Two days had passed since the catastrophic thermal event that Izumi now internally referred to as "The Defibrillator Incident."
For forty-eight hours, his high-tier analytical brain had been stuck in a continuous loop, replaying the synchronized whisper of four distinct, devastatingly soft voices echoing in his ears. Even though he knew, with 99.8% statistical certainty, that the girls were merely orchestrating a high-level psychological prank to rattle his confidence, the phantom sensation still sent an irritatingly warm jolt through his chest whenever he lost concentration.
But Izumi Aoi was not a man to stay defeated. By the third day, his supreme coping mechanisms had fully reloaded.
"Ha! A mere trick of the senses!" Izumi scoffed to himself as he walked down the quiet west wing corridor, his hand covering his face in his signature anime-protagonist posture. "They thought they could breach the fortress of my absolute intellect with a basic romantic ambush? Utterly absurd! Today, the airwaves belong to me. I shall walk into that studio and reclaim my rightful throne as the undisputed logic-master of the Audio Club!"
With a theatrical flair, Izumi gripped the handle of the heavy oak door and swung it open, delivering a booming greeting. "Behold! Your master strategist has arrived—"
The words instantly died in his throat.
The studio's heavy blackout curtains were drawn, and the main broadcasting table had been pushed aside. Standing in the center of the room were the four girls. But they weren't in their standard school uniforms.
Shinobu was halfway through pulling a heavy, knitted winter sweater over her head, her white undershirt completely exposed. Sakura was stepped out of her school skirt, holding a pair of athletic gym shorts with one hand. Amane was adjusting the collar of a customized performance dress, while Iko was completely swaddled in a massive, oversized dinosaur-onesie, trying to find the armholes.
The room froze. Time stopped for the second time that week.
"Ah—" Sakura's mouth opened, her pupils dilating as a violent, apocalyptic blush instantly raced from her neck to her forehead. Her voice hitched, preparing to unleash a terminal, school-wide scream. "A-Aoi—?!"
Before she could even project the sound, Izumi's expression flipped. His eyes turned incredibly sharp, serious, and terrifyingly strict. He took a heavy, commanding step into the room, crossing his arms as his voice boomed with the absolute, unyielding authority of a military commander.
"What is the meaning of this egregious tactical negligence?!" Izumi barked, his sharp tone completely catching the girls off guard. "Do none of you possess an ounce of baseline security protocol?! This is a registered school facility, not a private bedroom! Explain yourselves!"
Five minutes later, the dynamic in the studio had completely reversed.
The room's main lights were fully on. Izumi sat comfortably in the primary broadcast chair, his arms crossed, looking down with a stern, disciplinary glare. Sitting on the carpeted floor directly in front of him, lined up in a neat row, were the four girls—all now fully and properly dressed—sitting on their knees in the formal seiza posture, looking like reprimanded children.
"You should all be deeply ashamed of this security failure," Izumi lectured, tapping his finger against his knee in a rhythmic, strict cadence. "The Audio Club just revived its midday broadcast. We are under intense administrative scrutiny. What if a member of the student council, or worse, the faculty advisor had walked through that door instead of me? Your social standings would have suffered a total, unrecoverable system crash!"
Shinobu lowered her head, looking incredibly flustered but letting out a soft, nervous giggle. "U-Um, Aoi-kun... you're completely right. I'm so sorry. We were getting ready for a promotional photoshoot for the next podcast episode, and we completely forgot the time..."
"Hold on a minute! Why are we the ones getting scolded here?!" Sakura snapped, her face still burning red as she protested from her kneeling position. "You're the one who walked in without knocking, you absolute premium-weirdo! Normal people use their knuckles before breaching a closed door!"
"A flawed defense, Tachibana-san!" Izumi shot back instantly, leaning forward with a sharp, logical glare. "The door was completely unlocked! In a high-stakes environment, an unlocked door is an open invitation for logistical entry. The responsibility lies entirely on the occupant to secure the perimeter!"
Iko sat completely still in her dinosaur onesie, her face blank as she raised her tablet, a flat text-to-speech drone cutting through the tension: [System report: The new guy has successfully turned his own awkward blunder into a high-tier power play. Truly a toxic gamer move, meow.]
Amane bowed her head elegantly, a deeply apologetic but highly amused smile playing on her lips. "I must apologize, Aoi-kun. As the last one to enter the studio, it was my responsibility to secure the deadbolt. I simply got distracted by Iko-chan's costume. It won't happen again."
Izumi sighed, his strict expression softening as he leaned back in the chair, satisfied with his psychological victory. "Good. As long as the data has been processed and the mistake is understood, we can move forward." He then paused, scratching his cheek as a casual, entirely nonchalant smirk hit his face. "Oh, and by the way... I apologize for the accidental visual data acquisition. Though, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, the color coordination was quite impressive."
"YOU ABSOLUTE PERVERT! DELETE THAT DATA FROM YOUR MEMORY RIGHT NOW!" Sakura screamed, throwing a soundproofing foam wedge directly at his face, which Izumi caught with a clean, theatrical deflection.
A few minutes later, the chaotic energy settled into standard lunchtime routines. Sakura packed her rehearsal clothes into a sports bag, her expression still heavily annoyed. She walked toward the door.
"Leaving so soon, Tachibana-san?" Izumi asked, leaning against the mixing board. "The afternoon brief hasn't commenced."
Sakura paused at the doorway. Instead of giving a formal answer, she turned around, pulled down the lower lid of her eye, and stuck her tongue out at him in a wildly childish, mocking expression. "None of your business, premium-weirdo. Keep managing the wires," she huffed, slamming the door behind her.
