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MidReal Story
Billionaire Husband Series
Scenario:Yutaka is a 19 year old voice actor who is severely autistic but can talk. Voices a character named fujii in the new anime called Bloodstream. Yutaka is worth 9 million dollars. Yutaka is married to 16 year old girl hara, who is a non celebrity. Yutaka absolutely loves hara. Hara is very kind. Yutaka is possessive but not the kind where she can't have contact with anyone
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Yutaka Nakahara
He is a 19yearold voice actor with severe autism. He is innocent, loving, and naive. Yutaka marries Hara, a 16yearold noncelebrity, and becomes a multimillionaire at the age of 19. He has a kind heart and uses his wealth to help others. Struggling with social interactions, he finds solace in his marriage to Hara, who treats him with kindness and affection.
Hara
She is a 16yearold high school student and Yutaka's wife. She is caring, gentle, and patient. Hara meets Yutaka at a restaurant where she works parttime. Despite their age difference, she falls in love with him and treats him with kindness. Haroa accepts Yutaka for who he is, even his autism. She helps him navigate the world with understanding and affection.
Kazuki Fujii
He is the lead vocalist of the popular band Kanatana. He is arrogant, envious, and hostile. Kazuki resents Yutaka for marrying Hara, whom he had been interested in. He also harbors anger towards Yutaka due to his wealth and social status. Kazuki's jealousy leads him to confront Yutaka on multiple occasions, trying to intimidate or provoke him into losing his temper.
My name is Yutaka Nakahara.
I'm 19 years old and a voice actor.
I'm worth 9 million dollars.
I have severe autism, but I can talk.
I'm married to a 16 year old girl who is not a celebrity.
I'm the main voice actor for the new anime called Bloodstream, and I voiced the character Fujii.
Fujii is the main character of Bloodstream, he's 17 years old and has heterochromia, like me.
Bloodstream is an action anime, and it's very popular right now.
I didn't expect to get the main role for this anime, but I did, and it's amazing!
The recording sessions are always fun, and my co-actors are very nice to me.
Bloodstream will have 24 episodes in the first season, and we already recorded 10 episodes so far.
The last episode we recorded was amazing!
There was a kissing scene between my character Fujii and his girlfriend Aika, voiced by Akira Kiyoshi.
It was very romantic!
Fujii had to hold Aika from behind and kiss her on the rooftop in the middle of the night under the stars.
It was so beautiful that I wish I could do that with my wife Hara in real life.
Speaking of Hara, she is my wife, and she is 16 years old.
We got married two months ago.
I know what you're thinking... "He's 19 and married to a 16 year old?"
I sit at our kitchen table, watching Hara prepare breakfast.
She is wearing her pink apron, and her long black hair is tied up in a ponytail.
The rice cooker beeps, and she turns it off.
She then pours miso soup into a bowl and stirs it.
She puts the bowl on the table and sits beside me.
"Yutaka, you have an occupational therapy appointment at 10 am today," she says, smiling.
My shoulders tense up at the mention of an appointment.
I don't like changes in my routine.
Hara knows this about me, but she also knows that I need to see the therapist to help me with my sensory issues at work.
She places a blue bowl in front of me.
It's my favorite bowl, and it's filled with steaming hot rice and topped with a perfectly cooked egg.
The smell of the rice and egg fills my nose, and I relax a little. "Yutaka, your occupational therapist will help you with your sensory issues at work," Hara says softly.
"She will give you exercises to do every day to help you focus."
I pick up my chopsticks and stare at the egg on top of the rice.
"Hara, do you think the therapy will really make a difference?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nods, her eyes filled with determination. "I believe it will, Yutaka, and it might even help you understand why Bloodstream is so important to you."
I pause, chopsticks hovering over the bowl. "What do you mean by that?"
Hara takes a sip of her miso soup before answering.
"I mean, Yutaka, that Bloodstream is more than just an anime to you. It's like... it's a part of you."
I fidget with my seatbelt as Hara drives us to the therapy appointment.
The morning's conversation about Bloodstream still lingers in my mind.
