Life of a Scumbag and an Angel: Take Two

My life is a filler episode.

Click. Click, click, click.

The guy hammering away at his computer with a sleepy expression at six in the evening is me, Toya Yukieda. I’m thirty years old and work as an outline writer, mainly for radio shows.

An outline writer's job involves writing scripts that tell the hosts how the show should flow and coming up with segments to feature in each episode. It's behind-the-scenes work, but it's apparently become a popular career choice lately.

I get it. Constantly creating engaging content that grabs viewers' and listeners' attention must appeal to people who want to be part of making entertaining shows.

But that's assuming you actually have a bright future ahead of you.

Toya, is what I asked for ready?

Ah, sorry, it'll be ready in just a sec. Give me one more minute.

I kept typing away while casually responding to a director I knew here in the common area of Toto Broadcasting, this radio station.

I wasn't successful as an outline writer. Not successful at all. So unsuccessful it was painful to witness. The work I was wrapping up was no different: most of it was just assignments that senior writers had handed down to me.

We want to do a history segment, so find ten lesser-known historical facts.

Come up with twenty pieces of barbecue trivia.

Pick out some interesting pro wrestlers (and be specific about what makes them interesting.)

Come up with fifty funny puns using green onions.

These kinds of fact-gathering jobs were called research . . . Though out of all of them, "Come up with fifty funny puns using green onions" really took the cake.

But no matter how you looked at it, this was basically grunt work, pure and simple.

But this is very, very important work!

Muttering this to myself as I leaned back in my chair, I caught my reflection in the window in front of me. Honestly, I didn't think I looked too bad. Average height, long brown hair, tanned skin, and I put effort into how I dress. I definitely didn't look anywhere near thirty. Looking young was great. But doing entry-level work? What was the point? I was getting to the age where I couldn't seriously call myself a newcomer anymore.

Well, having work was a good thing. But work that anyone could do wasn't exactly motivating. I learned that from all those business books I used to read. Though that's about all I remembered, I couldn't recall the specifics.

Time's running short, so I guess I'd better pick up the pace.

Each research assignment naturally had a deadline, and missing them hurt my credibility as a research writer. Looking at it that way, what I had on my plate was a bit much, but . . . well, I'd manage. I may not be successful, but I've been an outline writer for over ten years now. I got plenty of excuses ready for when I couldn't deliver.

The data got corrupted right before I could submit it.

Wait, didn't I send that already?

I see . . . so this is what I'm reduced to in this life . . .

Yeah, it'd work out somehow.

Right, let's do this. After finishing my convenience store coffee, I started pounding away at my keyboard. Mindlessly pounding. It was time to rack up the word count with my greatest skill: good old copy and paste.

This was fine. As someone getting paid for labor, doing more than I'd been compensated for would undermine the whole system. So I was deliberately keeping the quality low for the sake of younger people with bright futures. You hear that, youngsters? That's why you can keep working hard even without a pension to look forward to.

I knew I'd find you here, Toya.

After finishing up some other research, I was brainstorming green onion puns when someone called out to me. I turned around, and there stood a handsome blonde guy.

Oh, if it isn't Tasuku! What's up?

The one who'd called out to me was Tasuku Okouchi, my fellow outline writer from the same hiring class. His silky blonde hair and sharp, upturned eyes gave him that dangerous, predatory look. He was tall, too, and his slender frame was dressed in expensive-looking designer clothes and accessories that suited him perfectly.

What are you up to, Toya?

Research work. Got quite a few things with approaching deadlines. I might've taken on a bit too much. This one's going to be pretty rough.

Ah, well, everyone says you've got too much free time, Toya.

He really just cut straight to the heart of my lack of success. Don't slice me up with words like that. Was this guy some kind of sharp-tongued killer in his past life? If he were an actual predator, I'd be bleeding out right now. Tasuku glanced at the materials I had scattered around.

Toya, you really should be doing more creative work.

It looked like he was going for a combo attack. Hey, research is important work, too. You're just putting down research because you want to trash-talk me. Sorry, research, let's keep getting along from now on.

Well, yeah! That's probably true, but this is all that comes my way! Hahaha.

Well, that's true. You did slack off when you were a newbie, Toya.

Hey now. Is this a lecture?

True, true. And this is what I've got to show for it. You and I started at the same time, Tasuku, but when push comes to shove, it's the tortoise and the hare! So how many regular gigs do you have again, Tasuku?

Twelve, I think.

Wow, people with twelve regular shows don't get asked to do research work, do they? Amazing! Hey there! Master Okouchi! Please give me some work!

I might have been fawning, but inside I was irritated as hell. This guy could rattle off his number of regular gigs so smoothly because he'd gotten so used to bragging about it. Damn.

Well, I could rattle mine off smoothly too since I was used to saying it.

After all, I had zero regular shows.

Come on, we're from the same hiring class, have some pride.

