Takizawa woke early, a rare feat, his nerves frayed like a casual streamer tossed into a global esports final, facing a sniper god before a live audience.
Everyone he'd met praised his natural talent… but now the gyoza's wrapper was tearing, and the filling was about to spill.
He cooked a pricey bowl of beef noodle soup, popped a beer, and figured he'd eat and drink well before the execution.
Surrender wasn't an option—he'd fight to the end.
The audition was for a minor role in a classic isekai battle anime, a one-episode character.
His backstory: a knight guarding a princess, ambushed by dark forces, fighting to his last breath until the hero arrives, delivering final words before dying.
The audition lines were these:
"Royal dealings are beyond a commoner like me, but no matter how thorny the path, Your Highness Penelope, I will ensure your safety."
"Don't panic! Form a defense around the carriage!"
"Are you their leader? With such swordsmanship and skill, why hide your face for these shameful deeds? Who dares defy royal dignity, and who commands you?"
"…Ah, Your Highness, shed no tears for me. My life was sworn to you the day I became a knight. Unknown brave boy, I beg, I beg you—protect Her Highness to Snowpeak Castle."
Reading the script, Takizawa could picture the character.
A commoner's son, struggling to become a knight, in love with the beautiful princess but barred by class, silently devoted until he dies, passing her to the true hero to start the story.
The ultimate tool character. Was this the role he'd pour his soul into? A perfect match, like a fine horse with a fine saddle.
Slurping noodles, he rehearsed, trying to channel the knight's sorrow.
When the time came, he cleaned up, donned his programmer's checkered shirt, and headed out. Saturday's subway was free of corporate slaves, and he followed the map to the studio.
Arriving early, his agent Kashiwai Ippei spotted him, grabbing his hand and ushering him into the elevator like a mom dragging a sick kid to a shot.
"You're looking sharp, Takizawa-kun. Ready to nail it," Kashiwai said, beaming.
"Guess so…"
"Don't stress. It's just another interview. Play it cool, and you're fine."
"I'll try…"
"Only nine people auditioning for this role—it's small, not cutthroat. Don't think I'm shortchanging you with a bit part for your debut," Kashiwai teased.
"No way…"
"It's a one-episode role, but it's named, not just 'Knight A' or 'Guard B' on the credits," Kashiwai said. "Plus, he might pop up in the princess's flashbacks later."
They reached the floor. Stepping out, Takizawa felt the quiet. The hallway and vending machine area were packed, but everyone was hushed.
Kashiwai led him to a small waiting room, chatting up various people along the way, clearly well-connected. Handing him a water bottle, he smiled. "The main cast's voices are set. Today's for side characters, so no intimidating veterans. Relax, be yourself."
"Looks like a lot of people showed up," Takizawa said.
"The anime's got a solid budget, and the source material sells well. It's a good gig," Kashiwai said, sitting.
"Any tips for the audition?" Takizawa probed.
"Same as your training—just adjust based on the sound director's feedback."
"…Is it one-on-one?" Takizawa asked, half-desperate. Without someone to mimic, he was toast.
"Fewer people today, and the role's just a few lines. Probably solo auditions," Kashiwai said, noticing Takizawa's air of impending doom. "If you nail it, you treat me to dinner. If you bomb, I'll treat you to cheer you up. Deal?"
"Deal." Kashiwai's grin warmed Takizawa's chilled heart at the thought of a free meal.
They bantered stiffly for ten minutes until a knock signaled his turn.
…
The room was sealed for silence—vacuum-insulated glass, doors and windows edged with rubber, a suspended floor with beams, planks, and carpets. The walls, layered and covered in sound-absorbing material, killed all echoes. Even the AC fan was custom-silent.
Only one sound was allowed: the voice breathing life into a character.
Takizawa, in slippers, tiptoed in, more cautious than when he'd tried stealing a broken Transformer toy as a kid.
A pricey-looking microphone stood center stage, facing a glass window, a fine mesh screen centimeters away to catch spit. Beyond the glass sat the gray-haired sound director and his assistant, stern as temple guardians.
Takizawa shuffled to the mic, sneaking a glance at the director, who looked kind enough. After a few seconds, he realized he should speak first.
"Good morning, I'm Takizawa Satoru from I'm Enterprise, auditioning for the princess's guard knight, Alfredo Charles Trivesjessin."
He wasn't sure why Japanese workplaces loved "good morning," even at noon or night.
"Start with line D. Perform freely," The director's voice came through the speaker.
Line D was the dying speech. Script in hand, Takizawa didn't need it. He stepped back from the mic, cleared his throat, pictured the scene, and spoke deliberately.
"Ah… Your Highness, shed no tears for me. My life was sworn to you the day I became a knight. Unknown brave boy, I beg, I beg you—protect Her Highness to Snowpeak Castle."
He'd never done broadcasting or emceed a wedding. The last time he read with such passion was reciting a favorite literature piece in school.
Roy was an amateur.
But Takizawa Satoru wasn't.
From the first word, it felt natural—clear enunciation, perfect pauses, and breathing, his body leaning instinctively for mic distance.
Training tames instinct.
Arcade pros could dodge bullets and traps blind, relying on muscle memory and timing.
Some speakers slur or skip sounds, but a trained voice actor, through grueling practice, masters crisp, clear delivery.
This body had trained extensively.
Even with a new soul, it remembered.
The line wasn't long. Finishing, Takizawa snapped back, unsure of his performance in that fleeting trance, awaiting the director's verdict.
"Now read line A," The director said, voice steady as a coastal rock, unmoved by wind or thunder.
Takizawa focused, tapping into the body's ingrained instincts.
"Royal dealings are beyond a commoner like me, but no matter how thorny the path, Your Highness Penelope, I will ensure your safety."
After a brief silence, the director said, "Can you adjust and give a different take on A? When you're ready, go."
No specific feedback, just a vague "adjust," like a client frowning at a design, saying, "It's off," Or "Not quite right," without details.
Takizawa didn't think the director lacked guidance—it was a test. After a moment's thought, he cleared his throat and redid line A.
The director glanced at him. "Good work. That's enough. Please wait with the others. We'll respond soon."
Takizawa exhaled silently, bowed, and turned to leave.
"Don't rely too much on cleverness, or it loses meaning," The director said, like a seasoned mentor.
Takizawa paused, nodded, and exited.
Outside the oppressive room, in the hallway, he realized how fast his heart was racing.
This body, honed through countless trials, was more nervous than the soul it now housed, trembling with the weight of the moment.
***
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