We pass by the familiar streets, but today they seem different, making my stomach twist uncomfortably.
When we stop at a red light, I glance out the window and spot the convenience store where we usually buy snacks.
"Can you buy me a candy bar?" I ask, hoping the sweet treat will calm my nerves.
Hara glances at the dashboard clock and shakes her head gently.
"We're running late for your appointment, Yutaka. We don't have time today."
I stare at the convenience store's bright sign as we drive past.
My fingers tap rapidly against my thigh.
The familiar comfort of routine slips away, replaced by a tightening in my chest.
When Hara turns left instead of going straight like we usually do to avoid traffic, my breathing becomes shallow.
I try to form words to tell her I need to go back to our normal route, but my throat feels constricted.
The car's interior seems to shrink.
My hands curl into fists, and I press myself against the seat.
The urge to communicate overwhelms me, but no sound comes out when I open my mouth.
Hara reaches over and gently places her hand on mine. "Yutaka, I know this is hard for you, but we're almost there. Just focus on your breathing, okay?"
I nod, trying to match my breaths to the rhythm of her voice. "It's just... everything feels wrong today."
Hara squeezes my hand reassuringly. "I promise we'll get back to our routine after the appointment. You're doing great."
I enter the therapy room, my steps hesitant.
The unfamiliar space is filled with the scent of crayons and paper.
The doctor, a middle-aged woman with round glasses, sits at a wooden desk covered in art supplies.
She gestures to a chair across from her, and I slowly lower myself into it.
My fingers still tingle from the car ride.
"Yutaka, I'm glad you're here," she says softly.
"I know this is your first time in therapy, but don't worry. We'll take things at your pace."
I nod, my eyes scanning the room.
There's a shelf filled with books and toys in the corner.
The walls are painted a soothing blue.
The doctor places a blank sheet of paper in front of me.
There's an outline of a dragonfly on it.
"Yutaka, I want you to color inside the lines," she says gently.
"Use whatever colors you like." My hand automatically reaches for the blue crayon.
The color reminds me of my breakfast bowl.
I begin carefully filling in the wings, making sure not to cross the lines.
I grip the colored dragonfly drawing as we leave the therapist's office.
Following Hara to our car, I keep my eyes on the paper.
The smoothness of it feels good against my fingertips.
The blue wings I colored remind me of something I read in a science book.
Once we're seated and Hara starts the engine, I turn to her with excitement.
"Did you know dragonflies can fly backward?" I say, tracing the wing pattern with my index finger.
"They're the only insect that can. And they catch their food with their feet while flying."
Hara smiles and asks me to tell her more.
"That's amazing, Yutaka. What else do you know about them?"
I pause, thinking back to the book's pages. "Well, they have nearly 360-degree vision, which helps them spot prey from far away."
Hara nods, her eyes on the road but her attention clearly on me. "You know, maybe we can find a documentary about dragonflies to watch together later."
I walk into our bedroom, heading straight for the dresser where I keep my pajamas.
Opening the middle drawer, I see my blue and red pairs but not the green one I want to wear tonight.
My hands start shaking as I pull everything out, scattering clothes across the floor.
The familiar texture of my green pants isn't there.
My breathing gets faster, and I slam the drawer shut.
The loud bang makes me jump, but I can't stop.
I throw my blue pajamas against the wall and scream "WHERE ARE THEY?"
My voice gets louder and louder as I pull open more drawers, dumping their contents.
Hara rushes in, her eyes wide with concern. "Yutaka, what's wrong? Talk to me."
I turn to her, my voice trembling. "I can't find my green pajamas, and everything feels out of control without them."
Hara kneels beside me, placing a calming hand on my shoulder. "We'll find them together, okay? Let's take a deep breath first."
I sit on the floor, surrounded by the mess of clothes.
I try to match my breathing to Hara's calm counting.
She squeezes my hand three times, our signal that she has an idea.
Standing up, she walks to the guest room dresser where we keep extra blankets.
My eyes follow her movements as she opens the bottom drawer.
There, folded neatly beneath winter scarves, are my green pajamas.
