When the power outage was fixed and the Ferris wheel returned to the ground, eighteen minutes had passed.
Staff members bowed deeply at ninety degrees, faces heavy with self-reproach, apologizing to exiting guests as if greeting a dignitary off a plane.
Nakajima Kenji, the lone middle-ager, had been pushed to the back of the line and never boarded, left waiting below.
Sakura and Matsuoka emerged next. For some reason, Matsuoka burst out like a freed prisoner, gulping air and embracing liberty, missing only a downpour to reenact a cinematic redemption scene.
"Good thing it wasn't a big issue," Nakajima said, approaching to console them.
"I thought we'd be stuck for an hour," Takizawa joked.
"Glad we weren't," Matsuoka muttered.
He and Sakura had sat in dead silence, eyes locked in a tense stare-off. He'd tried to break the ice, but it was too thick—his small boat sank against it.
Clearly, a certain charming guy operated on nuclear power. No comparison.
"What'd you talk about up there?" Sakura asked, eyeing them suspiciously. "You seem chipper."
"Nothing much," Takizawa said, thinking.
Some topics, like family, were private. Uchida's trust in sharing wasn't for public airing.
"A secret," Uchida said, winking slyly.
"?!"
Sakura's nerves twitched, brows furrowing, ready to press Takizawa, but he'd already sidestepped her.
"Nakajima-senpai, where to next?" Takizawa asked, darting to the senpai's side.
"I checked—the fault's not fully fixed, so rides are closed for now. Restaurants are out too, with the power issue," Nakajima sighed. "What a rough day… I wanted to use up all the coupons."
Matsuoka winced, a frugal soul who'd chug expiring milk rather than waste it. Discarding these time-sensitive vouchers felt like a stab to the heart.
"So, we're moving elsewhere?" Sakura's eyebrow arched.
"Oh? Got a backup plan?" Takizawa blinked. "You?"
"What's that tone?"
She shot him a sharp glare.
"Four kilometers from here is a café, 'Glass Abyss,' with a modern design, multi-level vibes, and seasonal menus. The owner, a 2003 barista championship finalist, brews only eighty cups of master coffee daily. My dad designed their logo, so they know me—should still have some left if we go now."
Sakura counted off on her fingers.
"Nearby's a historic bookstore, open for eighty-seven years, a city treasure. It holds calligraphy from literary award judges and a handwritten letter by a famous novelist. Tons of books, spacious, you can borrow, read on-site, or chat with book lovers. Big-name authors drop by sometimes."
"This season, the park's cherry blossoms are worth seeing—street performers, portrait artists. Rent a picnic blanket, grab snacks, and it's a perfect outing."
"From there, hit the food and shopping street—Korean, Thai, French, all kinds of cuisine. Even without eating, you can stroll with snacks, browse souvenir shops, enjoy plaza bands. Super fulfilling."
"Why didn't we meet there instead of here?" Takizawa asked, puzzled.
"Ahem," Nakajima's face reddened. "I'm the organizer. How could I let you rookies pay out of pocket?"
Meaning: too pricey.
"Can you hint at the cost?" Takizawa whispered.
Nakajima's lips moved, fingers signaling a per-person figure.
Yikes, way too pricey!
"So? Shall we go? I'll guide," Sakura said eagerly, pulling out her phone to book a cab.
The three men exchanged glances, hands instinctively drifting to wallets.
Then came fake smiles, shoulder nudges, mumbling, and deflections.
"It's the thought that counts," "Ramen's the peak of Japanese food," "I'm trying a minimalist lifestyle," "I'm really into Anpanman"—the air filled with men's timid sorrow.
"Hey, are we going or not?" Sakura stomped, impatient.
"What do you say, Nakajima-san? Decide quick," Takizawa said.
"Uh, Matsuoka-kun, any thoughts? Young voices matter," Nakajima deflected.
"Er, what's Takizawa-kun thinking? It's fun if friends agree," Matsuoka dodged.
"I'm cool with anything. Nakajima-san, you call it," Takizawa passed back.
"Matsuoka-kun, you need to decide for yourself, not follow others' lead," Nakajima urged.
"You're my respected senpai—I'll follow you," Matsuoka insisted.
"…"
In this dire moment, Uchida quietly raised her hand. "I need to help with dinner tonight, so I can't stay long."
"Then we keep it simple!" Nakajima perked up.
"Looking around, I'd say the Anpanman theater's perfect for team-building," He declared firmly. "I've done live dubbing there before. Let's volunteer, voice some stage roles, and gain real experience!"
"Makes sense. Skills need practice. This has three benefits," Takizawa agreed instantly.
"One, as agency mates, we'll work together often—bonding now helps. Two, even masters revisit childlike purity. Technique can dull instinct, but kids are raw. Interacting with them sharpens self-reflection. Three, it's a good deed, meaningful for society!"
Matsuoka's eyes cleared, awakened. He nodded vigorously. "I'm in!"
"Let's make it happen," Nakajima said, moving with seasoned poise.
"What? Not going?" Sakura said softly, pouting, disappointed.
Seeing her kindness rebuffed, Takizawa consoled her.
"Doing something good for kids' growth beats spending money. Let's shine as voice actors here. Don't you want to be someone's inspiration? I hope when you look back, Sakura, you're not ashamed of wasted time."
Takizawa stood tall, resolute.
"Sakura, perform with me again—for the kids' smiles!"
"W-Well, if you put it like that…" She averted his earnest gaze, twirling her hair shyly. "Fine, I'll play along."
Uchida, who'd spoken once, smiled, jogged a few steps, and quietly followed.
***
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