1st Voice

“Karube?”

The voice was clear and composed—the kind that made you instinctively sit up straighter. Yet it was far from cold. A hint of softness gave it just the right touch of warmth.

“Yes? What is it?”

Karube answered her manager, Nakamura, in a low, raspy voice. She had what people usually called a husky voice.

“We’ve received an audition opportunity. I’d really like you to try out... Actually, I think you’ll want to.” 

“...What’s the project?” “It’ll be quicker if I show you.”

Nakamura handed her the audition materials. Karube took them and read the title at the top of the page—then her eyes widened.

“Wait, is this...?” 

“Yes. A new project in the IdolRoute series. Your favorite.” “...!”

IdolRoute.

A hugely popular franchise about female idols who performed as part of their school activities. Its beautiful animation, fluid CG dance sequences, and compelling stories had once made it a nationwide phenomenon.

And now, she had the chance to audition for its newest project.

“But I’m not really the idol type...” 

“Heh. Take a closer look.”

Nakamura turned the page with her long, slender fingers. There was a character illustration on the next page—a girl wearing trousers rather than a skirt.

“...Huh? Wait, is she—?”

 “Yes. This is the role I had in mind for you. A girl who dresses as a boy.”

Karube liked wearing men’s clothes. That didn’t mean she wanted to be a man; she simply enjoyed cross-dressing.

Even the way she referred to herself in Japanese was masculine, as were her voice and mannerisms. But she still identified as a woman.

Playing a female character, then, wasn’t a problem. Wearing a frilly outfit that screamed “idol,” however, was another matter.

A role that let her wear men’s clothes was everything she could have hoped for.

“Still, a girl who dresses as a boy? That’s unusual for IdolRoute. They normally keep anything remotely male out of the picture.” 

“...About that.”

Nakamura hesitated, struggling to find the words, but continued. What she said next made Karube’s eyes widen all over again.

“...A male idol spin-off?” 

“Yes. There are ten members, and this character is one of them. They’re only accepting male voice actors for the other nine roles.”

 “Male... voice actors...”

Nakamura had expected that reaction. IdolRoute had always gone to great lengths to keep men entirely absent from its fictional world.

Its fans didn’t necessarily dislike men, but the vast majority firmly believed that men had no place in IdolRoute.

And now the franchise was getting a male idol spin-off. When the fans found out, they would probably react much as Karube had.

Karube, in particular, had followed IdolRoute since the very first series. Nakamura expected her to feel especially strongly about the introduction of male characters.

“...If you’re uncomfortable with it, you don’t have to force yourself. We can turn it—” 

“No.”

Karube cut her off. There was hesitation in her voice, but determination, too.

“I want to try.” 

“...Are you sure?”

 “Yes. It’s a chance to audition for IdolRoute. And more than anything, getting to perform in clothes that actually feel like me? That sounds amazing!”

If the character dressed as a boy, then the performer would, too. For Karube, that was a welcome prospect.

But that wasn’t the only reason. Being able to wear men’s clothes without any restrictions was appealing, of course. More than that, though, this was a chance to audition for IdolRoute—the franchise she had loved for so long.

If she let this opportunity pass, she might never get another.

Then there was only one thing to do: try.

“...All right. I’ll get the application ready, so let’s go through the information we’ll need.”

 “Okay!”

It was essentially a résumé. They would list her hobbies, special skills, and other details, then send it to the audition organizers.

Naturally, the form was digital, but Karube and Nakamura worked out the answers together.

“First, your hobbies?” 

“Hmm... Watching baseball, I guess. I’m a Chiba fan.”

 “...You’re from Kanagawa, aren’t you?” 

“I like Yokohama, too. I’m just leaning more toward Chiba these days. Besides, it gives people something to ask about. Like you just did—‘But aren’t you from Kanagawa?’”

For someone who struggled with conversation, Karube put a surprising amount of thought into things like this. Nakamura appreciated that about her.

The only reason Karube could talk so comfortably with Nakamura was that they had already known each other for nearly a year. A month into their working relationship, she would have been stumbling over every other word.

“All right. Next, special skills.”

 “Hmm... I don’t really have any.” 

“What about singing?”

 “...For an idol project, I feel like listing singing as a special skill wouldn’t do much to make me stand out...”

She had a point. Some cast members might lack confidence in their singing, but most would probably be good at it, or at least enjoy it.

