By the time they returned to the gate of the Kobayashi house, the morning sun was already high in the sky. The air had grown noticeably warmer, carrying the rising heat with it.
Even though they'd only jogged five kilometers at a light pace, a thin sheen of sweat coated Kuroba Akira's skin.
Not long after, Shiginomiya arrived just a few steps behind him. Akira turned to ask how she felt about her first morning run.
"How was it? Everything okay? Feeling out of breath or anything?"
Shion placed a hand on her lower abdomen, exhaled evenly, and calmly replied.
"Huff… Mm, I feel fine. My body feels light, no soreness or anything."
The truth was… it did feel uncomfortable—but not from the run itself. It wasn't lactic acid or muscle fatigue—it was other distractions.
Mainly, she wasn't wearing a bra.
Her budding chest had been chafing painfully under the track jacket, especially with the constant friction. And since the jacket had to stay zipped up, the sweat accumulating inside had turned it into a virtual steam room—stuffy and suffocating.
On top of that, the shoes she wore weren't made for running, so the soles of her feet were starting to ache. She really just wanted to get inside and give them a good massage.
But Shion didn't complain about any of that. She didn't want Akira to think she was some delicate greenhouse flower who couldn't handle a little discomfort.
"You really are talented…"
Akira couldn't help but marvel again at the power of her abilities.
Even though he'd deliberately slowed his pace, most beginners would struggle to jog five kilometers without stopping—especially in improper footwear.
Shion had kept up with apparent ease. It had to be thanks to her [Ethereal Grace S] talent.
Judging by the name, it likely referred to her exceptional coordination, balance, flexibility, and overall agility.
Honestly, if she relied on just that one talent, even at her current age, she might still be able to switch paths and become a professional athlete.
Figure skating, maybe. Or gymnastics…
Then again, those sports usually required training from age four or five. Young girls were lightweight, so jumps and spins came easier. By the time they were Shion's age, the top-tier competitors were already world champions.
It was a ruthless arena where pure talent was the weapon—and the battlefield.
To Akira, most of those prodigies still looked like undeveloped girls. Yet they were already thrust into such a brutal competition.
That's what they meant by "fame at a young age."
If Shion entered the sports world now and rose to success, people would likely label her a "late bloomer." Her achievements would carry a note of regret—what if she'd started earlier?—rather than the glow of "choosing the right path at the right time."
Plus, sports were high-risk. Injuries were common, careers short. After retirement, most could only go into coaching.
And just because someone was gifted didn't mean they could teach. Maradona, for example, had been a football god on the field—but as a coach, he was… generously speaking, average.
Also, coaching didn't exactly pay well. So that path? Pass.
Having too many talents could be a headache. It made choosing a direction harder.
This wasn't a life simulator where you could reload your save if you picked the wrong route. In real life, switching careers meant sinking time and resources—sunk costs that rarely paid off.
Even with her high talent buffer, Shion couldn't afford to make careless choices.
That's where Akira came in. His job was to filter out the paths that would dull her brilliance—to shape this raw gemstone into something dazzling and priceless.
You could say he'd already taken on responsibility for Shiginomiya Shion's entire life.
His declaration that he would "produce her" wasn't some casual throwaway line. It was closer to a vow.
In truth, even the career path of becoming a professional voice actress… wasn't, in Akira's mind, the ideal route for her.
In Japan, top-tier male seiyuu earned around 30 to 70 million yen a year—roughly ¥1.5 to ¥3 million RMB.
But that level of income was only for top male seiyuu, who were rarer and thus received more opportunities and visibility.
Female seiyuu, on the other hand, faced heavier competition, harsher industry churn, and far more instability.
Voice actors weren't salaried—they got paid by the gig. While averages could be estimated, they varied wildly.
A decent working seiyuu might make 2 million yen a year—less than 100,000 RMB. That was worse than what a fresh salaryman earned at a regular company.
Even veterans who'd been in the industry for years might not break 10 million yen.
As for newcomers just joining an agency—their pay was laughably low. It really was a hand-to-mouth life.
And if you failed to land enough work, you could get dropped by your agency altogether. Every day was a constant undercurrent of anxiety.
Japan's seiyuu industry had a severe pay gap. The top 10% of elite voice actors earned the bulk of the revenue. For the remaining 90%, trying to make a living solely through voice acting was damn near impossible.
Most rookies couldn't survive on anime dubbing alone. Many took side jobs—working as cashiers at convenience stores or delivering food.
Those with a better footing, like theater actors transitioning into seiyuu work, often juggled both until one career stabilized.
Once they gained traction, many seiyuu branched into singing—performing anime OPs and EDs, releasing character singles, putting out CDs to earn royalties.
Next came TV appearances, radio shows, and variety programming to boost visibility.
Some even went full idol route: concerts, fan meetups, photo books.
In Japan, being a "voice actor" wasn't just about voice acting. It was a hybrid, multi-income gig.
Put bluntly: when you can't get fed in your own field, you go forage in someone else's.
And the determining factor in a voice actor's income?
Voice quality? Acting skill? Diction? Character understanding?
No.
In Japan, the most important thing for a seiyuu was—fame.
The "voice" in "voice actor" wasn't 声 (koe, sound), but 名声 (meisei, reputation). Clout.
But clout? That was all about luck.
If you happened to land a role in a smash-hit anime or game, boom—instant breakout. People might not remember the actor's name, but they'd remember the character.
"Oh! That was voiced by them?!" — that kind of reaction was how most people learned a seiyuu's name for the first time.
But if you only got bit parts in flop shows? Even ten or twenty years in, you'd still be a bottom-tier voice actor.
In summary: being a seiyuu wasn't a "get rich quick" career.
Even making a name for yourself required years of grinding.
And on top of that, Shion didn't want to show her face.
That ruled out the fast-track path to fame.
Which left Akira in a bit of a dilemma.
Sure, he believed he could cultivate Shion into a first-tier voice actress.
But…
She's a once-in-a-millennium SSS-tier prodigy.
Isn't it kind of a waste… just making her a voice actress?