Venturing Out
"Haa..."
I lay blankly on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. What made this ridiculously light, tiny body feel so heavy was the overwhelming sense of defeat and helplessness weighing on my chest. Those negative emotions dragged me down like I'd sunk into a sticky swamp. I'd sworn to live properly just yesterday, but that resolve felt meaningless—I still hadn't left the bed. A vow was just a vow; the flood of feelings from wasting half a year hadn't changed one bit.
I knew I had to do something...but I didn't want to move at all. I rolled around aimlessly on the bed, thoughts blank. If there was one upside to this body... one convenience... it was that my small frame meant I could tumble around without easily falling off. My old body—tall for no good reason—would have my feet dangling off the edge of a cheap bed just stretching out my legs. Sprawling out starfish-style to enjoy that comfort? You needed a big hotel bed for that.
Gurgle...
As I lounged doing nothing, a cute little rumble echoed from my tiny stomach. This body boasted fuel efficiency no man could match, but I still had to eat eventually. Come to think of it, when was the last time...? I ate before streaming yesterday, and nothing since. With sluggish movements, I dragged myself out of bed and peered into the mini-fridge that matched my size. Predictably, empty. The original owner of this body—me now, anyway—had never been much of a cook. From the moment I woke up in it, the fridge held only a few drinks, basically bare. There was half a gyudon bowl that looked takeout from the nearby shop. Back then, I'd have thought it was barely a serving, but half filled me up—proof of this body's stellar mileage.
Scanning the room with nothing left to tide me over, I realized I had to go out. Perfect timing: it was recycling day, ideal for dumping the instant noodle cups scattered around my desk. With my small hands, I diligently gathered the trash into a bag, tied it tight, and wriggled into the parka haphazardly hung on the rack nearby.
This tiny body meant I could skip pants under the oversized parka—"Just baggy fashion"—without anyone batting an eye. But it felt too embarrassing, even beyond womanly propriety, so I fumbled into some pants too.
"Ah, aa. Ahem. Ah. Ah. Namamuginanagom enyafurya..." 1
I loosened my locked-up throat, mumbling nonsense in front of the mirror to warm up my voice. No need for this when streaming... but going out? Essential. Felt backwards, but reality didn't care.
The memories lingering in this body—Ito Yui's memories—included everything she'd felt growing up. And etched deeply was the trauma around her voice. Objectively, it was adorable, endearing. Anyone hearing it might go, "Voice actress?" Not weird at all. Not a flaw—dreaming of that path, it was a huge plus. Animation industry probably always needed voices like this. But this so-called anime voice (anime-goe)2, or ani-goe—the kind straight out of an anime—set you apart from "normal" people.
School's brutal if you're even slightly different; easy to imagine the treatment. Her leftover school memories weren't outright ijime—that slimy bullying. She got lucky, in a way. It started with one casual remark from a middle school friend: "Yui-chan's voice is kinda different from ours. Weird." Probably thoughtless from the speaker; others brushed it off. But it pierced her mind and heart deep.
Put nicely, she listened well to others. Harshly: lacked assertiveness, bottled up opinions. Yet once decided, she stuck to it—like running away after hearing "Adults should be independent from parents." Different from others? Fix it. So she started faking her voice in conversations: low and husky for her small frame, a bit gravelly. Talent to pull that off intentionally, maybe. After, no more "anime voice" teasing...
Pushing aside those bitter memories, I stuffed my wallet in the parka pocket, grabbed the surprisingly heavy trash bag (barely full), and headed out.
Chilly autumn air settling in. Real temperature drop, or just this body hating cold? Who knows. Grunting, I hauled down the stairs, dumped the bag in the designated spot, and trudged to the nearest convenience store from my one-room.
...
Matsuda Ryoko, 46. Mother of two soon-to-be high school sons, her soaring grocery bills pushed her to part-time at the local konbini. Today, she manned the counter. Stock sorting and shelving done, prime time to catch her breath. She told her daughter-aged coworker to rest in the break room, then rolled her stiff shoulders with a soft sigh.
Feeling her body betray her reminded her: I'm really getting old. "Marriage to him feels like yesterday..." Now with two grown sons in high school. Time flew so cruelly sometimes.
Ting-a-ling—
The bell snapped her reminiscing. Customer, obviously. A half-beat late, she hurried her greeting and composed herself. Picky types loved nitpicking tiny slips, but this one wasn't.
She's back... this kid. Tiny girl, maybe middle schooler now. No name, but regular enough. Always head down, eyes glued to the floor, mumbling barely audible. Shy, scared of something—obvious. Unlike giggly girls her age grabbing snacks in groups, she came alone for cup ramen or lunch boxes. Circumstances came to mind, but outsider like her? Not her place. Unless clear signs like bruises... then report.
Hey, kid, you look down. Mid-thought, a soft mid-low voice filled the store. Familiar to Ryoko from shifts, but the girl—long absent—jolted, scanning around from the lunch boxes.
Ryoko glanced at her hidden counter memo: info on the current konbini collab company and talent. VTuber, whatever that was—out of her loop. Like voice acting? Enough to respond: company name, famous YouTuber's name... "Jain 3sei" unclear, but the voice tickled her ear with charm, fitting a big-chain collab. Her coworker got excited about it too—big with young girls. Ryoko, seeing sons' age, shrugged, but nodded for the kids.
Maybe...? Girl usually grabbed food and bolted; lingering now? Ryoko eyed the binder below counter. Famous VTuber, so she stashed extras for sons (or their crushes). Others sold out fast, proving hype. If girl asked... nothing left.
...Nothing, unless... The girl struggled over with a basket: a few "national cup ramen" cups, cheese gratin lunch. Ryoko rang her up per manual.
Should I...? Nosy meddling... Short time, long dilemma. Knew clerks shouldn't, but eyes squeezed shut, she asked the bowed girl:
"Sorry, miss, but... here for Jain 3sei's collab goods?"
"...Hweh?"
The girl snapped up, weird noise, staring at Ryoko. Pale skin untouched by sun, round eyes, utterly lovable face. First time Ryoko really saw it.
Stunned eyes met; girl's pupils shook rapidly, then faint mumble near whisper:
"Y-Yes."
Ryoko beamed, pulling the clear file. Sons be damned—better for her heart to give to this girl.