I was just offering empty flattery, yet this guy actually responded to it with that condescending attitude . . . I really hated him. Honestly, there was no way I could like someone more successful than me.

I had always thought of Tasuku as the type who pretended to have some weird sense of camaraderie with you, used you, then tossed you aside. And furthermore, I thought he was the type who sucked up to staff to get work.

Nahhh, I can't afford any pride around the great Master Okouchi! Please, give your fellow classmate some work!

But I didn't have the kind of rebellious spirit to tell someone I disliked that I didn't like them. I actually got my research jobs from Tasuku in the first place. In other words, Tasuku was someone who gave me work. It was only natural to grovel before a business partner. That's why at some point I started calling him Tasuku. Even though I hated him. I really hated him.

Without the slightest inkling of my feelings, Tasuku put his arm around my shoulders.

Well, you know. As your fellow classmate, I do want you to work hard, Toya.

Wow! It makes me happy to hear that from you, master! Thanks!

If he didn't have any business, I wished this guy would just get lost already. Maybe I should have taken a gamble and yelled out Bazoom or something. If the spell worked and he flew away, great, and even if it didn't work, most people would want to get away from someone shouting weird things.

So, here's the thing.

Tasuku flashed me his phone screen. It had a script from the popular idol show he worked on.

We're planning to do a feature on unusual vegetables here. I don't have time for it right now, so I was thinking maybe you could handle that bit for me.

Handle it, you mean?

Yeah, look into it for me. Could you send me some materials? Please!

Oh, that's what you mean. I'll totally do it, master! Thanks!

I gave Tasuku a deep bow. Being able to bow my head to anyone who gave me work, that was my specialty.

Listen, Toya. This isn't just research. It's an opportunity. Think about it carefully. This show's a long-running program, right? If the producers like your research, you might get brought in to work on the show's structure. Then you'd be saying goodbye to having zero regular shows, right?

I understood what Tasuku was getting at. There certainly were cases where that led to joining a show's writing staff. However, having worked in this industry for ten years, I knew better. The chances of that happening were about the same as winning the lottery without buying a ticket.

In other words, zero.

And you know what? The producer of that show is actually someone you know really well! Can you guess who?

Huh? Who is it? Someone I know?

Yeah, I was shocked when I heard too!

Just tell me already.

It's Rin!

Rin . . . ?

That's right! Rin Kisanuki, who worked with you on Wakaba Radio!

Hearing that unexpectedly nostalgic name left me stunned in silence. Wakaba Radio was a radio program I worked on as an outline writer in my second year. It was an experimental program created entirely by young personalities and staff. Rin Kisanuki was the rookie director on that show.

She's already a producer! Pretty amazing, right? She's still only thirty, isn't she?

That's right, she's still thirty. I'm already thirty. Still, it was quite the promotion for her.

That kind of speed is pretty incredible for a woman. A real fast-track promotion. So if you make a connection with Rin here, maybe she'll give you work for old times' sake, right?

No, she's not that kind of person. She'll just give me cold looks for being a dropout.

Right? So come on, just give it a shot, you know? Let's try hard again!

I wonder what kind of mindset this guy has that lets him casually say I'm not trying hard right now. However, there was only one thing I could really do.

Thanks for the opportunity! I'll work hard to get a regular show!

Great! I'll send you the proposal by email right away, then.

At that moment, Tasuku's phone started ringing and he quickly answered it.

Hey, good to hear from you. Mr. Negishi, what's up? Yeah, that sounds great! Right now? Sure, let's grab a drink! Awesome! Thanks!

After hanging up, Tasuku tapped away on his smartphone. A moment later, I heard the ping of an email notification on my computer.

Just sent it over. Anyways, I'm counting on you! Thanks!

Yeah, take care.

I waved with a smile, but Tasuku immediately turned his back on me and walked off, so I slowly lowered my hand.

He said he didn't have time, but now he's going out drinking . . . ? Even though that came to mind, I wasn't particularly bothered by it. This whole song and dance with Tasuku was nothing new.

He was a successful writer. I'm a writer who picked up scraps through connections from when we were hired together. The dynamic between us didn't really faze me anymore.

It wasn't always like this. When I first entered this industry, I was more rebellious and thought I was approaching it with real pride. But that attitude didn't bring in more work, and after my peers started getting busier, I began to lose sight of what the right approach even was.

After that, I just went with the flow on everything, stopped pushing myself, and simply handled whatever work came my way. It became this endless, repetitive cycle.

I dyed my hair brown after a senior writer told me to.

Toya, you look too gloomy, so you should dye it.

I went along with it. I also changed my clothing style after being told to.

Toya, wouldn't this kind of thing suit you? In an ironic way.

I switched to this flashy party-boy fashion they recommended. I knew deep down that I wasn't the type who would naturally dress in flashy clothes like that, but it was all for getting work.

Well, whatever works . . .

Is it really okay to be like this? I'd had this internal conversation about a thousand times already. It's fine. I just took whatever work came my way and dealt with it however I could. That was my approach now.

