In Tokyo's core six districts, any restaurant worth its salt, Matsuoka could claim he'd tasted—though as a worker scarfing staff meals.
Dragon's Rest, an offbeat gem, was a foodie's darling and elite go-to for business dinners. Run by the quirky Kurosaki Corporation, known for gaming machines, it stood out in every way.
It blended the world cuisines: Mondays and Tuesdays offered French dishes with artful sauce designs, Wednesdays through Fridays served Japanese seafood sculpted atop rice, and weekends brought hearty, bold flavors.
Mid-to-high-end, it suited CEOs sealing deals in private rooms and young professionals playing boss in the main hall—a win for all.
The middle-aged manager's knife skills were legendary, slicing sashimi thin as cicada wings, melting on the tongue, though he often vanished, making fresh cuts a gamble.
The place had earned two Michelin stars but ditched them to avoid the hassle.
Devoted service, laid-back profits. No wonder they often hired diligent workers like Matsuoka.
Entering as a customer felt odd; he nearly wandered to the staff room to change. A meal here could cost his month's newspaper delivery earnings.
"Here!" Kashiwai Ippei, waiting, stood and waved.
Always in gold-rimmed glasses and a crisp white shirt, Kashiwai's successful aura glowed brighter with the host's halo.
The table gleamed with dishes—fancy, intimidating—and a bottle of red wine for ambiance.
"Finally, you get that chicken soup for the soul doesn't fill bellies like steak, squab, or caviar. My heart's warmed," Takizawa said, tucking a napkin into his collar.
Matsuoka eyed the spread, estimating its cost. "Too extravagant. This could buy izakaya meals for a week…"
"What's that talk?" Kashiwai feigned offense. "Besides the welcome party, we three haven't dined together. Agents and voice actors are symbiotic—one's glory is the other's, one's loss too. I root for you more than anyone. The industry's a battlefield; you fight, I handle the politics. Treating you is only right. Every actor under me is a brother—eat, drink, work hard, don't let laziness win. Keep delivering value, shining bright, and you'll chase your dreams!"
"Kashiwai-san…" Matsuoka felt a stir of emotion.
Takizawa slid his phone over, showing a warrior in green robes and gold armor, astride a red steed, wielding a crescent blade.
"What's this?" Kashiwai asked, puzzled.
"Your heartfelt words move me. I've summoned a war god for our brotherhood pact. With money, we party; with debts, we—"
"No thanks," Kashiwai cut in.
Brotherhood fizzled before it began.
Takizawa pocketed his phone, wistful.
Kashiwai uncorked the wine. "You've debuted for a while. Compared to past rookie waves, you're doing well—solid skills, steady gigs. Thanks to Alfredo and two radio episodes, Takizawa's got some buzz, enough for a whisper in the industry. Matsuoka, your set work's consistent, above rookie level. A director mentioned your potential."
"Really?" Matsuoka beamed.
"But that's not enough."
Kashiwai swirled his wine, sipped, lips blood-red, exuding high society.
"The greatest actor without a 'role' is an empty wallet. They fuel each other. Big voice actors have iconic roles. Bluntly, fame is bought with resources, pushed by agencies."
"Makes sense," Takizawa said, devouring his meal, nodding absently.
"Point is, the agency's decided to boost you both," Kashiwai said. "We're funneling more resources your way."
Matsuoka's face turned serious.
"Good news today—don't get too excited," Kashiwai said, smirking.
"What, year-end bonus?" Takizawa asked, tearing into tender steak.
"…We've secured roles. Ever heard of Idol King?"
His nose practically hit the ceiling, pride spilling over. But no cheers came. Both stared, waiting.
"You don't know?!"
They shook their heads.
"Idol King! The game where you train cute girls to sing, dance, wear cool outfits, battle rivals, and aim for idol stardom! It's huge—search online, it's everywhere!" Kashiwai slapped the table.
"I don't even follow real-world groups like SKB48. How'd I know?" Takizawa sighed.
"…I avoid women," Matsuoka said.
"Fine, let me sell you on this project's weight. Started as an arcade game, backed by a major studio, it's a hit, ported to other platforms, spawning multimedia plans."
Kashiwai adjusted his glasses.
"It's massive—scale, scope, cross-industry reach. Joining means a long-term ticket, not just for games but events, shows, radio. As an idol-training game, the voice actors, as real-world vessels, get extra spotlight. You'll gain exposure fast, tap into the project's fanbase, and build your own following."
"Newbies get this?" Takizawa asked.
"It's meant for young, role-fitting voices to nurture long-term. In six or seven years, if you lose energy, that's trouble."
"What's the catch?"
"Effort, learning, unleashing!" Kashiwai said gravely. "It's a full upgrade—beyond voicing, you'll sing, dance on big stages, attend events, fan meets, radio tie-ins…"
"So, be idols and voice actors?" Takizawa pressed.
"Not like Johnny's with love bans and rules. Fans know who they're stanning—virtual idols. You're a key part but not overpressured."
"Why not push real idols?" Takizawa asked, baffled.
"Virtual idols are flawless," Kashiwai waved off.
"Singing… in front of crowds?" Matsuoka raised a shaky hand.
"Yes! Even stadium-sized!" Kashiwai said passionately.
Matsuoka paled. "No way, my legs are shaking just thinking about it."
"It's a rare chance to grow fully! Normally, can you afford pro trainers or big events? Grit your teeth, overcome, and you'll transform. Don't you want that, Matsuoka-kun?" Kashiwai coaxed.
Matsuoka fidgeted, nodded fiercely.
"One last question," Takizawa said calmly.
"No refusing, especially you," Kashiwai preempted.
"Already locked in before selection?" Takizawa frowned.
"You're both set," Kashiwai whispered.
"?"
"This is…" Matsuoka's eyes widened, words faltering.
"Forget fairness. Prove you deserve it," Kashiwai said lightly, cutting him off.
"It's the agency's call with quotas. Fine, but…" Takizawa furrowed his brow.
"What now?"
"It's about training girl idols, right? What do we do—fake falsettos?" Takizawa scratched his head, lost.
Matsuoka pictured himself in a skirt, squeaking songs on stage, face drained of color.
Voice acting's terrifying.
"What? You're male idols," Kashiwai clarified.
"Huh? Isn't it female-focused?"
"It's a bold move for the whole market. Don't question the big shots—just do your job," Kashiwai said officiously, handing over two stacks of papers. "Here's the info. Read up."
Matsuoka took his, murmuring the character's name.
"It… has a name?"
"Not some side role—it's your takeoff," Kashiwai said smugly.
"Really? For me?" Matsuoka whispered. "There are others, better ones, struggling…"
Kashiwai sighed at the unsure boy. "You want it?"
"I'll do it!" Matsuoka's head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Leave it to me!"
"Takizawa?" Kashiwai hoped for a fiery "yes."
"Me? Can I order another roast squab?" Takizawa said, mouth oily, grinning.
"…"
He's a mess off-duty but reliable on projects. An idol type for an idol role—how can he fail? Kashiwai consoled himself.
"Hey, you sliced my share too!" Kashiwai noticed, fuming.
"Just helping you portion," Takizawa smirked.
"And my fancy Bordeaux's half gone?!"
"No way, I only sipped thrice. Must be sneaky fairies," Takizawa said.
The two bickered across the table.
Matsuoka, facing a feast of fine food and wine, hadn't touched a bite.
He just pored over the papers.
Savoring his first named, pivotal role.
His heart pounded, body feverish with excitement.
***
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)