The Casting Audition

Mid-October had rolled around, and on this day, in a studio in Shinjuku, auditions were being held to determine the cast for the All About My Little Sister anime.

For this particular session, they would pick voices for protagonist Kazuma Akatsuki; main heroine Ichika Akatsuki; the hero’s friend and fellow protagonist, Shingo Onizaki; and his sister, Yukiko Onizaki. This comprised the main cast. For the side characters, they’d hold auditions based on a demo tape instead of having the talent show up in person, or have the director, audio director, and Itsuki make requests. Itsuki was there now, standing nervously in front of the studio alongside his editor, Kenjiro Toki.

It went without saying that casting choices were extremely vital in breathing life into the characters. Itsuki had been asked in advance how he thought each character would talk; in response, he’d provided a few names or characters from other anime that he liked, and as he understood it, those actors would get priority in this audition. Otherwise, however, he had no idea who would show up until just before the audition began.

Upon entering the studio, he found a door with a sign reading TELEVISION ANIMATION—ALL ABOUT MY LITTLE SISTER—CAST AUDITION on it. Beyond it was a control room with all the audio recording equipment you could think of, plus a recording room complete with microphones, separated by soundproof glass. They filed into the control room, where director Munenori Tarui, producer Tsutomu Oshima, production assistant Kakeru Yamada, and a few other staffers were waiting for them.

“Good morning,” Itsuki ventured.

“Good morning!” they echoed back. (It was ten in the morning, so this was expected, but it was apparently a habit in the anime business to greet one another with “good morning” no matter what time of day or night.)

“Mr. Hashima,” Tarui said as he got up off the couch, “it’s gonna be a busy day.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Hang in there,” he frankly replied. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

They had been seeing each other at the weekly script meetings for a while now, so Itsuki knew him well enough.

“Okay, here’s a list of the people we’re auditioning today.”

The director picked up a stack of papers from the table and handed it to Itsuki. It was pretty thick. The first few pages contained a table showing times and voice-actor names—a schedule, no doubt. The audition was taking place over two days (today and tomorrow), and there were around fifty names scheduled for today.

The next few pages began with a character name at the top, followed by a list of actor names, about thirty for each one. Each name had the actor’s talent agency listed next to it. Then came the rest of the stack, which had material for every actor listed—ID photo, age, birthplace, special abilities, and previous voices or roles (if any). Thumbing through them, he spotted a few pretty big names auditioning, people that even Itsuki knew, despite not keeping close tabs on the voice-acting scene.

“Wow, so is auditioning for Ichika?! And there’s and , too… Whoa, didn’t this guy play ?! This is incredible!”

The director smiled at Itsuki’s overjoyed reaction. “Starting to get fired up?”

“Yes!” he replied, smiling broadly.

Tarui answered this with an oddly expectant sort of look before whispering, “Well, hopefully you can keep that excitement going.”

Then the man operating the fancy-looking audio board with all the switches on it stood up and faced Itsuki. “Mind if I say hello?”

He looked fortyish, thin with long hair, and attractive in a black jacket. Itsuki was getting musician vibes from him.

“Good to meet you,” he began flatly. “My name’s Norikura, and I’m handling audio direction for this anime.”

His business card identified him as TAKURO NORIKURA—AUDIO DIRECTION/RECORDING, to be exact.

Itsuki handed him his own. “I’m Hashima, the creator. Nice to meet you.”

The next to greet him was a moody-looking man in his midforties with a medium build, black-framed glasses, and hair perfectly parted to one side.

“My name’s Asakura, and I’m the casting manager. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here. Um, I’m sorry, but what’s a casting manager do, exactly?”

“My job is to work out scheduling all the cast, negotiating with their agencies, and basically keeping everything cast-related running smoothly.”

MASAKI ASAKURA—SALES DEPT. #1, WANOUCHI AGENCY, read his card. Itsuki accepted it, then said hello to a few more people—the audio staff, some people from the TV production department, and so on. After another fifteen minutes of chatting with the director and Toki, interspersed with some leafing through the audition materials, Norikura spoke up.

“Okay, it’s just about time. Ready to start?”

Asakura stepped outside the control room. After a few moments, a young woman appeared at the entrance.

“I’m Mika Ichinose from Nagara Productions. Good to meet you.”