Click. Click, click, click.

I hammered away at my keyboard mechanically. This was the life I chose. This had to be right.

Hey, Toya.

At the sound of that voice, I looked up to see my former colleagues standing there. Two people I definitely didn't want to run into.

Oh . . . ! Well, if it isn't Rin and Makoto.

There were Rin Kisanuki, whose name Tasuku had just mentioned, and Makoto Tadokoro, another staff member from Wakaba Radio.

I just ran into Tasuku over there. Heard you were here, so I thought I'd drop by.

The one speaking with an exasperated expression was Rin. Her reddish hair was cut in a bob. She had an aggressive personality that was pretty intimidating, and you could tell from her speech patterns that she came from a strict upbringing. Her tomboyish nature probably stemmed from having her spirit forged through kendo during her school years.

I heard from Tasuku. So you became a producer, huh?

Yeah. I got lucky. The show I handled became a hit, and the timing worked out perfectly with some higher-ups who were stepping down.

Without any hint of bragging, Rin recounted her promotion story matter-of-factly.

What are you working on these days, Toya?

The one speaking with a worried tone was Makoto Tadokoro. Like me, he was an outline writer. With his slightly long light brown hair and baby face, combined with today's simple, bright yellow hoodie, he had the kind of cuteness that could easily get him mistaken for a girl.

Oh, I'm doing work. Though I can't compete with the great Makoto!

H-Hey, stop it! Don't call me great!

Makoto handled the writing for Bride Talk, the show most popular with young people right now, and he was known in the industry as the go-to guy for solid variety programming.

So what brings you two here today?

I occasionally saw both Rin and Makoto at Toto Broadcasting, but this was the first time I'd seen them together.

Don't tell me . . . are you two announcing your engagement?

N-No way!

Makoto's face turned red as he denied it. Yeah, that reaction would definitely cement his reputation for being adorable. Is this really a guy? Maybe he's hiding something under those clothes. I would probably get completely flustered if we ended up alone in a room together. Well, anyways, I always thought marriage wasn't out of the question for them.

It's not an engagement announcement. We came to give Mr. Nekoura a congratulatory gift.

That's right. Mr. Nekoura, who had been the rookie producer on Wakaba Radio, recently became an executive at Toto Broadcasting. Another fast-track promotion, apparently. Right, I'd heard about it but completely forgot.

Did you already give him something, Toya?

Oh crap, I completely forgot to get him anything! Sorry, could I just add my name to your gift? Make it from all three of us?

I'd barely worked with Nekoura-P since that radio show ended. I was sure he'd forgotten about me, but brown-nosing was what I did now.

What kind of congratulations is a gift without genuine feeling? Buy your own and give it to him yourself.

Rin brushed me off coldly. Yeah, that was just how Rin was. I got it. But my whole approach was different now than it was back then.

Then give me some work so I can afford a present! Come on, you're doing a show with Tasuku, right? Let me in for old times' sake, pretty please!

Despite my cheerful, joking tone, Rin's gaze remained thoroughly cold.

I'd heard talk, but you really are the worst . . . Have you lost all your pride and passion for creating good work?

How annoying. I tried to create good work too. But after getting beaten down and just rolling with whatever came my way, this was what I became. There was nothing wrong with that.

Well of course, oh great Rin. Unlike you, this is where I ended up.

You brought this on yourself . . . I couldn't quite believe what Tasuku was saying, so I came to see for myself, but I never imagined you'd become this rotten.

Rotten, what a way to put it. A living corpse.

R-Rin, that's going too far . . .

Forget it. Come on, Makoto.

Rin turned on her heel and headed toward the elevator hall. Makoto looked at me apologetically, but I didn't react at all.

W-Well, see you later, Toya. You should . . . maybe try a bit harder . . . bye!

Way to get the last word in, Makoto. Such harsh words from such a cute face.

Whatever . . . It was fine. Really. Being able to make a living was what mattered, right? These guys never even reached out when I was at my lowest. They just went and got successful on their own.

Well, it's whatever . . .

Besides, I didn't have time to think about all that. I needed to finish the work right in front of me. I was already cutting it close with deadlines, and now some rapscallion was springing a whole new research job on top of it all. Man, this was tough. I wished someone would appreciate my efforts. Oh, I just thought of a green onion pun.

After entering that pun on my computer, I glanced down the hallway and noticed a girl's poster on the studio wall.

It was Moeka Kaguraya, now a successful voice actress.

Moeka, huh.

I murmured under my breath. The visitors from earlier were Wakaba Radio staff, and she was the show's personality back then, just a high schooler.

When we worked together on Wakaba Radio, Moeka was still a rookie voice actress. Right after the radio show ended, she got cast as the heroine in a magical girl anime called Surgical Honoka. That anime became a huge hit, and she'd remained at the forefront of the female voice acting industry ever since. This poster advertising her fourteenth single showed her popularity was still going strong.

