A young child was walking through a music shop when his eyes suddenly landed on something that caught his attention. But it was too high up for him to fully see what it was. He looked around and found a stool. He walked toward it and pulled it toward the shelf, each tug producing a loud squeak that echoed throughout the shop, catching the attention of the staff and his father.
When the father saw what his son was doing, he panicked and tried to grab him. But the manager stretched an arm to stop the father
"Let's see what got his attention," the manager said calmly before offering a friendly smile toward the child, who hadn't noticed any of them.
"He might damage some of the stuff here," the father said in a worried tone as he kept his eyes glued to his son.
The manager chuckled softly. "You won't have to pay for the damages. It'll be on me for not stopping your kid. I mean, kids his age rarely focus this hard on anything."
They all watched as the child stopped pulling the stool and climbed onto it, wobbling slightly as he rose to his full height. His gaze locked onto the machine in front of him. It had many buttons, switches, lines, and colourful indicators. It was like a playground of things to fiddle with. He pressed a red button. Nothing. He clicked a few others. Still nothing.
Growing frustrated, he tried to get down but lost his balance. The father rushed forward and caught his son just in time.
"Are you alright, buddy?" he asked, his voice thick with worry.
"The machine isn't working. It's broken," the child pouted as he stepped away from his father.
A laugh echoed from behind them. They turned to see the manager grinning.
"The machine isn't broken, sonny. It isn't plugged in." He walked toward the boy.
"I want to see how it works..." the child said, looking up at the mixer with hopeful eyes.
"I don't think that's allowed," the father said, trying to soften the impending disappointment.
But the manager only laughed again. "Well then... why not come with me upstairs?"
The child turned his head, curiosity instantly rekindled. "For what, mister?"
The manager squatted down to his level. "To show you how it works," he said with a warm, encouraging smile.
The child looked at his father with pleadingly big, and hopeful eyes that could melt steel. After a moment of internal struggle, the father sighed and nodded. "Alright... let's go." He picked his son up gently.
They followed the manager upstairs. The stairway creaked lightly beneath their feet. At the top, the hallway was dim and lined with framed posters of musicians, some old, and some recent. As they walked, the manager glanced at the child.
"Hey, kid... what's your name, by the way?"
"Reiji," the child answered, eyes fixed ahead, eager.
"Reiji, huh..." The manager smiled. "That's a wonderful name."
The father cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but... where exactly are we going?"
The manager didn't answer immediately. Instead, he continued down the hall with purposeful steps. The father tensed, instinctively shifting closer to his child. Just as he opened his mouth to speak again, the manager stopped at a door and knocked.
A muffled voice answered after a few seconds. The manager opened the door, and music blasted out, loud and vibrant. He gestured for them to enter.
The father hesitated, but Reiji wriggled out of his arms and rushed inside. His father followed, still wary, with the manager closing the door behind them.
Inside, Reiji froze, hooked instantly on the sight before him. The father followed his gaze and understood why. A far larger version of the machine that captivated Reiji downstairs sat against the wall, illuminated by soft studio lighting. Faders, knobs, blinking LEDs, wires running along the walls.
Reiji tugged on the manager's sleeve. "What is it called, mister?"
"It's called a mixer, kid." The manager smiled. "Go on. Take a closer look."
Reiji didn't need to be told twice. He ran to the console and stood beside the person using it. He watched in awe as fingers slid faders up and down, each movement subtly shifting the music pounding through the room.
***
A loud alarm started to ring, jolting Reiji awake. He opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head with visible effort. His black eyes were instantly blinded by the four brightly glowing monitors in front of him. He groaned, squinting while one hand came up to shield his face from the harsh light. With the other, he blindly searched the desk for his phone. After fumbling across scattered notes and cables, he finally found it.
By the time he turned off the alarm, his eyes had already begun to adjust to the monitor glow.
Reiji exhaled and let his forehead rest against the desk for a moment. When he finally lifted his head again, all four monitors displayed different audio projects, each one was unfinished. He sighed, pushing himself off the chair with the sluggishness of someone who had slept barely two hours.
His steps were heavy as he made his way to the bathroom. Inside, Reiji paused in front of the mirror and stared. His green hair was a complete mess, strands jutting out in every direction like they were trying to defy gravity. He let out another tired sigh, leaning on the sink for support before splashing cold water on his face.
After patting himself dry with a towel, Reiji headed downstairs toward the kitchen. Even walking felt like effort today. His body felt weighed down by exhaustion.
He opened the refrigerator, scanning for something quick to eat, but before he could grab anything, footsteps approached behind him. He turned and saw his mother.
"I was wondering when you were going to come out of your room," she said softly. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Sorry..." Reiji's voice came out tired, rough around the edges. He was a workaholic after all. "I had a lot of stuff to do... Is it alright if you just bring my food to my room?"
His mother's smile faded into gentle worry. She sighed. "It's okay to take a break from work sometimes, you know..."
She paused as she knew her words wouldn't change anything, but she still needed to say them.
"Alright," she gave in. "I'll cook you something. Go on."
Reiji nodded and headed back upstairs. On the way, he passed his father, who had just woken up.