Itsuki didn’t know the name, but he thought her voice carried well. She looked fairly beautiful, too. Looking at her profile in the printouts, she’d made her debut around five years ago and scored jobs for assorted games and anime, but never any very important characters.

In another few moments, she opened the door to the recording booth and stepped inside, standing in front of a mic. In the control room, Norikura turned on the mic next to the recording equipment.

“Okay, first off, give me your name, agency, and auditioning role.”

“Mika Ichinose, Nagara Productions, reading for Ichika Akatsuki.”

Her voice seemed to boom through the speakers across the whole control room. Then, holding a stapled printout, she began to act.

“I’m Ichika Akatsuki, class president. If you have any problems, just come to me, okay?”

“Ooh…”

Itsuki was audibly astonished. It was the same voice she used to state her name, but the impression it gave was totally different. She really sounded like a teenage girl, someone dynamic and popular and who cared for her classmates. So this was professional acting.

“Hey! You know I keep telling you not to act all familiar with me in front of other people!”

“I absolutely refuse to believe that you’re my big brother…!”

“Tee-hee-hee… Hey… You wanna have a little…fun with me…?”

“Ahhn! N-no, brother, you… You’re… Ah! It feels so good…”

In order: the crabby voice she only lets her brother Kazuma hear; more complex emotions as she struggles to accept her feelings for him; a sultry tone for when she’s consumed by bloodthirst and goes into super-slutty mode; and lust-laden panting as she sucks Kazuma’s blood and reaches ecstasy.

…Having an attractive voice actor read his R-rated dialogue back to him was extremely embarrassing. Itsuki’s cheeks turned red. But despite that, Mika Ichinose’s acting was excellent. She exhibited a broad range of emotion, but more to the point, every line she read accurately captured Ichika Akatsuki as a character. Maybe she read the novels to research the role beforehand? Honestly, Itsuki would’ve been fine just going with her. He placed a big check mark in red pen next to her name on the sheet, writing Good!! next to it.

“Okay,” Norikura said, “we got it. Thank you very much.”

“Thank you,” Ichinose replied, bowing to the control room and leaving the booth. Then another woman entered through the control room entrance.

“Azusa Makita from Nangu Agency! Nice to meet you!”

She was younger than Ichinose, about the same age as Itsuki. A refined, pretty woman. He didn’t recognize her name, either, but her profile said she’d been acting for five years and had four main-character roles in anime series Itsuki had watched.

“Oh, she was that voice…?”

She headed into the booth. Norikura gave her the same instructions as before, and after giving her name, agency, and potential role, Azusa Makita began performing as Ichika.

“I’m Ichika Akatsuki, class president. If you have any problems, just come to me, okay?”

“Hey! You know I keep telling you not to act all familiar with me in front of other people!”

“I absolutely refuse to believe that you’re my big brother…!”

“Tee-hee-hee… Hey… You wanna have a little…fun with me…?”

“Ahhn! N-no, brother, you… You’re… Ah! It feels so good…”

…This was good, too. She was a little brighter-sounding than Ichinose’s performance, but this also matched Ichika’s image pretty well. Plus—he couldn’t put a finger on why, but to Itsuki, she seemed more dignified and confident in her performance than Ichinose. He added a check mark to her name, along with Brighter. Also good next to it.

Next up was a man, about thirty or so, auditioning for both Kazuma Akatsuki and Shingo Onizaki. He was a big-name VA playing the protagonist for a light novel–based anime that was currently airing. Itsuki knew him. His acting was excellent, of course, making Itsuki oddly excited. The voice of and speaking for Kazuma and Shingo! Another check mark by his name, Wonderful next to it.

Following this was a very popular actress, one whose name would be known by any fan of anime. She was reading for Ichika, but her take brought in a lot of the tsundere characters she had played before now, girls who were cold to the hero at first but eventually softened up. She probably didn’t read the All About novel—but while it veered slightly from Ichika as a character, the performance was a level above Ichinose’s and Makita’s.

“What do you think?” the director, Tarui, asked.

“Hmm… It doesn’t say Ichika to me… I feel like it’s kind of the standard tsundere treatment.”