Back then, we were pretty much on the same level.

For some reason, I found myself laughing a little at the gap between where we were now.

She was a super popular voice actress who performed at the Tokyo Dome. Sure, it wasn't that unusual anymore, but Moeka held dome concerts back when no one in the voice acting world had ever done so. I thought that was something only she could have accomplished.

Meanwhile, here I was scraping by on work anyone could do, writing down things anyone could think of.

No, it wasn't just Moeka. Everyone involved in that show—Rin, Makoto, Mr. Nekoura—they'd all become incredibly successful compared to back then. Why was I the only one who turned out like this . . . ?

No, wait. What was important right then was the work in front of me. I needed to find those unusual vegetables . . . I'd probably just slack off if I went home anyway, so I'd finish this here quickly. Work, work, work.

I wondered how much time passed as I worked silently. Suddenly I heard a commotion from somewhere far away. I figured it was probably voices from other studios, but they kept getting closer.

They won't come to this studio, right?

That's what I thought, but my bad feeling proved correct. A group of what looked like staff members came to this studio.

Just my luck . . . My Pisces horoscope was probably dead last on TV today too. The unlucky item was definitely green onions. Though I didn't even know if unlucky items were a real thing. Damn. Oh well. They might want to use this space for meetings, so I should move somewhere else.

Just as I thought that, a woman crossed right in front of me.

Her long black hair gave off an air of purity, and her refined features were striking even in profile. Her pure white dress and the pink bag in her hand created an otherworldly, ethereal atmosphere.

Her appearance wouldn't be out of place if someone called her an angel. Normally, I'd be captivated by such beauty.

But I looked away and hid my face so she wouldn't see me.

Because that woman was Moeka Kaguraya.

Huh? Why is Moeka Kaguraya here? I panicked, my mind going blank with confusion. I couldn't let her see how far I'd fallen, not when I used to talk down to her all the time back then.

But since we both frequented the same radio station—she as a voice actor and I as an outline writer—we were bound to run into each other eventually. That's exactly why I'd always made absolutely sure to avoid coming here whenever Moeka had regular recording sessions. Up until then, that strategy had worked perfectly.

My quick look away must have worked because Moeka entered the studio without noticing me . . . Thank God. Looking at that poster from earlier, her CD would come out the day after tomorrow. This had to be a promotional appearance. If I'd been paying attention, I could have anticipated she might show up for promotion . . . no, that wasn't it. I was too uncomfortable to even look at the poster properly.

What a day that was. Every person I didn't want to see, all gathering in one place.

Still, Moeka really is beautiful.

She'd already been cute back when she was just a high school girl doing Wakaba Radio, but nearly ten years of growing into adulthood had only made her more stunning. Rather than gaining that typical adult sensuality, it was like her natural radiance as a person had intensified.

The thought hit me again.

I should have found some way to get closer to Moeka back then . . . If I had, maybe I'd have better work opportunities now. It was like missing out on buying a winning lottery ticket.

But there was no point dwelling on regrets. The gap between us now was insurmountable.

That's exactly why I couldn't bear to see her. There was no way I could face her.

You mean that same Mr. Yukieda who used to lecture me so condescendingly has fallen this far?!

She wasn't like Rin, though. Moeka wouldn't actually say something like that. I knew this from working on radio with her for a year. But if she even thought it for a moment . . .

No, this wasn't the time to be dwelling on that. I needed to get out of there before she noticed me. I frantically started packing up my materials and computer while trying to figure out where to work next. Maybe a family restaurant . . . I could go home, but having my sister around was a pain. She gave me these incredibly cold looks. It would be a while before those started feeling good.

Even in my flustered state, I managed to pack up my computer and materials. I lifted my head thinking, All right, time to go—

But Moeka, who should have been safely inside the studio, was standing right in front of me.

Whoa?!

I let out a loud yelp.

Oh! S-Sorry!

Startled by my outburst, Moeka apologized. She probably stepped out of the studio to grab a drink or something. Of all the times, we had to bump into each other like this.

But the reality was that Moeka was standing right in front of me. What was I supposed to say to someone I'd been avoiding for so long? Long time no see? You're doing well for yourself?

Um . . .

While I was processing all this, I heard Moeka's voice. She was looking at me with a worried expression. Well, there was no helping it then. I'd just have to muscle through this with the easygoing persona I'd developed over those ten years of coasting along. Just as I was about to blurt out something like "Hey! Long time no see! How've you been? Living the normie life?" . . .

Moeka beat me to it.

Nice to meet you. I'm Moeka Kaguraya, a voice actress.

I'd imagined all sorts of scenarios for running into Moeka, but this response was worse than any of them . . . No, wait. Those were just my own self-centered assumptions.

There was no reason she'd remember some writer she only worked with on radio ten years ago.

How could I not have realized something so obvious?

Oh, nice to meet you.

I gave Moeka a small bow and quietly headed toward the elevator hall.

