Far from ordinary.
Dragon Ball, Digimon, One Piece, Detective Conan, Shakugan no Shana, City Hunter—classics, short or sprawling, all bore his mark.
What shocked Takizawa most: "You worked on Ken Kutaragi's team, helping develop the original PlayStation?!"
His excitement splashed water from his glass.
"It was a fluke, getting moved to the gaming division. Nintendo's Famicom was huge, so Sony wanted in. After plenty of hurdles, we made it. I thought it'd do well, but creating an era? That was unexpected," Nagasaki Yukimasa, the balding, stocky sound director, said with a chuckle, downplaying his legendary resume.
"Why so hyped about the PlayStation? You're a voice actor, not a gamer," Kashiwai Ippei said, exasperated.
"Come on, any gaming industry folks would salute that achievement," Takizawa said, wiping spilled soda from the table.
"You're a voice actor…"
They were in a cozy Shinjuku eatery, a boutique spot with limited seating for a refined dining vibe. The menu leaned on seafood—fresh scallops, steamed snapper, a lavish sashimi platter escalating from light to rich: clams, shrimp, squid, tuna, salmon, yellowtail, opulent and gleaming like jewels under warm lights.
A small speaker played vibrant shamisen tunes.
The bill would sting, but after hearing Nagasaki's exploits, Takizawa felt no pain—only pride in treating such a titan.
"I dreamed of being a manga artist, but my drawings were trash, so I gave up. Back then, Tezuka ruled. In middle school, I was lucky to get his autograph—still treasure it," Nagasaki said, sipping a pricey sake.
"That's a relic! I'd love to see it," Takizawa said, refilling his glass.
"Come by my place sometime, I'll show you," Nagasaki agreed easily.
"Bliss! Nagasaki-san, a toast with my soda!" Takizawa raised his glass.
"After watching West Side Story in ninth grade, I wanted to be a film director. At Horipro, I worked on music for two films with big stars," Nagasaki said, downing another cup, lost in nostalgia.
"Those were Showa's dazzling beauties," Takizawa said, grinning. (Showa is the Japanese era from 1926 to 1989, during Emperor Hirohito's reign.)
"Young and starry-eyed, I fantasized about sparking romance with a celebrity through work," Nagasaki laughed.
"You're still a charming, gentle guy, a pillar for many! Cheers!" Takizawa clinked glasses.
"Haha, I'm old and paunchy—no match for you young bucks," Nagasaki said, drinking again.
"Nonsense! You're wrapped in Showa's fiery spirit. Time can't dim a man's passion and romance! Nagasaki-san, let me top you off—"
Takizawa turned to Kashiwai, feigning annoyance. "Kashiwai-san, why so quiet? If I weren't underage, I'd be drinking with Nagasaki-san. Don't mind him—he looks prim but can't keep up with a bold soul like you. Bear with him!"
Kashiwai's face darkened. Who's the agent here?
"Waiter, two more bottles!" Takizawa called.
"Enough, enough," Nagasaki waved off.
"Worried about my wallet? Don't be! Dining with you is my pride. Those bottles were just a warm-up," Takizawa said, radiating enthusiasm.
"My wife'll nag about the booze smell. I might end up on the couch," Nagasaki said, tucking his cup away.
"Oh, right. Well, the sake's ordered—no returns. Let Kashiwai-san have it. You have tea and try this tender sashimi—perfect bite, melts in your mouth!" Takizawa signaled the waiter to give the bottles to Kashiwai.
Kashiwai stared at the two high-proof bottles, face twitching.
"Tell us more about making the PlayStation," Takizawa said eagerly.
"Well, I remember…" Nagasaki began, reminiscing.
"Can we talk voice acting?" Kashiwai said, slamming the table, voice icy.