"Aren't you going to eat breakfast?" his father asked, voice groggy.
"Mom will bring it up," Reiji answered simply before continuing up the stairs.
He returned to his room and immediately slipped his headphones on. His hand reached for the mouse, clicking on the project he remembered working on last. As the track began to play, his tired eyes started to focus on the waveforms dancing across the screen.
Reiji listened intently on how the instrument and how the vocals sounded. He searched for anything that was too sharp, too quiet, or a sound that was out of place. There was nothing, everything sat exactly where it needed to be. It matched his client's request perfectly without breaking a rule. Once he was satisfied, he saved the file and sent it off in an email.
Then he moved on to the next project. And the next. And the next, until finally all three were completed and sent out. Only then did he scroll over to a fourth tab, a new project, one he hasn't started yet.
By the time his mother came upstairs with his breakfast, she found him already deep into it. His monitors glowed across his tired face, lines of audio climbing up the screen like mountains waiting to be shaped. She saw how her son's hands were moving with precision.
She didn't say a word, and she quietly set the tray of food on the edge of his desk, choosing a spot that wouldn't interfere with his mouse or keyboard. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, watching for a few seconds as he adjusted levels, and replayed sections. Her eyes softened. Then, silently, she turned to leave, closing the door with the softest click so she wouldn't interrupt his focus.
It took Reiji a moment to realize his food had already arrived. He dragged the plate closer, took a single absent-minded scoop, and went right back to work. The moment he noticed a missing frequency in the vocal track, he added it in without hesitation, then returned to fixing the instrument layers. This project didn't need much vocal correction; the instruments were the thing that need to be fixed.
Five hours passed in a blur. By the time Reiji finished the last of the client projects, his eyes were dry and heavy, but the screen in front of him was finally clean. He gently removed his headphones and placed them on the table, letting his whole body sink back into the chair.
Eventually, he pushed himself up and picked up his plate. It was half-eaten, and it was completely cold. He headed downstairs to the kitchen, set the plate in the microwave, and pulled out his phone while it reheated. He checked his email and there was nothing new. He started to refresh out of habit.
Then after his third refresh, a new message appeared. It was from Hololive Corporation. He'd heard the name countless times from his friends, but he'd never had the time to watch the idols they talked about so much.
Reiji heard the microwave ding, signalling that his food was already done. He got his food and sat down at the table. While he ate, he started to read the contents of the email in his head.
"Good evening, you have been recommended by countless artists due to how fast you work. We are in desperate need of a sound engineer. We have a convention that is happening soon and due to unforeseen circumstances of our previous hired sound engineer, we require your services."
As he finished reading, he swiped off the mail and went to Xhome. Reiji started to research what the company was about and how the company works. He researched what the convention was and the past conventions they did.
However, as he was scrolling through sites, reading reviews about working with Hololive and how their previous conventions went, he didn't hear his mother sneaking up behind him. She suddenly grabbed his phone, and he turned around in surprise.
"You haven't even finished eating and you're already trying to find more work?" His mother's tone was frustrated but full of worry. "For goodness' sake, Reiji, focus on eating first."
"Mom, I need to keep working. If I stop, I won't be able to keep mixing for artists." His voice carried passion, but his mother saw something different, his tired eyes and slouched posture.
She placed the phone gently on the table beside him. "If you keep overworking, you really won't be able to work. You need to take a break and stop disregarding your health."
Before Reiji could respond, his mother walked away, sighing sadly. He knew she was worried, and even though his passion for music wasn't going anywhere, he also knew she was right.
He opened his email again and was about to reject Hololive's offer.
But he paused. He thought about the reaction of the fans, and the idols. From what he had read, the fans were incredibly supportive, and the idols genuinely appreciated them. If he rejected the offer, he might become one of the reasons the convention would be cancelled.
"Sorry, Mom," he thought silently as he started typing his response.
"Hello, thank you for reaching out to me. I would gladly take over, and I would like to hear more details in person to assess how I could help further. What day works best and please send me the direction?"
After pressing the send button, he exited his email and clicked on VivaVid to search for the music produced by the Hololive talents. He tapped on a random playlist and let the first song play. He set his phone down and continued eating, but something felt off. The way the instruments were mixed did not really match the vibe of the singer or the tone of the lyrics.
He shrugged lightly. If it was released, then the artist must have approved it. Still, he took another spoonful of food, chewing slowly as he focused all his senses into his ears. He closed his eyes, imagining himself in his mixing room, visualizing the shape of the frequencies in his mind.
Three songs later, Reiji removed his earphones and noticed his plate was already empty. He stood up, placed the used plate in the sink, and washed it. While drying his hands, his phone made a notification sound.
Reiji picked it up and saw an incoming email. Leaning against the sink, he opened it.
"Thank you for responding quickly. We would also like to discuss this further with you in person. Please meet us at our main office at the pinned location below. Be there at 4:50 PM."
Reiji clicked the pinned location and saw it was a forty-five-minute drive from his house. He stretched lightly before heading back upstairs to his room. He unplugged his USB drive, the one containing almost every song he had ever mixed, and Reiji shut off his laptop and slipped it into his backpack.