She'd forgotten me. Well, of course she had. Ugh.

My life is basically a filler episode.

◆◆◆

I'm sorry, but we're completely full right now . . .

The family restaurant staff member apologetically pointed to the waiting list and hurried off to the kitchen. Looking at it, there were still a ton of people ahead of me, so I guessed working from home would be the better option that day. Though going home meant another round of emotional damage . . .

Fighting off the sudden weight in my legs, I made it home. I was still living with my parents. It was only because I didn't have to pay rent that I could scrape by on this pathetic salary.

By the way, I didn't contribute anything to the household expenses. But I didn't feel guilty about it either. After all, supporting your kids was part of being a parent, right?

I slowly opened the front door. There was one pair of shoes in the entryway. Those were my sister's. My parents didn't seem to be home, so I should have been able to slip up to my room without any trouble. Just as I tried to sneak quietly up the stairs, the living room door on my right opened.

Hyah!

The sudden sound of the door startled me into making a weird noise. When I turned around, there was my sister, Atena. With her short black hair and glasses, she had this intellectual vibe. Her stylish navy pajamas only added to that scholarly look. Atena really was brilliant, too. She'd graduated at the top of her class from a public university and was currently in graduate school as a star student.

Ah, sorry, sorry. I thought you were up in your room, not hanging out in the living room.

. . .

This kind of silence was absolutely draining.

Huh? Are you mad? Did I get home too early or something?

. . .

Um, so what were you up to, Atena?

. . .

I guess you can do whatever you want! You're free! Were you maybe studying hard?

. . .

Did my sister only know how to give me the silent treatment? That cold stare that always came with her silence really got to me. The way she looked at me was like she was looking at trash. But I could understand why she'd look at me that way. From the perspective of a brilliant student like Atena, of course she'd give that kind of cold stare to a thirty-year-old slacker who still lived at home.

Sorry. Anyway, I'll work hard to move out soon.

Whatever . . .

With that, Atena closed the door. I could swear she'd been more affectionate toward me in the past. Or maybe I was just looking back through rose-colored glasses. Maybe she'd always been giving me those cold looks from the beginning. Great. Now my chest was starting to hurt.

With that thought, I opened my bedroom door. In front of me was a desk with my computer on it. I'd heard somewhere that successful people preferred minimalist setups, so I went with a sleek, design-focused desk, which meant there was practically no storage space and books were stacked all around it. Next to that were a bookshelf, TV, and a game console. Plus a bed. Just an ordinary, unremarkable room. I set my bag on the desk and lay down on the bed for a moment, closing my eyes.

Nice to meet you.

That single phrase Moeka said to me kept spinning around in my head, and I felt this crushing embarrassment. "Nice to meet you." The fact that I was hurt by those words meant I'd apparently been taking it for granted that Moeka would remember me. I couldn't stand how self-centered that was.

If only I hadn't been working there at that time. If only I'd thought about the possibility she might come to the radio station for promotion when I saw Moeka's poster.

All kinds of regrets kept spinning around and around in my head. I sat up and pulled out a notebook from the single drawer in my desk, one with "What-If Notebook" written on the cover. I opened it and scribbled down the what-ifs I'd just thought of. Whenever I couldn't accept something, I always vented my frustration into this notebook. I wrote things like "what if I'd done this" or "if only I hadn't done that, maybe I could have walked a more wonderful path in life". That was how I released stress.

Yeah, I knew it was pathetic. These days I could just make a burner social media account and complain there instead. But I'd started this notebook before social media became popular, so I couldn't switch methods now. My current What-If Notebook was number thirteen. Ten years of crystallized negativity. Definitely a dark chapter of my life. And it was still ongoing.

I opened the notebook and wrote down that day's what-ifs. The pen was really moving that day. When the pen flowed that smoothly, it was a sign that I had regrets, proof that my life had stagnated. How pathetic.

By the time I'd covered an entire page with black ink, my emotions had stabilized considerably.

I casually pulled out an old What-If Notebook and flipped through it. I'd written down various scenarios, but one caught my eye. It was in a notebook from nine years ago.

If I'd gotten closer to the radio show members.

That made me chuckle a little. Well, of course. There probably were better ways to handle those relationships.

Being stubbornly rebellious meant I kept my distance from staff and performers and never got close to anyone, which led to where I was now. It was only natural I'd think about that. Finding it both absurd and pathetic, I closed the notebook.

All right, time to do my homework . . .

I put the notebook back in the drawer and opened my computer. Let's see, what work had I taken on besides the radio station stuff? I checked my request emails.

Need you to prepare a hundred simple magic tricks.

Ten merits and ten demerits of raising pigs.

Fifty little-known smartphone tips.

What kind of jobs was I even taking . . . ? A hundred magic tricks? Ask a professional magician for this stuff . . . Actually, ask professionals for all of this. The pig stuff and smartphone stuff, too.