“Yeah.” Tarui nodded as he turned to Norikura. “Um, I think that take had a little too much energy to it. She sounded kind of delinquent. Can she try to sound a bit more serious?”

Norikura thought for a moment, then leaned over toward the mic.

“Try it like you’re wearing glasses.”

Itsuki cracked up, as did some of the staff. But apparently the intent came across, because her second take was much closer to Ichika’s image than the first. It left Itsuki blinking helplessly in amazement—at her for fixing up her performance so perfectly, and at the audio director for his pinpoint remedy and communication skills. The realization that he was working with professionals was starting to get to him, emotionally.

So the line of people continued, one after the other—famous actors, popular actors, talented actors, beautiful actors, handsome actors; all portraying the characters Itsuki created and promptly leaving. A few of them simply lacked the right voice for the role, regardless of talent, but Itsuki had to award four or five stars to almost everyone else.

After twenty or so auditions, the team took a break. Itsuki looked over the profiles as he had a somewhat late lunch of a convenience-store rice ball and sandwich.

“What do you think, Mr. Hashima?” Tarui asked, coffee in hand.

Itsuki took a deep breath. “They’re just… They’re all so amazing.”

“Sometimes, if the original creator isn’t too interested in voice acting, it’ll start to grate on them since it’s the same lines being repeated over and over. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m having fun. Having all these actors say big bro and big brother for me is just so awesome.”

He meant that from the heart. It made Tarui laugh.

“Ha-ha! That’s the Mr. Hashima I know.”

“Hey, can I keep the audio data from this audition?”

“Sure.”

“Sweet!” Itsuki almost shouted.

“Yeah, audition files are pretty sought-after by VA fans. I heard that the files for Shimoneta were pretty incredible. All these actresses talking about sex and puy and so on.”

“Really?! Wow… Now I’m jealous of the author… But what’s surprising to me is that we have a lot of famous people here, and they’re getting auditioned just like everyone else.”

Tarui nodded. “Yeah, sometimes they can receive offers based on name alone, but generally they’re gunning for roles with everyone else.”

“Wow… It must be, like, a pretty competitive world. For a novelist like me, it would be like having to submit my work to a new-writers contest every single time.”

The thought made Itsuki shudder. Even with Mika Ichinose, the first woman, Itsuki had absolutely no problem with her taking the role of Ichika—but she had scored no major roles in her whole career, and several people better than her had already auditioned this morning. Incredibly gifted veterans and super-popular stars alike showed up for these auditions, all to win a single role for themselves. It seemed impossibly difficult.

“Yeah,” Tarui said with a nod. “It’s a pretty scary world.”

The first day of auditions ended sometime after eight PM that night, continuing for over nine hours, including breaks. The second day ran at roughly the same schedule.

For the first few hours of day one, the novelty of seeing famous people and talented actors file in gave Itsuki a shot of adrenaline every time the cycle repeated. Over time, though, his stamina and patience started to wane, and once they hit the afternoon of day two, no matter what big name or hot talent showed up, he just sat there and wrote out his comments and ratings. But as tepid as his reactions had become, he was still paying attention, focusing and listening to every syllable of his dialogue. He knew this was a vital part of nailing down his characters’ voices—but also, to the actors coming in here, this was all-out war. The people making the choices couldn’t get complacent about that.

“Thank you very much.”

The last actor on the list for day two left the booth. “That’s all of them,” Norikura said, the entire staff around him breathing a sigh of relief. It was past nine in the evening.

“That was so long,” Itsuki found himself muttering. It was long, but it was over. The pressure off, he slumped down on the sofa as Tarui next to him flashed a crafty smile.

“Oh, no. To us, the real work starts now.”

“Does it?”

“We have to select four people out of over a hundred.”

“Oh, right…”

Stress lines appeared on Itsuki’s face at the mere thought.

After a late dinner of takeout, the staff lined up some chairs in the recording booth to hold a casting meeting. Itsuki and Toki represented the GK Bunko side; they were joined by director Tarui, audio director Norikura, producer Oshima, and casting manager Asakura.

“Okay,” Asakura dispassionately began, “let’s start by making our pick for the main heroines, Ichika Akatsuki and Yukiko Onizaki.”

“We’ll pick the heroines before the protagonists?” Itsuki asked.