Relief floods through me as I touch the familiar cotton fabric.
"They got mixed in with the winter clothes when we did laundry yesterday," Hara explains gently.
I sit on our living room couch, still wearing my green pajamas from earlier.
Hara folds the scattered clothes from my meltdown, the fabric softener smell filling the room.
She creates neat piles, her movements methodical.
My hands grip the cotton fabric of my pajamas tightly, remembering how I couldn't find them before.
Watching her sort clothes reminds me of how different I am, how I need specific routines and items.
Frustration builds in my chest until I can't hold it anymore.
"Being autistic is stupid," I blurt out, my voice cracking.
I watch as she folds the last shirt, her movements gentle and precise.
She places the folded clothes in a neat stack, then sits beside me on the couch.
The familiar weight of her presence next to me brings both comfort and guilt.
My fingers twist the fabric of my green pajamas as words build up inside me.
"I don't know why you didn't divorce me years ago," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Hara looks at me, her eyes steady and unwavering. "Because I love you, Yutaka."
I stand up abruptly, my green pajamas still clutched in my hands.
Hara's words echo in my head, a painful reminder of what I can't be.
I stumble towards the hallway, my feet heavy with emotions.
The hallway feels too long, too bright.
I need to escape, to find a place where I can be alone.
My feet hit the cold tile floor as I reach the bathroom.
I slam the door behind me, fumbling with the lock until it clicks into place.
Leaning against the sink, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
The fluorescent light above makes my face look strange and unfamiliar.
"I hate being like this," I say to my reflection, my voice cracking.
The words come out louder than I intended.
I press my forehead against the cold glass of the mirror, feeling the tears stream down my face.
My reflection blurs, and I can barely make out my features.
The fluorescent light buzzes above me, casting an unflattering glow over everything.
It makes my skin look sickly pale, almost ghostly.
My hands tighten their grip on the green pajamas, the soft fabric providing a small sense of comfort.
As I stand there, lost in my own thoughts, I hear it.
Three soft knocks on the door, followed by Hara's gentle voice.
"Baby, please come here."
My breath catches in my throat as I freeze.
The sound of her knocking is familiar, following the same pattern she always uses.
It's a pattern that tugs at something deep within me.
I hesitate, my hand hovering over the lock.
"Yutaka, I know it's hard," Hara says softly, her voice steady.
"But you're not alone in this, and you never have to be."
I unlock the door with trembling fingers, pulling it open.
Hara stands in the hallway, her eyes filled with understanding.
Without a word, she reaches out and takes my hand, leading me back to our bedroom.
The room is familiar and comforting, with its blue walls and neatly organized shelves.
She guides me to the bed and gently helps me lie down.
Then, she slides under the covers beside me, wrapping her arms around me tightly.
Her body presses against mine like a warm blanket, providing the pressure I need to calm down.
As her heartbeat thuds steadily against my back, my breathing slowly returns to normal.
"I'm scared, Hara," I admit, my voice barely a whisper in the dim room.
She squeezes me tighter, her breath warm against my neck. "I know, but we'll face it together, one step at a time."
Her words settle over me like a soothing balm, and for the first time in a long while, I feel a flicker of hope.
I sit in the recording booth at the studio, still tired from last night's meltdown.
The script pages feel crisp between my fingers as I scan the lines for Fujii's dialogue.
My throat tightens when I notice today's episode features an emotional breakdown scene.
The director's voice comes through my headphones, asking if I'm ready.
I grip the script harder, remembering Hara's morning hug and the way she helped me put on my lucky blue shirt.
When the red recording light blinks on, I close my eyes and channel yesterday's bathroom moment into Fujii's pain.
The raw emotion flows through the microphone, capturing the truth I had tried so hard to hide.
I step out of the recording booth, feeling emotionally drained.
The studio door opens, and there stands Hara holding a large box.
"Hey, I brought you something," she says softly.
I walk over to her, my curiosity piqued.
She sets the box down on the coffee table in the studio's waiting area.