Oh well. I'd just half-ass it. I started searching for magic tricks, typing keywords into Dr. Google. Find a simple magic trick, copy and paste. But even with that method, there was no way I could come up with a hundred, so what would I do? I knew. I'd take the trick for making a one-hundred-yen coin disappear and count it as separate tricks for fifty-yen, ten-yen, five-yen, and one-yen coins. That was five tricks right there. Add in foreign coins like pennies and I should be able to reach a hundred in no time.

After ten years in this industry, I knew tons of ways to cut corners. That was fine by me. It was just how it was.

Nobody was watching my work anyway, and if it was work anyone could do, cutting corners was only natural.

I worked steadily, and when I glanced at the clock, it was past midnight. I'd been at it for over three hours already. Not bad for me, yeah. I finished the magic homework and the pig homework. All that was left was the smartphone stuff and finding those unusual vegetables Tasuku mentioned. Just as I was stretching and thinking about grabbing some tea from the fridge downstairs, my phone rang. Looking at the screen, I saw Tasuku's name . . . Ugh, this was gonna be a pain in the ass. I knew for certain this call was going to bring me something I absolutely didn't want right then. That was just the kind of guy he was. Source: me.

While staring at the screen thinking it was too much trouble to answer, the call ended. I figured there was no need to pick up since he'd probably just say something annoying anyway, when I heard the LINE notification sound. That was from Tasuku too.

Sorry, calling about earlier. Will call again.

Earlier? What was he talking about? Oh, the unusual vegetable research? I wondered if he'd already found someone else to do the research. Just as I was thinking this, Tasuku called again. Crap. I'd already opened his message on LINE, so it sent a read receipt. If I didn't answer that call, it would be hard to explain why I read the message but didn't pick up the phone. Worse, he might figure out I was avoiding him. I hated Tasuku, but he was a client who gave me work. I couldn't let him know I disliked him. I steeled myself and decided to answer the call.

Hello?

Hey, Toya! Sorry about that, what are you up to right now?

Yeah, I'm just here trying to work on that job you dumped on me, you know.

Hey! Just working hard at home. What's up?

Can you come out right now? I'm drinking with some TV producers, and when I mentioned you, they wanted me to invite you over.

What the hell? He was just deciding this on his own? I had my own work pace to maintain. I still had tons of stuff left to do.

Ah, I see. That's nice of them, but right now I'm . . .

Everyone! Yukieda's at home, so he can make it!

Wow. Amazing how he jumped to conclusions when I didn't even say that. Typical careless Tasuku.

Right? You can come, right? Right?

Of course I can . . . ! Who do you think you're talking to? I'll be there!

That's the Toya I know! I'll be waiting in Shinjuku then!

After he hung up, I stared blankly at my phone screen.

Ugh. Why was I so easily swayed?

But even as I thought that, I'd already committed to going, so I had no choice. I changed into something decent and headed outside. Despite it being June, the wind felt a little cold.

◆◆◆

Thanks for treating us!

Tasuku, that was fun, see you later. And, uh, you too.

See ya, Tasuku, and . . . you too, I guess. Well, bye then.

See you at tomorrow's planning meeting.

The drinking party ended after four in the morning, and the producers who had joined us each said their goodbyes before getting into taxis to head home.

Man, you must be beat, Toya. You look pretty rough.

Hahaha, you're absolutely right!

The place where everyone had been drinking was an upscale private karaoke room. For the three hours since I'd arrived, those producers had put me through hell.

Okay, one-liner joke, let's hear it!

Alright, funny story that won't bomb, let's go!

Comedy improv time, go go go!

Even with those brutal demands, Tasuku never helped me out, and I just kept bombing. I bombed in every possible way. It was a complete disaster. And as punishment for bombing, they wrote things like "meat" and "third-rate writer" on my face and even ripped my shirt. It was hardly the sort of appearance one would expect when coming out of a karaoke place.

Well, after bombing that badly, you definitely make an impression, so I'm sure they'll remember your name. Good for you!

He patted my shoulder, but I couldn't believe that was true. I mean, even when we were leaving, none of them remembered my name. Everyone kind of just looked uncomfortable.

It'd be great if they remembered me! But speaking of great, that'd be you, Tasuku! Congratulations for real!

At this drinking party, Tasuku announced that he'd be getting married soon. What's more, his partner was apparently an idol who appeared on a show he worked on. He said he'd keep the announcement under wraps due to circumstances on her side, but he told everyone at the drinking party that he wanted them to come to the ceremony. I wasn't invited.

Hey, thanks. Just keep the marriage thing secret because of her situation, okay?

Yeah, totally! You can count on me!

I did wonder what kind of face this guy would make if I went home and posted about it on some message board, but I didn't have the courage or recklessness to do something like that.

Well, I'll take a taxi home too. See ya, Toya.

Tasuku hailed a taxi and left. At any rate, my current appearance was completely trashed. I could see passersby laughing when they looked at me. Yeah, this hurt.

