"Idols are messengers of hope, crafted illusions of perfection. Without grasping this, you can't uphold the role or bear its responsibilities."
In the recording booth, Takizawa, earphones on, let out a haughty hum.
"Sustaining lies close to truth, turning crafted reality into joy for the audience, sacrificing all personal excess for their dreams—that's the true path, the essence, the ultimate goal!"
"Seeking vanity or the thrill of adoration? You're just fragile illusions, lacking conviction, unfit even as stepping stones."
"What's the point of this talk? Captain, let reality wake these naive dream-chasers," Shimazaki echoed, equally aloof.
"Sorry~ They're blunt guys. I'll try to soften them," Matsuoka chimed in, his boy-next-door tone laced with slyness.
"On the grandest stage, we'll battle to prove who's the true idol!"
The villain trio issued their brazen challenge, tossing out a war-torn invitation.
"That's a wrap. Break time?" Sound producer Matsui Shimei said.
They removed their headsets, revealing flushed ears, and returned to their seats—some sipping water, others reviewing lines… or watching old sitcoms.
"Takizawa, no script?" Shimazaki noticed him, legs crossed, arms folded, in full couch-potato mode, hands empty.
"No need. I've got this part memorized."
"Studied it that deeply?"
Shimazaki eyed the weary boy, barely keeping his eyes open, and sighed softly.
Matsuoka, nearby, paused mid-sip, glancing at his script, scribbled with chaotic notes, and pursed his lips.
…Still not enough.
"Staying tense too long's no good. Relax when you can. Life's short—slow down, enjoy the scenery," Shimazaki advised.
"True. Matsuoka, those dark circles—get more sleep," Takizawa said, eyes opening, concerned.
"Thanks, I'll try. But I want to keep up with you," Matsuoka said, head lowered, shy.
"?"
I've binged half a fantasy series in my slacking time.
"The script's lighter than expected," Shimazaki said, settling into chat.
"It's a game, and we're the villains," Takizawa replied.
"How do you win this 'ultimate idol' battle? Can guy and girl groups even compete? Confusing," Matsuoka mused.
"You're too green, fussing over details," Takizawa shook his head.
"But understanding details helps me get the character and perform."
"Some questions have no answers. The client might not know either. The whole project could've been dreamt up during a bored bathroom break. Your questions? They're not diligence—they're nitpicking."
Takizawa spoke gravely.
"Not every job's art filled with love and freedom. Delivering on time is the real grind."
"But half-assing's wrong," Matsuoka said.
"Quality's met—how's that half-assed? In business, 'good' isn't enough. 'Fast and good' is the pro move."
"Guess it's about adjusting effort to the job. A standout project will get attention, and we'll pour our hearts in, even if it slows things down—everyone'll enjoy it," Shimazaki said, grinning.
"I don't dream of blockbusters. Well, I do, but I love this steady, focused grind," Matsuoka said.
"Know who's scariest?" Takizawa said after a pause.
"People who wipe with one sheet," Shimazaki said firmly.
"That's ruthless, not scary."
"Bodybuilders who can floor a bear?" Matsuoka offered.
"No, that's just foreigners," Takizawa said, staring at Matsuoka. "People who enjoy work—they're terrifying!"
"Really? Doubt it," Matsuoka said.
Human chatter can spiral to the cosmos. They'd jumped from fried chicken to koala breeding before; now, from grunt work to the fifth primate revolution, no issue.
But Matsui burst in, cutting short their extraterrestrial musings.
"Sorry, urgent matter. The studio's needed this afternoon. Can we wrap early?"
"Totally," Takizawa agreed.
"Thanks, really sorry. Our bad—messed up closing a deal," Matsui said, hands clasped, apologetic.
"…Wanna spar after?" Shimazaki, hyped for early dismissal, couldn't resist.
"Arcade?" Takizawa suggested, tempting.
"I'm in! Matsuoka, you coming? A clash of souls!" Shimazaki asked, thrilled.
"I'll pass. Early finish means I'll rest," Matsuoka said.
"Good call. Nap well," Takizawa said, patting his friend's shoulder. "We'll hang later—drinks, a walk, my treat."
"Actually, a senpai's been saying that, too," Matsuoka said, scratching his head.
"Oh? Sneaky, cozying up to company big shots. Nice," Takizawa grinned, then smirked. "Guy or girl senpai?"
"Just normal stuff. I swing by the office after work, and this kind, humble senpai chats, checks in, invites me to team outings."
"Networking at the office? Solid!"
"Isn't that standard for newbies?" Shimazaki said, puzzled.
"Standard?"
"Takizawa, you've never been to the office, have you?" Matsuoka said.
"No way. I've been debuted for over half a year, starred in a theatrical film."
"Where's the office, then?"
Childish question. For a memory like his, Takizawa smirked, diving into his mental archives, scanning fast.
Then froze, horrified.
"No way. Seven, eight months working, never at the office, and you landed a lead?" Shimazaki gaped.
"I know the address!" Takizawa protested.
"But you've never gone," Matsuoka said, certain.
"Why so sure? Insulting my workhorse spirit?"
"That senpai said they've never seen you there."
"Which lady's so curious about me?"
"Not a lady—Nakajima-san, the bandit chief who killed your knight."
"…Who played the bandit who killed my knight," Takizawa corrected, recalling the bespectacled friendly senpai.
"He heard we're tight and told me to invite you," Matsuoka added.
"Cool, he looked out for me on set. I'm in!"
"I'll let him know," Matsuoka smiled, then paused. "Oh, should we ask Sakura-kun?"
"Adding more without asking—won't Nakajima-san mind?" Takizawa worried.
"He said the more, the merrier."
"Can I come?" Shimazaki perked up.
"You're not with our agency."
"You're not with our agency."
They spoke in unison.
Triangles are the strongest shape.
But trios are the frailest bond.
Shimazaki felt a winter's chill, a touch of sorrow.
***
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