"Fair point, Takizawa-kun. Your audition—three lines, but quite a journey," Nagasaki said, leaning back, intrigued, chopsticks picking at the food. "Your first take on C was nervous but technically sound, no flubs. The second, on A, you settled in, nailing the emotion. When I asked for a tweak, you went gruffer, leaning into obsession and resolve. Why choose a flatter, simpler take? Don't most aim to outdo their last performance?"
"Which did you prefer?" Takizawa asked.
"The second," Nagasaki nodded.
"So the more standard take worked better?" Kashiwai said, puzzled.
"I'm not the lead," Takizawa shrugged. "As a bit player with barely ten lines, my job's to set the stage for the hero. A flashy tone or complex emotion might shine, but it's effort for half the payoff. Keeping it straightforward lets the lead shine without extra strain."
"But as a minor role, shouldn't you make every line count?" Kashiwai asked.
"Kashiwai-san, ever done design work for clients?" Takizawa said, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Most clients don't get materials, composition, or color contrast. They don't care about line weights or blended transitions. Hit their main thrill, and they're lenient."
"Like adding strings to any track—makes it grand, and audiences eat it up," Nagasaki added.
"When renters hunt, they care about price and safety. If the location's great and the cost's low, they won't fuss over a kid's crayon elephant on the wall. Fully meeting demands is tough, so nail the top priority. If you exceed that, small flaws don't matter," Takizawa said.
"All the others pushed harder after my note. You thought team-first, scaling back. That savvy's why you were picked. Many newbies grind hard but rehearse alone, lacking interplay experience. If the lead overdoes it and others don't match, the whole thing collapses," Nagasaki said, pausing. "Voice acting's a type of acting, but unlike stage actors with months of rehearsal, anime's recorded in hours. Sometimes, it's less about deep character dives and more about smart, clear choices. Hit the passing mark, and audiences accept it."
His tone shifted, serious. "But I warned against over-relying on tricks. If you stay shallow and formulaic long-term, you'll be discarded when fresh, cheap newbies flood in. Your shelf life expires."
He pointed at Kashiwai, stern. "Your agency's idol voice actors burn youth for quick gains. Fine for a thrill, but if you're serious, dig deeper."
"Too many focus on pleasing the boss, agent, or producer. In the studio, they can't deliver, get criticized, and start hating the booth. It's a failure loop," Nagasaki said, slowing, eyes fixed on Takizawa. "Newbie, your vocal cords are tough—wide range, durable. I've rarely seen that. Your tone's got flair, but you drop the hero vibe for a side role, like a chameleon. I'm bullish on your future."
"Then, Nagasaki-san, please guide this raw gem," Kashiwai said, pleased.
"As a sound director, I only recommend. The animation director decides. If I'm Enterprise believes in him, don't skimp on resources. Why lean on a loner like me?" Nagasaki smiled. "Fish ride big waves. This falcon just needs sky to soar."
Kashiwai and Nagasaki clinked glasses, the sound crisp.
The meal wrapped up in high spirits after another half-hour.
After seeing Nagasaki off in a taxi, Kashiwai sighed at the dimming sky.
"You look like a guy leaving a checkup with a clean bill of health," Takizawa said, puzzled.
"Your debut's near perfect. We're tied in this job—your win's mine," Kashiwai said, hands on hips.
"All this grind's for a raise or promotion. I'm grabbing a meat bun at the convenience store. That meal was great but light. Want one?" Takizawa asked.
"Sure," Kashiwai said instantly.
Minutes later, Takizawa munched one, tossing another to Kashiwai.
"How's it taste?"
"Eh, convenience store stuff. Edible," Kashiwai said.
"What? You're supposed to say it's great. I'm broke after that dinner," Takizawa said, eyes wide.
"You're so upbeat, Takizawa-kun."
"Gotta be in this city to survive!"
"Fair… That's a quote worth framing."
***
Every 100 Power Stones and 5 Reviews will earn you a Bonus Chapter.
And if you want to read up to 50 chapters ahead, don't hesitate to visit our patron: pat reon . com / XElenea (remove space)