No, but it was fine. Look on the bright side. Things were fine. Hadn't I been turning away from reality like this all along? When I was about to get hurt, hadn't I always made convenient excuses for myself?

That's right. If they remembered my name from this, maybe they'd use me for TV work. There were tons of outline writers these days. Rather than the content of proposals, showing your face at drinking parties like that was probably what mattered.

Telling myself this, I walked toward the station. The first train would be leaving soon.

I must have drunk more than I thought as my legs were unsteady.

Suddenly, I saw my reflection in a shop window.

What the hell was this . . . ? Was this really what I wanted to become? My clothes were torn, insults were written on my face, and even after all that humiliation, I still couldn't get work.

Nice to meet you.

Moeka's words kept spinning through my head. What was I even doing? What had I been doing with my life?

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Miserable. Miserable. Miserable. PATHETIC. PATHETIC. PATHETIC.

Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

Something inside me snapped, and I broke into a run, screaming at the top of my lungs.

Tasuku married an idol. Rin and Makoto both worked hard and achieved results. Moeka was working hard as a voice actress on the front lines. Out of everyone I'd used to work with, I was by far the biggest failure.

How did it come to this? I was supposed to have a smooth, successful life. Whose fault was it? Those guys who worked too hard? Or me, for not working hard enough?

As I ran with these thoughts churning in my mind, I ran out of steam and had to stop. When I looked around, I found myself at a construction site. I caught my breath and tried to pull myself together.

This hurt. It really, really hurt. How did things end up like this?

Tears welled up in my eyes. To keep them from falling, I looked up at the sky.

In that moment, I noticed a shadow against the pale brightness above. By the time I realized a steel beam was plummeting toward me at tremendous speed, it was already too late.

Mm . . . huh? Where am I . . . ?

When I woke up, I was in some unknown space. It wasn’t that I was in an unfamiliar place—it was that there was absolutely no information to tell me where I was.

A completely white room. Nothing but white surrounded me on all sides. Where the hell was this? I’d definitely been in Shinjuku, and then . . . no good. I couldn’t remember anything after that.

Huh? What the heck is this? Huh? Where am I? Huh? What’s going on?

I reached for my phone, but realized I didn’t have it. Huh? Did I drop my phone somewhere?

As I thought this and looked up, something that definitely hadn’t been there moments before was suddenly sitting there, bold as you please.

There was an elaborate black office desk with a desktop computer on it, positioned in the center of the space. Someone sat in the chair with their back to me.

U-Um, excuse me.

The person slowly turned around in the chair, revealing a cute blonde girl. Her hair was cut in an asymmetrical bob, longer on one side, with a striking star hair ornament. She had round eyes and refined features, and her white dress complemented her delicate appearance perfectly.

Welcome, lost lamb.

The girl’s voice was calm.

Lost lamb . . . ? Like a church or something? Oh, did you find me sleeping on the street and help me out?

This is the Soul Information Desk.

Soul Information Desk? So it is some kind of religious place. This room is really white though. Doesn’t it get dirty easily?

The Soul Information Desk is a place where souls who have fulfilled their natural lifespan in the mortal world are given their next destination. We angels are in charge of this.

Angels . . . you say?

She was speaking calmly, but this girl was saying some pretty wild things.

What should I do? I was grateful she helped me, but this conversation was getting way too weird. There was even a carefully placed halo above her hair. Was this some kind of cosplay? I guessed I should gently deny it.

Um, well, I suppose so. But I don’t think angels really exist.

However, the girl in front of me didn’t change her expression at all.

Well, it’s understandable that you think so. However, facts are facts. My name is Eriel Sangrophon. I am the angel who will guide you.

I see. Well, I’d just like to go home for now. Where’s the exit?

As I tried to avoid trouble and go home, the girl pointed her index finger at my forehead.

Even after seeing this?

The moment her eyes seemed to take on a reddish tinge, images flooded my mind. It was how I’d gotten here. That’s right, I remembered now. I’d been invited to a drinking party with producers, Tasuku went home, I suddenly felt miserable and started running . . . what’s this? Huh? A steel beam?

Aaahhh!

The vision of it falling was so vivid that I crouched down, clutching my head . . . Wait a minute. If what had just happened matched this vision, then . . .

Do you finally understand?

No way . . . whoa!

My jaw dropped. When I looked up, wings that definitely hadn’t been there before had sprouted from the girl’s back.

Hold on. Was this girl really an angel? Which meant . . .

I . . . died?

Yes. You died. However, this simply means you have fulfilled your life’s purpose. The timing of human death is determined by destiny. This file contains the record of your death.

The angel pointed to a black file on the desk. So being listed there meant a fated death? In other words, at that moment, I didn’t die because I went there. No, I would have died anyway no matter where I was . . . If an angel said so, maybe that’s how it worked, but it was still a depressing thought.