“Well, the two main actresses will be forming a mini-group to sing the opening and ending themes, and we’ll have them handle radio promotion as well, so I’d like to get them squared away first.”

“Oh, all right…”

Itsuki didn’t mind, but this was the first time he had heard about either of those things. Asakura, not picking up on his puzzlement, continued on.

“All right. Mr. Hashima, what are you picturing?”

He took out his list of the actors who read for Ichika, recalling their performances. He had given a full check mark of approval to ten of them; now it was time to figure out which one was really the best. He named three actors who had particularly impressed him.

“I see.” The director nodded, turning toward the control room. “Can you play back those three for us?”

He could see an audio staffer nod beyond the soundproof glass; apparently, he could hear everything said inside the booth. In a few moments, the recordings from the three actors Itsuki mentioned played on the booth’s speakers.

…Mmm. Itsuki lightly nodded to himself as the playback continued. Simply wonderful.

One of his picks was a popular actress who had worked on the front lines of this business for over fifteen years, and her experience obviously showed in her steady performance. She was thirty-five, but her voice was still a perfect fit for a girl of seventeen. The second had worked for seven years, playing the main heroine in a slew of anime, including a few Itsuki had seen. The third was the least experienced at just about three years, but despite being in her early twenties, she had already proven herself with leading roles in multiple series.

“…Yeah, these are good.” Tarui nodded, shutting his eyes as he listened.

Oshima, meanwhile, looked a little distressed. “Hmm, they’re all people with proven track records, huh…?” It unnerved Itsuki a little. Would experience and proven talent be a problem somehow?

“Okay,” Asakura said, “let’s get the director’s take.”

“All right…”

Tarui named three of his own picks. One was the girl Itsuki picked for his second choice, and the others all earned check marks in Itsuki’s notes. Listening back on the two Itsuki didn’t pick, he had a point—they didn’t lose out at all to the first three recordings.

“They all sound pretty good,” Itsuki said, impressed. This director gets it. He could trust in Tarui.

“I don’t think we’d have an issue with any of these five,” Norikura commented. “I suppose Midori Yokoya’s in the lead, since you both picked her.”

And that was really all it took…or so Itsuki thought, until he spotted an awkward grin on Oshima the producer’s face.

“Hmm, Ms. Yokoya, huh…? I think she’s really great, but, um, I think events are gonna be difficult with her.”

“Difficult?” Itsuki parroted back.

“Midori Yokoya can’t sing at public events,” Asakura flatly explained. “She’s more of a straight ‘actress’ type; she sees voice acting as more about being in the role than singing and working events. I think she’s fine as far as recording character songs and stuff, but I’m one hundred percent sure she’ll turn down any singing gigs for events. She isn’t taking much radio and TV work lately, either.”

“……”

A voice actor caring about acting seemed like a good thing to Itsuki, but even he knew that an actor in the modern anime business couldn’t spend her entire career reading lines in a booth. If she couldn’t be relied on for singing, events, and other PR duties, that did make her difficult to bring on as a lead actress.

“Hmm… Well, let’s put her on the back burner,” the director concluded. “What about the other four?”

Oshima’s awkward smile came back. It turns out he had issues with all four. One of them had signed with a music company separate from the one involved with this anime, which would lead to complications for events and the opening song.

One already had several recurring roles in place for other series starting alongside All About My Little Sister in July (two of which were based on light novels); this meant scheduling hassles, and having the same people handle too many leading roles at once wasn’t generally considered a good idea.

One was in her midthirties and frankly not up to par looks-wise.

The final one had played the protagonist and sung the opening theme for another anime produced by the outfit behind All About, but the DVD/BD release this past spring (including a ticket to a public event in the first pressing) bombed in the marketplace, which branded her around the company as an actor who couldn’t attract paying customers.

…………

A R E   Y O U   K I D D I N G   M E ? !

Itsuki had to work hard to keep from screaming at the annoyingly flat-voiced Oshima. He was crossing out all four candidates for reasons that weren’t any of their faults. If singing an OP was tough for them, Itsuki reasoned, why force them to sing at all? If she had a busy schedule, didn’t that prove how talented she was? This whole idea that voice actresses needed to have a certain age and look was ridiculous anyway. And she “couldn’t attract paying customers”? Way to pass the buck there, man! How far do you have to reach to start blaming a voice actor for bad disc sales?

