Takizawa couldn't wrap his head around it.
Why did a kiddie show like Anpanman have a flirty subplot with a female villain? Shouldn't superhero stories focus on slick transformations and shouting epic finishing moves to vanquish foes?
Why were the kids below, like nosy neighbors gossiping over juicy rumors, grinning slyly at the hero's playful banter with the enemy's femme fatale?
"Why'd you pretend to be my girlfriend via text? Just to lure me into this trap?"
"If you're chasing thrills, go all in, right?"
"You're so low."
"Can't bear to strike me? Aren't heroes supposed to crush evil?"
"I believe you still have a chance to change."
"Heh, you say that every time."
Takizawa felt like he was dubbing a soap opera.
Maybe he'd been left behind by the times. Once as Roy, he volunteering as an art teacher for a community class, he'd confidently introduced himself to kids, ready to take requests.
---
"Want to draw Mickey Mouse, Tom and Jerry, or Astro Boy?"
A master like him could teach it all.
But the kids scoffed.
"What do you want me to draw?"
"Skibidi Toilet!"
"Raikou-mama from my phone!"
"?"
"I want a pop idol!"
"??"
"A rapper!"
"???"
Flustered, Roy, under scrutiny, pulled up photos of stars and started sketching.
"It doesn't look like her! So ugly, like a monster!"
"It takes time to get it right… drafts aren't final," He sweating under parents' silent stares.
"Mr. Roy, just stop. Don't embarrass yourself."
"????"
His pride stung, Roy unleashed his full skill, breaking limits to finish hyper-realistic portraits.
"It's just like the photo. Boring."
"…"
A gut punch.
---
Still, Anpanman Side Story: Snowy Fantasies of Love ended perfectly with their pro voice acting team's free help, earning thunderous applause and post-show photos.
This moment alone made the team-building worthwhile.
On the way back, Matsuoka was still giddy from the kids' praise, practically skipping off the train.
Such an open book.
Takizawa sighed, slumping into a hard-won seat, ready to stream a show to pass the time.
But the train's gentle sway broke from the city's shadowed towers, like a ship piercing fog. Bright orange sunlight flooded the carriage through the glass, weaving past crowded bodies, everything aglow.
Takizawa paused, turning to the fleeting scenery.
This island nation's seasons were vivid. He'd endured the harsh late winter. Without meeting a good guy like Matsuoka, he'd have spent New Year's with a suitcase, bundled in coats, snow as his bed, a modern match girl.
Life was ups and downs, mostly downs.
Surviving early disorientation, warmed by a heater through snowy windows, he'd finally found his footing, able to enjoy this world with ease.
Sunlight blazed, seasons shifted, the city's colors danced like ripe fruit before harvest. Heavy clouds shed their dust, white wisps in the vast blue sky, rich enough to drip.
His first spring and summer here approached.
Imagining tomorrow's unknown—blooming flowers, refreshing breezes, sweaty summers, and fiery passion—was a rare joy.
A soft voice broke his reverie.
"Takizawa-kun, which stop's yours?"
He turned to the girl beside him. Bathed in winter's final sunlight, her sleek hair shimmered with refracted glow, a canvas of shifting scenes. Her petite face flushed healthy pink, eyes warm with kindness.
"Still a ways. You?"
"Same," Uchida replied.
"Huh, they're gone?" Takizawa craned his neck.
"Sakura-senpai said bye, but you missed it through the crowd," Uchida added.
She'd probably nag him on chat later.
Takizawa sighed, at a loss for words. Oddly, this wasn't their first quiet moment. From initial awkwardness, it'd become natural—Uchida had a knack for putting people at ease.
Japan's trains were silent—no blaring pop, no loud livestreams, no pushy vendors. Even packed chest-to-back, everyone clung to detached decorum.
The upside: peace. The downside: a lack of warmth.
They quietly watched the twilight sky shift colors, skipping forced small talk.
Ending the trip with this poetic dusk felt fitting.
As the train neared the platform, the crowd surged. Takizawa patted his knees, standing to wave goodbye, but saw Uchida rise too, surprised.
"Getting off?"
"Yup."
What a coincidence.
"Which way? I'll walk you," He said as they followed the flow out.
"No need, it's close," Uchida declined.
Even so, he'd walk a bit with her.
Once, after a date, he'd asked the same, and she'd politely refused. He took a cab home, only to get an online scolding: You actually left?
"I'm hitting the supermarket for ingredients," Uchida said.
"You're really cooking for your family?" Takizawa asked, curious.
"Yup. Something wrong?" She tilted her head, puzzled.
"…Nope."
"It's for my hopeless brother. Left alone, he'd live on instant noodles," Uchida grumbled.
He tagged along to the store—his fridge was empty too.
A bachelor's shopping was swift: eggs, potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, noodles—versatile staples tossed into a basket in under ten minutes.
But the sister of a "lazy, grain-ignorant" brother was meticulous, like a quality inspector, making him swap out slightly blemished tomatoes.