Izumi blinked. 'Intriguing. Her behavioral matrix suggests she's hiding a high-priority personal project.'
Curiosity piqued, Izumi waited two minutes before stepping out of the studio to track her location. Utilizing his knowledge of the school's layout, he bypassed the crowded areas and headed toward the old storage wing—a vast, semi-abandoned classroom complex used for storing old theater props and broken desks.
As he approached the heavy sliding door of Storage Room 3, a voice filtered through the dust-heavy air. It was Sakura.
Izumi stopped, peering through the small glass window. Inside the vast, empty room, Sakura was standing with her feet apart, a vintage fantasy manga clutched tightly in her hands. She was rehearsing.
"No... please, don't step into the light!" Sakura suddenly spoke, her voice completely transforming into a soft, ethereal, and profoundly sorrowful tone that didn't sound like her usual defensive self at all. "If the cosmic crystal shatters, my people... our entire forest... will be swallowed by the eternal void. Please, hero... lend me your blade!"
Izumi stood entirely paralyzed behind the glass.
His mind violently short-circuited as a memory from four years ago slammed into his brain. He remembered a rainy winter night on Miracle Radio, where Moon had been taking voice acting requests from the chat. She had laughed softly, saying: "You know, Izumi, I can change my voice to sound like anyone! From a strict warrior to a fragile princess... watch this!"
'Is it her?' Izumi's heart raced, his eyes locking onto Sakura's focused expression. 'Is Sakura the voice that saved me?'
But before his internal audio-log could confirm the frequency, Sakura's performance suddenly hit a massive, visible wall. She tried to transition into a high-level incantation scene.
"By the ancient laws of... of the stars... I command the winds to... to blow?" Sakura muttered, her voice dropping drastically in quality. The ethereal tone collapsed, replaced by a strained, heavily unnatural pitch that sounded incredibly forced and flat. She stopped, letting out a frustrated groan, slamming the manga against her forehead. "Ugh! No, that's completely wrong! Why does it sound so fake?!"
Izumi couldn't take it anymore. The drop in structural execution was physically painful to witness.
He slid the door open with a loud, deliberate clack, stepping into the dusty storage room with his arms crossed. "The emotional arc was completely severed, Tachibana-san. Your vocal projection fell by a staggering forty percent in the second act."
"Kyaaa!" Sakura gasped, jumping backward as she dropped her manga. She instantly scrambled to pick it up, her face flushing red with intense irritation. "Aoi?! What the hell are you doing stalking me?! Get out! This is private rehearsal space!"
Izumi didn't retreat. He walked further into the room, stepping past a stack of dusty theater chairs, his expression completely serious, semi-formal, and grounded.
"I am not stalking; I am performing a critical quality intervention," Izumi said, picking up the fallen manga and looking at the page. "Your initial delivery was top-tier. Your control over the lower-register sorrow was mathematically brilliant. But your transition into the magical incantation was an absolute disaster. It sounded like a rookie reading a grocery list."
Sakura bit her lip, her defensive walls flaring up as she glared at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Audio Expert! I didn't realize you were a world-class voice director! You don't even know what character I'm trying to play!"
"Evelyn," Izumi said without a second of hesitation, his eyes locking onto hers. "From Legend of Eden, Volume 4, Chapter 12. She is an ancient High Elf wizard who has lived for three centuries, carrying the weight of a dying race. When she casts that spell, she isn't just shouting a magic trick—she is sacrificing a portion of her own lifeforce to protect the hero."
Sakura froze. Her jaw dropped slightly, her eyes wide with absolute, genuine shock. "You... you actually read Legend of Eden?"
"Naturally. The world-building is highly logical," Izumi said, a small, proud smirk hitting his face before it softened into a look of sincere determination. He stepped closer, looking directly into her eyes. "Your voice has incredible latent potential, Sakura. The raw texture is beautiful. You can become an elite Seiyu. You can become better than this."
The sudden use of her first name, combined with the absolute, unquestioning sincerity in his voice, made Sakura's breath catch. The arrogant, eccentric mask he usually wore was entirely gone, leaving only a boy who genuinely, deeply believed in her dream.
Her cheeks flushed a soft, warm pink. She looked down at her boots, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her manga. "You... you really think I can do it? My dad keeps telling me it's a pipe dream... that my voice is too harsh for mainstream anime..."
Izumi stopped being absurd. He stood tall, his posture perfectly straight, radiating an unshakeable, grounding confidence. "Your father's calculations are flawed. I don't care about mainstream standards; I care about raw effort. And right now, I see a girl who is fighting like hell in an empty storage room to reach her dream. I refuse to let that effort go to waste."
He extended a hand toward her, his eyes shining with a brilliant, motivational fire. "Let me help you, Sakura. I will analyze your vocal frequencies, structure your breathing exercises, and direct your sets until your delivery is flawless. We will conquer this script together."
Sakura stared at his extended hand, her heart fluttering with a sudden, intense rhythm that she desperately tried to suppress. A small, defeated but incredibly happy smile broke through her stubborn expression.
She reached out, slapping her script directly onto his open palm instead of shaking it, a classic, playful pout returning to her face.
"Fine... you've got a deal, premium-weirdo," Sakura said, her voice dropping into a soft, modern slang cadence as she crossed her arms and smirked at him. "But let's get one thing straight. If your coaching style is trash, or if you make me do anything weird... I am personally going to throw you into deep space. Got it?"
Izumi let out a low, genuinely happy chuckle, flipping the manga open to the rehearsal page. "A perfectly acceptable metric. Let us begin the calibration, Tachibana-san."
To Be Continued...