I open it, and inside, I find my favorite blue bowl from home, three documentaries about dragonflies that I've been wanting to watch, my collection of science books about insects that I always keep by my bed, and my most-loved green pajamas, freshly washed and smelling like our laundry detergent.
My hands shake as I touch each item.
Hara has thought of everything that brings me comfort.
The familiar textures under my fingertips calm my nerves slightly.
"I brought these because I knew today's recording was going to be tough," Hara explains gently.
"I want you to feel safe here."
I drive with Hara to the mall, my knuckles white as I grip the steering wheel tightly.
We take our usual route, passing by the convenience store where we always buy our favorite snacks.
The leather wallet in my pocket feels heavy with the bank check I prepared for her.
We park and walk into the mall's entrance, where I hand her the check for one million dollars.
"Buy anything you want," I tell her, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
She kisses my cheek and walks toward the shops, leaving me to wait on a bench near the fountain.
I watch her go, then turn my attention to the floor tiles, counting them methodically to keep myself calm.
Twenty-six minutes pass before she returns, carrying several bags.
She sits down beside me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I didn't spend it all, you know," she says with a teasing smile. I raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Why not?"
She shrugs.
"I just didn't want to spend it all. Besides, I got you something."
I stare at the bags in her hands, confused.
She starts pulling out items one by one, placing them on the bench between us.
First comes a set of blue bowls, identical to the one I always use at home.
Then three pairs of green pajamas, in my size and my favorite color.
Next, she pulls out a collection of documentaries about insects, including some I've been wanting to watch for a long time.
My hands shake as I touch each item, recognizing them as replacements for my comfort objects.
Finally, she reaches the bottom of the largest bag and pulls out a soft blanket patterned with dragonflies.
I clutch it to my chest, overwhelmed by how well she understands me.
"These are all for me?" my voice trembles as I ask.
"Yes, they're for you," she replies, her voice warm and reassuring.
"I wanted you to have backups here at the studio, so you always feel at home."
I nod, feeling a lump in my throat.
I stare at the shopping bags, filled with items just for me.
A mix of love and guilt twists in my stomach.
The mall's fluorescent lights shine off the packaging of the dragonfly blanket as I set it down on the bench.
"Did you at least buy something for yourself?" my voice is tight.
She shakes her head no, a smile on her face as she arranges the blue bowls in a neat row.
My hands clench in my lap as I watch her organizing my comfort items with such care.
The weight of her selflessness makes my chest heavy.
I grab one of the shopping bags and thrust it back toward her.
"You should have something too," I insist, my voice cracking slightly.
Hara laughs softly, pushing the bag back to me.
"Seeing you happy is more than enough for me," she says, her eyes meeting mine with a sincerity that leaves me speechless.
I lie on our bed, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the curtains.
The blue walls of our room seem to shimmer in the light, creating intricate patterns that dance before my eyes.
My eyelids grow heavy as I process the events of the day.
Just as I'm drifting off, I feel the mattress shift beside me.
Hara's gentle hand finds its way under my shirt, her fingers tracing slow circles on my belly - a touch she knows always soothes me.
I wake up from my nap to the soft patter of rain against our bedroom window.
The sound is unexpected, and it makes my heart race.
But Hara's hand is still resting on my stomach under my shirt, her touch grounding me.
I stare at the rain through the glass, watching as tiny water droplets fall in an irregular pattern.
It bothers me that I can't predict where they'll land next.
I try to count them, but they fall too fast for me to keep track.
My breathing gets faster, and Hara pulls me closer.
"It's just a light sprinkle," she whispers in my ear.
I turn away from the unpredictable raindrops, my chest still tight with anxiety.
Hara's hand remains steady on my stomach.
"We could count something else," she suggests softly.
I nod, finding comfort in the idea of a countable pattern.
"Let's count the tiles in the kitchen," she proposes.
I nod again, and we walk to the kitchen together, her fingers intertwined with mine.
The familiar white tiles stretch out before us in neat rows.
I sit cross-legged on the cool floor and start counting from the corner near the refrigerator, touching each square with my index finger.
"One, two, three..."