By the time October rolled around, Haruki's schedule had become even more intense.
Between the ongoing serialization of Initial D and Natsume's Friends, and the mid-stage production of 5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star, there was hardly a moment to breathe.
Even though he was mainly the investor, Haruki still visited the animation studio regularly to align on creative direction and keep things on track.
Now, both anime projects were entering the sound direction and voice casting stage a critical phase that had Kazuya Mori increasingly concerned.
Unlike ensemble shows, 5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star had small casts. That made voice acting even more important each line, each nuance of emotion, had to carry weight. Along with Haruki's carefully crafted visuals and music, the voices would be the final layer that brought the stories to life.
Haruki had already composed the full OSTs for both projects, and they fit so well that Kazuya signed off without hesitation no lengthy bidding or comparison between audio studios. That part was settled.
Voice casting, though, was a different beast.
Kazuya had reached out to several contacts in the seiyuu industry. He offered fair, industry-standard pay, and initially, many seemed interested. But after a few days, those same voice actors would politely decline or quietly ghost the project altogether.
It wasn't surprising. Most top seiyuu had full calendars and no reason to gamble on a modest-budget production without the backing of a major studio.
If the project flopped, it wouldn't just be a waste of time it might even become an embarrassing blemish on their resumes.
It was no different from actors turning down independent movie scripts. Even if the pay's fine, no one wants to be associated with something that could crash and burn.
Even with Anohana as a proven success, there was no guarantee Haruki and Kazuya could replicate that magic. Especially not with two low-profile short films.
So when Haruki dropped by the studio that afternoon, Kazuya usually upbeat was visibly frustrated.
"Back when I was at Kazanami," Kazuya said, without prompting, "people returned my calls. Now I'm offering standard pay for two emotionally rich roles and still nothing. Apparently two decades in this industry means jack without a logo stamped on your project."
Haruki glanced around the studio. A dozen animators, compositors, and support staff were hard at work most of them people Kazuya had handpicked.
"Doesn't look like no one believes in you," Haruki said. "Look at this team. You built this from scratch. That's already more than most people could pull off."
"Yeah, but none of this matters if we can't cast the right voices," Kazuya muttered. "We're not selling cool fight scenes here. If the lead actors can't carry the emotion, the entire project falls apart."
"Then we don't chase big names. There's plenty of talent out there just lesser known."
"You say that," Kazuya said, "but I don't have the time to sift through a hundred no name demos. We're under two months out from deadline. I can't afford to take risks. I need people who can nail it fast."
"Didn't Ryuko do fine back on Anohana?" Haruki pointed out. "She was a rookie too. But she pulled it off."
"Yeah, but that was different. We got lucky. I can't count on lightning striking twice."
Still, Kazuya admitted he had a few more interviews lined up with promising veterans. If those fell through, he'd give Haruki's suggestion a shot and audition some lesser-known names.
He briefly considered asking Ryuko to audition again, but quickly pushed the thought aside.
Their relationship was casual now—friendly, but not close enough that he felt comfortable pulling her into a passion project . She was busy these days anyway, taking on small roles here and there. Even if she was willing, Haruki didn't want to put her in an awkward spot.
It wasn't worth risking the easy camaraderie they'd built while gaming.
But what Haruki didn't know was that Ryuko had been quietly hoping for an invitation.
At first, her interest in Haruki had been mixed part admiration, part professional curiosity. He had potential. He might go places. And being part of one of his future works could elevate her career too.
But after weeks of casual gaming and banter with him and Airi, something shifted.
She wasn't thinking about exposure or popularity anymore. She genuinely wanted to work with him again.
Because she trusted him.
When Kazuya announced the anime adaptations, Ryuko was tempted to reach out. She knew these shorts had the potential to become something special.
But now, with their roles as online teammates and casual friends, she couldn't bring herself to bring it up. She was afraid it would make everything feel transactional.
And worse what if he thought that's why she'd stuck around?
Back in her room, Ryuko had a livestream of a pro jungler's League of Legends match open on one monitor, taking notes. But her mind kept drifting.
"I really want to be part of these two projects…"
The words came out in a whisper. Not meant for anyone.
One of her roommates overheard.
"What are you muttering about?"
"She's watching that League stream again," another replied from the bunk.
"Seriously, Ryuko? Is that game even fun?"
"Honestly? Not really," Ryuko said without looking up. "It's kind of boring solo."
"Then why are you always playing it?"
By the following week, Kazuya's casting dilemma had resolved.
He secured two veteran female seiyuu: Rin Shiraishi and Rina Nanami.. Both had solid reputations, and more importantly, they understood the tone Haruki was aiming for.
To manage costs, Rin Shiraishi would voice both Sumida in 5 cm/s and the female lead in Voices of a Distant Star, while Nanami would voice the heroine Akari in 5 cm/s.
After test recordings, the results were impressive.
Haruki couldn't find a single thing to complain about. Their delivery had the exact emotional tone he'd envisioned.
It was a reminder sometimes fame really did come from skill.
Meanwhile, Initial D was ramping up its next major arc: the match against Nakazato.
Takumi, still riding the high of his win over Keisuke, began to slowly come to terms with the fact that he was a street racer now whether he liked it or not.
The most thrilling parts?
Always the moment when Takumi pulled off an impossible overtake in the final stretch. And always, without fail, when the AE86 tore up the mountain roads in the dead of night.
Readers were now trained to expect those uphill runs and they lived for them.
More and more, the manga wasn't just retaining fans it was bringing in new ones week after week. Word of mouth was spreading, and the "86's uphill climb" had already become a running meme in racing forums.
Just a few months in, Initial D was no longer just an underdog manga.
It was quickly becoming a mainstay.
Shout out to Back2Future for joining my p-atreon! your support means everything to me.
(TL:- if you want even more content, check out p-atreon.com/Alioth23 for 55+ advanced chapters)