Carrying bags, they sat outside, a steaming bowl of oden between them. The shop played chart-topping hits, faintly audible. Uchida even hummed along.
"How's your cooking?" Takizawa asked, biting hot fish tofu, eyeing her hefty bag.
"Decent. I'm a farm girl, after all," Uchida said, lips curling.
"Can't picture a city beauty like you planting rice or stoking a fire."
"I was super rustic back then."
"No way, I don't buy it," He teased.
"Really."
Uchida looked up at distant fiery clouds, voice softening.
"After moving back to Tokyo for middle school, I was tanned from the countryside, clueless about pop songs or movies—my hometown played old classics. I was out of sync with the star-chasing, magazine-buying city girls."
Her legs swung lazily.
"School's a big group, classes smaller ones, with cliques within. I couldn't even bond with my desk mate, pretending to study during breaks, eating lunch alone in empty spots."
"Loneliness is a disease forced on you. It eats away at cheer and spirit until confidence fades."
Uchida paused.
"Bullying tags along. Desk graffiti, casual jabs—small malice is still malice. Yet I felt glad to be noticed, even as a joke. Realizing that, I sank into despair and fear."
Her face held a serene smile.
"Maybe my rural grit lingered. I didn't give up, tried fitting in, reading the room. Bought magazines, watched new films, listened to hits, memorized comedians' bits."
"It worked. By high school, I wasn't the bumpkin anymore. I learned makeup, dressed well, looked better than many classmates."
"That's great," Takizawa said.
"Even got scouted by a talent agency," Uchida said. "At first, photoshoots and screen time fed my vanity—before, I was the mocked ugly duckling. Plus, it eased Dad's financial load."
Noticing his silence, she emphasized, "To be clear, nothing risqué. Totally legit."
"I get it," Takizawa scratched his head. "Like gravure idol stuff, pretty common."
"Yeah, no big deal. But for schoolmates, a classmate's swimsuit photos were prime gossip."
Uchida gave a bitter smile.
"I was careful, but girls found out, spread it across the grade. I quit drama club, found nasty notes in my shoe locker, got called out by teachers—my grades weren't great. Everything crashed back down."
She spoke lightly, but the unseen pressure was heavier than her words. Dull, chipped knives, in hundreds, day after day, still cut deep.
"Such boring people," Takizawa said after a pause.
"There's an even more boring one, you know?" Uchida asked suddenly.
"Huh? Who?" He caught a shift in her tone, confused.
Her smile bloomed—not her guarded one, but genuine, like March cherry blossoms.
"I went to a café with my new 'friends' for a girls' tea. Midway, they invited boys from another school, brought up my modeling, and showed photos."
"I couldn't hold back, excused myself to the bathroom to hide tears."
"Then, stepping out, I met a student-looking waiter."
Uchida looked at him.
"He nervously said, 'Keep going,' and ran off."
"That's it?" Takizawa asked.
"Yeah, why not more? I barely processed it."
Uchida repeated, eyes on him.
"Curious, I went back alone, cornered the shy-looking guy at the counter. Guess what he said?"
"What?"
"He blurted out his own bullying story. Such a clumsy, awkward guy."
She laughed but stopped, head lowering.
"The lamest, simplest comfort I've ever heard."
"Pretty mixed feelings, huh," Takizawa said.
Uchida fell silent, lips pursed, then whispered softly.
"Thank you, Takizawa-kun."
He set down his oden skewer, mouth opening, words caught in his chest as warmth surged through his heart.
You never know who you've hurt or helped by chance. Life's full of fleeting meetings and partings—some faces you see once, then vanish into the crowd.
He hadn't realized.
The teen who wrote anguished diaries, feeling worthless, had once mustered courage.
That kindness and fervor, carried by fate's wings, crossed time and dreams to return.
Takizawa clutched his chest, eyes closed, answering for that boy.
"Thanks for the gratitude. 'I' am glad."
The sun dipped between skyscrapers, ushering a cool night, lights twinkling, crows circling home.
"We met twice without words. Once at the café, once at the agency's training," Uchida said, patting her cheeks, grabbing her bag, and stepping away. "But no more surprise run-ins from now on."
"Heading back?" Takizawa asked, breathing into his hands.
"Yup, or my brother'll starve," She said, sticking out her tongue, walking off lightly.
After a dozen steps, Uchida turned, waving wildly, her long shadow stretching across the sunset street. Her smile, tender yet vibrant, shone like cherry blossoms in spring.
She took a deep breath, shouting with all her might.
"See you next time!!"
Her call was so fierce, shattering her usual calm, startling passersby and a cat under a pole.
"Yeah!!" Takizawa waved back exaggeratedly.
Satisfied, Uchida smiled, turned, and vanished.
He watched her go, then picked up his fish tofu.
What a great woman.
He stretched.
After sunset, a night of deepening blue awaited.
Through starry paths.
After a brief slumber.
They'd meet again.
***
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