Tokyo today was draped in gray clouds, a light drizzle chilling the air.
It was Takizawa's first time voicing near-final animation. As expected of a theatrical film, the schedule wasn't rushed, allowing time to polish every detail.
Into the Into the Forest of Fireflies Light Light had no dazzling effects or explosions. A quiet rural village, an innocent girl, and tales of spirits hidden in dense woods—its gentle, melancholic narrative and bright, airy visuals fit the classic Japanese light fantasy vibe.
Rather than epic grandeur, Japan's strength lay in refining small things, turning the mundane into treasures.
A simple boy-meets-girl story, a quiet parting, could stir a thousand emotions.
"Is that kid… human?"
A hand beneath a navy yukata glowed faintly blue, fading, eyes reflecting the bewildered girl before him.
Takizawa took a silent breath, his voice, tender and trembling, carrying love through the mic to every ear.
"Come, Hotaru, I can finally touch you."
The girl lunged to embrace him, grasping only thin cloth—the one who haunted her dreams was gone.
She'd return alone.
"I won't look forward to summer for a while… my heart aches, tears won't stop… but this warmth lingering on my fingertips, with summer's memories, will stay with me forever."
Director Omori, earphones on, smiled with satisfaction, nodding.
"Perfect. That's the take."
Recording wrapped in about fifty minutes, mostly filled with the leads' heartfelt exchanges. No mishaps—just steady work.
Everyone stood, clapping, some even bringing flowers. Takizawa, touched, felt like a true lead for the first time, thanking them and clutching the bouquet fondly.
He was usually the one giving flowers, often unwanted.
"Sakura-san, you crying?" He asked, noticing his co-lead wiping her eyes, flowers in hand.
"Yeah, so what? It's moving," Sakura sniffled.
Who'd have thought the tough, mercurial Sakura had a soft, girlish heart? No woman could resist a pure, tragic romance with a dashing guy.
"An actor crying for their role shows true unity of heart and craft. You must feel it too, Takizawa-kun," The director laughed, joining them.
"Naturally," Takizawa said, mimicking a tear-wipe.
"I booked a restaurant. Let's celebrate together," The director said.
"Big move, boss," Takizawa grinned, handing over his pristine script. "Oh, should I return this?"
Sakura's face showed a flicker of reluctance.
"Keep it if you want, Ayane-chan," The director said kindly.
"Really? Thank you!" She beamed, clutching her bookmark-stuffed script.
"This was a memorable job for you. As the film's helm, I'm thrilled to see the heroine cherish it," The director said.
"…Then I'll keep mine too," Takizawa coughed, not wanting to seem less dedicated.
"You didn't seem that moved," The director teased, seeing through him.
"…"
"You're heartless! How can you stay unmoved by this story? Why'd you get to play such a tender guy like Gin?" Sakura huffed.
"And why'd you get to play sweet, loyal Hotaru?" Takizawa shot back.
"Got a problem with my acting?" She glared.
"If you were a bit cuter, it'd hit harder. But for someone who opens cans with one finger and spin-kicks bottle caps, that's asking a lot," He sighed.
The embarrassed girl aimed her shoe at his thigh—her kicks had upgraded from shins. At this rate, she'd target his head if her flexibility allowed.
The married director watched their bickering with a fond smile.
The wrap party was lively, glasses clinking, laughter flowing.
Sakura, still in high school, stuck to juice. Takizawa, of legal age, poured himself a frothy beer.
The downside? After downing it to cheers for their hard work, he couldn't get a second.
"I hate the smell of beer," Sakura said, tugging his sleeve in protest.
So they shared a bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
Humans have a rebellious urge to indulge. As kids, boys are drawn to arcade dens, itching to dive into that digital frontier. Grown up, they'd game till they dropped.
Japan's service industry thrived on perfection. Now free of shackles, Takizawa thought, why not… heh.
"Why're you grinning so… creepily?" Sakura asked, choosing her words.
"Thinking of something fun," He said, straight-faced.
"What?"
"You interrupted, and I forgot."
"Tch, whatever, keep it to yourself," She huffed. "Oh, I heard your radio show—Dark Dream Talk or whatever."
"You listened?" Takizawa groaned.
"Lots did. It's got some buzz on Twitter. You didn't know? It's your job."
"What'd people say?" He sipped the juice.
"They said the host's young, cute, with a great voice, and her uniform's perfect."
"Hidaka-san's awesome. What about me?" He asked, unfazed.
"Your mini-theater voice was gross," Sakura said mercilessly.
"I thought they'd question my noble character and charm. Just gross? Good—I thought so too," He said, oddly relieved.
Sakura reassessed his shamelessness. "Was radio fun?"
"Work's not about fun. It's about fulfillment or rest."
"But you and her seemed chummy," Sakura said, eyes forward. "Looked close. Not just for show, right?"
"Haha, no way. Hidaka-san's a lively senpai. It's all genuine, no scheming. What you heard was real—no script," He waved off.
"So… you're friends already?" She asked, probing.
"Nah, it was only our second meeting."
"You sure? You agreed to the show so eagerly," She said, her tone odd, then smoothly covered. "One more thing."
"What?"
"You got into a great university, right? Congrats," She said, raising her juice, sitting upright, formal. "Wanted to say it in person sooner, but you're always running around, so strangers beat me to it."
"Strangers?" He asked, puzzled.
"That Hidaka-san. You said you only met her twice."
"No need to call her that coldly…"
"She's a stranger to me," Sakura said earnestly, locking eyes. "Anyway, congrats on passing through the red gate."
"Thanks."
"Who was I in line to say it?" She asked suddenly.
"Huh?"
"How many before me?"
"Uh, third?"
"Not too late, then."
"I only know a few people here," He said, glancing at the ceiling. "Funny, my first lead role's with you."
Her eyes lit up at that.
He didn't notice.
***
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