In a pool like that, putting “singing” under special skills wouldn’t attract much attention. If anything, they both thought, it might just make her blend in.

“But I can’t make something up, either...”

 “A special skill... You have plenty of good qualities, but those aren’t really things we can put in this section.” 

“Huh?”

 “Hmm?”

Had this woman just casually said something outrageous with a completely straight face?

Unless Karube had misheard, Nakamura had said something about her having good qualities—

“You have all sorts of good qualities. You take your lessons seriously, and you have the perseverance to keep working at things you struggle with. Your voice itself is wonderful, too. And then there’s—”

 “O-okay, that’s enough!”

Karube’s face flushed as she stopped her.

That was the thing about Nakamura: behind that cool expression, she had absolutely no hesitation about praising people.

Apparently, she believed that if something was good, you ought to say so. For Karube, who wasn’t used to being praised, that attitude was devastating.

“...What about being able to sing most songs by male vocalists in their original keys?” 

“Oh... Yeah, that does sound like something that could set me apart.”

 “Shall we use that, then?” “Yes, please.”

Karube’s real strength lay in her low notes. Other performers at the agency had sensual, husky voices, but none could command the lower register the way she could.

Longer vocal cords generally produced lower voices, and taller women tended to have longer vocal cords.

Yet Karube was only 165 centimeters tall—hardly unusually tall. An examination had nevertheless revealed that her vocal cords were much longer than those of the average woman.

Those exceptional vocal cords allowed her to produce low notes that could rival any man’s.

And there was another formidable aspect to Karube’s voice. Her range didn’t stop at those low, husky tones. She could reach fairly high notes, too.

She could sing into the high register without switching to falsetto—and with falsetto, she could go higher still. Few voice actors, especially female voice actors, had a range that broad.

Her vocal cords were effectively closer to a man’s, and they gave her that extraordinary range.

That was Karube’s true weapon.

“I wonder if I’ll make it past the application screening...” 

“I can’t guarantee anything, but I think your look will catch their attention.”

Even Karube had to agree with that.

Since she already preferred men’s clothes, she styled her hair and makeup to look masculine, too.

She wasn’t simply a boyish-looking female voice actor whose features still read as feminine. Her face was so sharply defined that people might genuinely mistake her for a man.

An application with a photo like that was bound to draw attention.

“So it’s the application screening, then the recorded audition, then the first round, second round, and final round?” “That’s right.” 

“Ugh... That’s way too many hurdles...” 

“It shows how popular the franchise is.”

A new project in a franchise that had once become a nationwide phenomenon was expected to attract a huge number of applicants.

Breaking the auditions into so many stages allowed the organizers to narrow the field until only the strongest candidates remained.

“For now, let’s focus on the application. We might as well have some new publicity photos taken, too.” 

“Thank you!”

Karube passed the application screening.

Then she passed the recorded audition, the first round, and the second.

Finally, the last round arrived.

“A group assessment?”

Nakamura murmured the words as she looked over the final-round materials. Beside her, Karube had her head in her hands.

“I know how those work... They make you have discussions as a group. With people you’ve never met... People you’ve never met!”

Nakamura thought this would be tough for her.

Calling Karube a good communicator would have been generous. In truth, she struggled badly.

Put her among several strangers, and getting a sentence or two out of her might be the best anyone could hope for.

“Karube.” 

“Yesh...?”

She lifted her head, answering in a thoroughly pathetic voice.

“I suspect they’re trying to see whether anyone might disrupt the group.” “Disrupt the group?” 

“Yes. If a discussion gets heated, some people may start dismissing others just to push their own opinions through. This could be a way of screening those people out.”

If that was the goal, Karube had a chance. Nakamura told her so with confidence.

Karube tended to worry about other people’s reactions, but that didn’t mean she had no opinions of her own.

She had the resolve to stand her ground when it mattered. And Nakamura could say with complete confidence that she would never behave in a way that tore a group apart.

“Even one comment is enough. Let’s make that one comment leave a good impression on the judges.”

 “That’s... hard.” 

“Yes, it is. Very hard. But I believe you can handle it.”

“Because you’re a wonderful person, too.”

Nakamura said it while looking Karube straight in the eyes.

“...I keep telling you, you can’t just say things like that.”

 “Why not?” 

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

Looking closely, Nakamura could see a faint blush on her cheeks.

She really is pretty cute when she does that, Nakamura thought.