards are high: looks, build, personality, wealth. The clients are polite, easy to talk to. No weirdness, just different preferences. Don't judge," Matsuoka said earnestly.
"Got it. I knew you were shy, but it's just women you struggle with," Takizawa said, nodding.
"No, no, I'm bad at socializing, period. Women are my worst nightmare," Matsuoka clarified quickly.
"And you still came to Tokyo alone, juggling all these jobs? That's some guts. I'm kinda impressed," Takizawa said.
"Well, you only live once. No regrets," Matsuoka said with a smile.
"Still, gotta tackle that social anxiety. How about we hit Shinjuku's nightlife strip tonight? Best way to beat fear is to face it head-on!" Takizawa said, pumped.
"No, no, no, pass!" Matsuoka said, head shaking so fast it blurred.
"How you gonna handle marriage like that?" Takizawa sighed.
"You're a high schooler thinking about marriage?" Matsuoka paused, then pivoted. "Oh, right, exams are a month away, huh?"
"Yeah, I'm grinding practice tests every night. My back's killing me, and I'm sweating buckets," Takizawa groaned, worried his nutrition wasn't keeping up with his pace.
"Got a dream school?"
"Aiming for Tokyo U."
"What?! University of Tokyo ?!" Matsuoka gaped, stunned.
"Yup."
"That's incredible," Matsuoka said, eyeing him for a few seconds. "I'll be rooting for you."
"How'd you do on your exams?" Takizawa asked, curious.
"No comparison to you. After high school, I came to Tokyo for Yoyogi Animation Academy, mostly for their voice acting program," Matsuoka said.
This guy had his life locked down, diving in with reckless passion—a cool, resolute figure in a way.
"I'm off to clear tables. Don't stress too much," Takizawa said, checking the time. He stood, stretched his neck and shoulders, tied on his apron, and headed back to work.
Matsuoka nodded, but despite the chat, his heart raced. His debut loomed, and he kept writing "calm" On his hand to force composure.
…
Takizawa wove through tables, collecting forks, spoons, and plates, flashing smiles to keep picky customers happy.
This upscale restaurant demanded finesse.
Here, staff were summoned with elegant bell chimes, not crude shouts like at street stalls.
A bell rang, and Takizawa zipped to the table, lips curling into a 15-degree smile, ready for orders.
"Signature chicken baked rice, plus an orange juice," The girl said without glancing at the menu.
"No studying or homework on weekends? Always shopping in Omotesando?" Takizawa recognized her, teasing. "Wasting your youth in glitz and glamour."
"I'm boosting your business, aren't I?" The girl said, sliding her hands across the table, annoyed.
"Every bite of your Aussie lobster or abalone just fuels the manager's Mercedes. This isn't real estate—I get no commission," Takizawa said, voice tinged with mock sorrow. "Baked rice, light oil, extra veggies, orange juice with three ice cubes, right? Hang tight, I'll have the new cook whip it up."
"Free salad too!" She said, raising a hand.
"Self-serve's five meters that way. Don't waste it—they charge for that," Takizawa warned.
"What kind of service is this? Making customers do the work?" She huffed.
"That's the joy of a buffet. I can't rob you of that," Takizawa said, righteous.
"You're just lazy. I'm telling the manager," She threatened.
"Come on, princess, why pick on a humble worker like me? All because I snuck a piece of my tough-as-nails steak onto your plate while you were in the bathroom? I took you to the dentist after," Takizawa said, feigning hurt.
"Don't remind me! I trusted you, and you ruined my day. My dad saw my teary eyes and thought I got bullied, ready to confront my classmates," Sakura said, grinding her teeth. "But I hadn't even met them. You're the culprit!"
"I'm deeply sorry," Takizawa said, bowing. "It was a bad prank."
"Is it too much to ask for attentive service?" She demanded.
"Not at all. I'll whip up the best, tastiest salad to your liking," Takizawa said, offering a gentlemanly bow and dashing to the buffet.
Matsuoka, emerging with a mop, saw Takizawa's groveling, fawning smile and felt a pang of sympathy.
Women are tough to handle. Even a sharp guy like Takizawa's at their mercy.
He sighed quietly.
***
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