Oshima, perhaps picking up on Itsuki’s seething rage, stepped up to soothe him.

“Now, I can definitely understand why the creator and director want to go with proven talent, but that creates obstacles with organizing events and singing groups and such. It’s also a bit lacking in originality. Let me suggest…bringing on a few fresh faces, perhaps?”

Itsuki visibly winced. Oh god! There it is! The word fresh!!

Several days before the auditions began, he had asked Haruto for some advice on picking actors. The first words out of his mouth, spoken with earnest, grave concern, were these:

“Above all else, watch out for the word fresh.”

“Fresh?”

“Yeah,” Haruto had groaned. “I mean, hiring an actor who doesn’t match your image for the character can make things seem fresher for viewers. Maybe it makes it easier for the producers to put bands together and stage live events and TV appearances and podcasts or whatnot. There are advantages to that approach. I know full well that music and events and stuff are just as important to modern voice actors as voicing. But if you’re so focused on ‘fresh’ that you hire people who just don’t have the talent, there’s no point.”

Haruto’s Chevalier of the New World anime had featured an ensemble cast with four main female characters, all of them rookies and none with any recognizable credits to speak of. They were put into a singing unit, headlined the ending theme, pushed the show on radio and TV, and held a string of live events. But their acting and singing just weren’t up to par. The results were wretched.

“…They told me it was important to give new people more work to build up their experience, that it’s something the industry needs to do. And I bought that line. But when you really think about it…it’s like Do you really need to do that with my series? Why does this precious creation of mine have to serve as some kind of training dojo for voice-actor wannabes? Maybe you guys got a bunch of projects running at once, but this is pretty likely a once-in-a-lifetime shot for me…!”

Haruto bit his lip, the regret plain on his face.

“…So watch out for the word fresh, Itsuki. If they’re pushing a nameless actor with actual talent or ability, that’s worth considering, but if they’re just trying to cram some girl into the spotlight at your expense, don’t let them. Fight if you have to. That’s my take.”

Recalling the advice, Itsuki took a deep breath, trying to keep the emotion from seeping into his voice.

“Mr. Oshima… When you say fresh, who would you suggest, for example?”

“Well…” Oshima brought a hand to his chin. “How about Saori Fukujima or Yui Kiyomizu?”

Those names didn’t ring a bell to Itsuki. He looked them up in his dossier. Saori Fukujima had a question mark next to her name, along with the phrase kind of wooden, while Yui Kiyomizu had no mark at all next to hers. Peeking at their profiles, nineteen-year-old Fukujima had graduated from the voice-acting department of a vocational college this year and only just joined an acting agency, playing unnamed bit parts in just two series. Kiyomizu was seventeen and, judging by her bio, more of a magazine model than a voice actor. She had no credits in animation. Both, however, had cute faces.

Tarui raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “…Can we give them a listen?”

The guy at the sound panel played Fukujima’s audition, then Kiyomizu’s. Just as Itsuki wrote, Fukujima’s stab at Ichika was…kind of wooden. The style of her voice wasn’t a perfect match for the character, but it wasn’t totally outside the realm of possibility. Kiyomizu’s try was, to be blunt, awful. If there was an attempt at acting as opposed to reading from a sheet of paper, Itsuki didn’t hear it. She had a weirdly husky voice as well, a complete mismatch for Ichika.

…No way in hell.

Before Itsuki could open his mouth, Oshima cut him off at the pass. “Now, um, these two are still pretty new to the industry, so I think their performance may sound a little awkward in the audition stage, but we can always provide them with further direction going forward. But they’re young, they’re fresh, they look good, and I think they’d really pop onstage.”

“…Well,” Norikura half muttered, “yes, I do think they could make a pretty fresh impression.”

“Right, exactly,” Oshima eagerly agreed.

If they’re pushing a nameless actor with actual talent or ability, that’s worth considering, but if they’re just trying to cram some girl into the spotlight at your expense, don’t let them. Fight if you have to.

Tsutomu Oshima definitely fell into the latter camp in Itsuki’s mind. Itsuki spoke up, trying to amplify his voice so Oshima couldn’t take over the conversation again.

“I don’t think either of them could play Ichika. Absolutely not.”