And yet, my life had ended in such a place. A life where I accomplished nothing. I should have lived more freely. I went with the flow, gave up, and died without doing anything meaningful. I should have been able to achieve so much more . . .

There’s no need to be depressed. You will be reborn now.

I was surprised to hear the angel’s words.

R-Reincarnation means I can start over?

It was exactly what I’d hoped for. If I could be reborn and start over . . . my heart raced. Though since I was dead, my heart wasn’t actually beating.

Yes. You can start over.

Yes! Hell yeah!

You can start your next life as an immortal jellyfish.

At those words, I slowly lowered my triumphant fist.

Immortal jellyfish . . . ? Jellyfish?

That’s right. You are a jellyfish.

Um . . . not human, but jellyfish?

Yes. A jellyfish. Without a doubt.

And just when I’d gotten my hopes up about starting over, my shoulders sagged in defeat . . . True, just because you’re human doesn’t mean you’ll be reborn as a human next time. That’s right. It was pretty ironic that someone who drifted through life would have an afterlife as a jellyfish.

You seem discouraged, but this jellyfish is actually a good deal. The immortal jellyfish is one of the rarest creatures in the world. It can rejuvenate itself, with a calculated lifespan of five hundred million years.

No, that’s way too long to be a jellyfish! I don’t want to be a jellyfish for such an insane amount of time! Um, what’s your name . . .

Eriel Sangrophon.

That’s a mouthful . . . I’ll call you Eriel. Can’t I be reincarnated as something else instead?

It's not possible.

But five hundred million years is too long.

It's not possible.

I mean, I can’t be reborn again during that time, right? I could understand maybe one or two hundred years, but five hundred million years is . . .

It's not possible.

It was nothing but that, over and over, pure bureaucracy. Eriel mechanically continued the process, opening the thick file in front of her.

Now then, we don’t have much time left. Time to prepare for your next life.

I see. My life really had been terrible. I’d lived a worthless existence, and now I was going to be an immortal jellyfish. But there was nothing I could do about it. If this was fate, I’d accept it . . . Even here, I ended up going with the flow.

Hmm . . . ?

Something seemed off. Eriel held the file, squinting as she scrutinized every detail.

Eriel? Is something wrong?

No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking you’ve done quite a bit of anti-aging . . .

Anti-aging? Me?

Sure, I didn’t look thirty, but not enough for it to be called anti-aging.

And your Japanese is very good.

What are you talking about . . . ? Of course my Japanese is good, I’m Japanese.

Japanese? Not Russian?

She was suggesting I was Russian when I clearly didn’t have a single drop of Russian blood in me.

Wait. No way.

Um, excuse me.

Huh? What is it?

I’m not really sure, but . . . did you take the wrong person’s soul?

Eriel slowly sat back in her chair and took a deep breath.

Aaaahhhhh . . . !! I’ve made a terrible mistake!!

Eriel clutched her head and screamed.

This is bad, this is bad! This mistake is really bad! A written apology won’t cut it! I could get fired!

Eriel paced in circles around the office desk, sweat beading on her forehead.

Getting fired would be terrible! What should I do, what should I do . . .

While the angel panicked, I thought it through. If it was true she took the wrong person’s soul, that meant I wasn’t originally destined to die, right?

In that case . . .

When Eriel typed on the keyboard, a jet-black shelf suddenly appeared in the empty space next to the desk.

Um, what’s your name?

Since she wasn’t looking at me, it took a moment to realize the question was directed at me.

Oh, Toya Yukieda.

After hearing that, she typed on the keyboard. The shelf door opened by itself, and a piece of paper danced through the air. A document with my photo landed on an empty spot on the desk. When I noticed Eriel taking the document from the binder and trying to put it into the black file she had been looking at, I grabbed her hand.

Hey! W-What are you doing?! That’s the file for people scheduled to die, isn’t it?

I’m sorry! You know how if you make a lie come true, it’s not a lie anymore, right? Please let me do that! Then it won’t be a mistake anymore!

You can’t just treat me like this after making a mistake!

Basically, this angel was telling me to die to cover up her mistake. I snatched the file from Eriel. What I found written there was the information on an 85-year-old Russian woman.

How the hell did you mix me up with her . . . ?! What kind of mistake is this?!

It’s not like that! I hadn’t slept for about two days! You know how sometimes you’re taking notes in class and drowsiness hits you, and when you snap out of it there’s a long pencil line scrawled across your notebook? It was like that!

I get that, but this isn’t the same thing! Hey, look. This mistake means I wasn’t supposed to die, right?

Well, yeah, I suppose so.

Then what are you going to do?! Huh?! Bring me back to life!

I know! If my supervisor finds out about a mistake like this . . . I just, I finally got this job!

It was good to be passionate about your work, but a mistake was still a mistake.

The deceased reception department only gets one or two people a day, it’s such a relaxing, great workplace! I won’t be able to watch dramas while pretending to work anymore!

It wasn’t passion. It was actually the complete opposite of passion.