It's common knowledge that humans are experts at pretending.
Back in elementary school, a sixth-grade student council rep came around to gather feedback on the cafeteria food. Yin Ze, only in third grade at the time, had already mastered the art of lying through his teeth. He looked that overcooked tomato and egg mess dead in the eye, gave it a thumbs-up, and called it a "culinary masterpiece."
Humans aren't just deceitful—they're fickle too. While eating one thing, they're already dreaming of the next.
During his awkward teenage years, the school was holding its annual sports meet. Yin Ze's crush was running the 100-meter dash, so he waited at the finish line like a loyal Hachiko. At first, he was totally captivated by her grace and beauty… until his eyes wandered to the girl in the next lane—tall legs, snow-white and impossibly long. He stared so hard he missed his chance to hand his crush a water bottle and walk her off the field.
Give humans a warm bed, and they'll dream of hot buns. Give them buns, and they'll want a weekend rave.
So naturally, now that he had a shiny diploma and some spending money, Yin Ze started thinking about...
"So you're telling me you want to go clubbing, have a mama-san introduce you to school-uniformed cuties in white socks, and play board games while drinking?" came the deep, amused voice of Kashiwai Ippei over the phone.
"I *just* said I wanted to rest. Don't twist it into something insane," Yin Ze snapped. Then, after a pause, "...Wait, those places really exist?"
"Of course. And they're very safe."
"Only rookies care about safety. What matters is whether it's legit."
"Cut the nonsense. Your schedule's set—go to work," his agent said flatly.
"Work hours this unstable should be illegal."
"You're too naïve. Not all work is created equal. This job? All you have to do is talk big, and you'll get paid *and* gain popularity," Kashiwai coaxed. "What's not to love?"
"So it's finally come to this," Yin Ze said solemnly. "I'm about to become Guo Degang's hype man."
"You're guesting on a radio show," Kashiwai corrected.
"Wait, what?"
"'Dark Rebirth Fantasy' is blowing up. So naturally, there's a whole bunch of spin-off content—radio shows, commentary tracks, merch. Gotta keep the hype going so the boss can afford his next vacation home. You're the guest for the debut episode."
"But I was a side character who died in half an episode!" Yin Ze protested.
"Yeah, but your character's trending. Perfect time to promote yourself. Just be witty, approachable, elegant—chatty but clever, responsive and—"
"Sounds like a dating profile."
"Exactly. Treat the audience like they're your soulmate. Especially the female fans—they spend money fast."
"Kashiwai-san, you're thinking too small. I've always treated clients like breadwinners. You can dump a girlfriend who throws a fit, but your paymasters? Their every whim must be obeyed. Your devotion still has a ways to go," Yin Ze said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
"Fine, then treat them like they're both your mom *and* your girlfriend. Just get in the mood already. I sent the address to your email."
"Ugh, not the train again."
"Take a taxi. I'll cover it."
"Finally! Driver, we're good to go."
"...?"
To Yin Ze, radio had always carried an old-world charm.
He used to have a radio as a kid. The first time he heard a human voice come out of that little box, it blew his mind. From that moment on, he fiddled with it every night before bed—sometimes it was news, sometimes small talk, sometimes tales of mysterious forest monsters.
Car radios, that ghost of a bygone era, were once beloved by long-haul drivers. Hundreds of miles on the road, starlight overhead, cigarette in mouth, foot on the pedal. In those enclosed cabs, a voice from far away kept them company.
But then came TV, the internet, smartphones… and the radio scene began to fade.
Now people wind down by gaming, watching shows, or streaming music. Drivers? They're chatting on apps, hustling for orders. Who has time to hear Teacher Mei read fan letters about annoying in-laws?
We've watched some things grow old. Some even die.
Japan's radio scene took a hit from the net too, but it's still vibrant in its own way.
Voice actors doing radio shows? Totally normal. It's part of the gig—more income, more exposure.
Fans love it too. It's a peek behind the curtain, a way to feel close to their favorite characters—wrapped in anime charm, free from the grime of the real world.
But Yin Ze? Not so confident.
He was a textbook "windy guy."
Meaning: chatty and charming in private, but once the camera's on? He freezes. Big smiles turn stiff, conversations stall. The thought of thousands of people listening in real time made him feel like he was walking a tightrope—one slip, and he's toast.
So he decided to play it safe. Stay "normal." Like a poker pro, he'd control every move, every word.
Going viral with wild antics? Not his thing. He'd chosen the behind-the-scenes life, and he planned to stay there.
His taxi arrived at the studio.
He realized—he'd forgotten to ask who the host was.
Probably the main lead, right? Maybe that seasoned vet with the classy stubble?
Talented guy, warm personality. Sounded safe.
"You've still got time. Head into the booth and go over the script, chat with your cohost a bit," said the show's producer, who gave off major Kashiwai 2.0 vibes—gold-rimmed glasses, a mid-range mechanical watch, and the aura of a seasoned white-collar pro.
Yin Ze walked toward the booth, script in hand—sponsored content, segment details, all printed neatly.
He pushed the door open, ready to greet the "big brother" he'd imagined.
Then stopped dead in his tracks.
Across the mic, someone with a ponytail was scribbling away.
White sailor uniform with a red bow, patterned pleated skirt down to the knees, white socks tucked into dainty brown loafers. Her face, framed by soft strands of hair, was delicate and youthful—focused in quiet thought.
The radio booth, sleek and modern in design, suddenly felt like a lazy spring afternoon in a school classroom.
The girl frowned slightly, pen resting on her cheek as she puzzled over something.
Yin Ze tiptoed closer. Her notebook was filled with equations, lined up like soldiers.
Math.
Life and love may betray you—but math never lies. If you don't get it, you just don't.
The girl finally looked up. Her eyes sparkled, then curved into a sweet crescent smile—the kind that could disarm any man.
There was nearly a full head's height between them.
Their eyes met.
"Good day, Mr. Takizawa," she said, standing with her hands neatly folded and bowing politely.
"Yo, long time no see, Hidaka-san—no, no, I should be calling *you* Senpai now."
Even if she was younger, Yin Ze had nothing but respect for this particular *senpai*.