Oshima’s face tensed up. “Um, absolutely not?”

“Absolutely not. I mean, they sounded like robots, didn’t they?”

“Well, no, I mean, they’ve got room to grow and mature in—”

“I’m sorry,” Tarui said before Oshima could build an argument, “but I have to agree with Mr. Hashima here.”

“I see… In that case…”

Then Oshima brought up the names of three more “fresh” actresses. Playing their files back, they were maybe decent compared to Saori Fukujima, but nothing more. Itsuki and Tarui immediately rejected them, but Oshima stuck to his guns. Each time he saw he was getting nowhere with one suggestion, he’d just bring up another wave of “freshness.”

“Considering the events we’ll need to run, I do think we need to choose someone fresh.”

“And I think we need to prioritize making a good anime before we think about events,” countered Itsuki.

“Plus,” added Tarui, “we’ve got the Vocational School as part of the sponsor package in this project, right? Is that why a lot of the candidates you’re pushing for are from there, Mr. Oshima?”

“Yes, there is that,” Oshima freely admitted. “Even if they aren’t in the main cast, having some of their grads in regular roles is gonna be a must. But even if that wasn’t the case, it really is my opinion that we need to pick someone fresh.”

Itsuki and Tarui brought up some other talented candidates besides the five they discussed first. Oshima responded by bringing up more freshness. Norikura, the audio director, strove for neutrality— “No matter who we pick,” he said, “I’ll just do the job I’m assigned to.” Asakura, the casting director, stuck to giving out factual advice—“ can’t sing live,” “ already has a regular role elsewhere this season,” “x x x x’s agency is a pain in the ass,” and so forth—but most of his observations served to shoot down Itsuki’s and Tarui’s suggestions.

“I know this is exaggerating the point,” Oshima said, “but in this industry, a ‘good anime’ is an anime that makes money. No matter how high quality a series it is, if it winds up in the red, then it’s not a good anime.”

“But the vast majority of the audience doesn’t even care about live events! Making the anime suffer because we’re obsessed with events is totally ass-backward!”

“The thing we need to prioritize the most, Mr. Hashima, isn’t the ninety-nine percent of viewers who watch the TV broadcast. It’s the one percent who actually buy the DVDs and Blu-rays and come to the events.”

“But fans like that only buy the packaged releases because they enjoy the main series in the first place,” Tarui calmly but passionately debated.

“If this was based on a property that’s sold millions of copies, had all the budget it wanted, and was guaranteed to be watched no matter what we did—if it was that kind of earth-shattering project, then, yes, maybe high quality would be enough to turn a profit. But this isn’t the kind of project we’re talking about. We need to maximize the added value of what we offer outside the show, and we need to advertise as much as possible, for as low a cost as possible, or it’s going to be buried without anyone noticing it.”

Itsuki and Tarui were creatives, hoping to make the series the best it could be. Oshima was a businessman, prioritizing overall profits above everything else. Neither of them were in the wrong; both understood that any difference in opinion was chiefly due to the different roles they played in the project. But understanding that didn’t mean they gave any ground.

The debate continued anon, with nearly everyone who read for Ichika getting replayed in the booth. In the end, they made a compromise.

She was twenty-five years old, a four-year veteran of the industry. She had voiced main characters in several anime and games, none of which made a big splash at all, so she wasn’t hugely popular. Her looks were moderately beautiful, her singing decently good; she had formed musical units with other people, and she was okay with running events and audio programs. A true middle-of-the-road choice. Itsuki had put a check mark followed by a ? on her name, along with the phrase sounds a little young.

For Yukiko Onizaki, they went with a similarly experienced woman, so they’d be a match in the unit they’d form together. Kazuma Akatsuki and Shingo Onizaki would be played by men in their early twenties, both of whom had been getting more main-character roles as of late. They weren’t “fresh,” but they weren’t not fresh, either. Their names wouldn’t make anyone starstruck, but a dedicated enough fan might recognize them. Rather pedestrian casting but pretty acceptable. Yukiko’s voice did belong to the Wanouchi Agency that Asakura worked for, though, whether on purpose or not.

Were these the right casting choices to make? Nobody could really know yet. But at the very least, this two-day marathon session, one of the most important steps in animation production, had come to a close.