乾杯の音が届かない友人へ——新年最初の結婚式で、僕は「親友」になった

My hand, holding the glass, was trembling slightly.

One hundred and twenty pairs of eyes were fixed on me. From the head table, the groom, Takashi-san, looked my way with a face that was slightly anxious yet strangely relieved. I stood before the microphone and took a breath. The cold January air seemed to have somehow crept into the hotel banquet hall.

"I first met Takashi, the groom, through a university club—"

That's how I began. Of course, we had never met through a university club. My first encounter with Takashi-san was three weeks prior, at a family restaurant. Across the table, he recounted stories from his university days, refilling his coffee three times. The information I jotted down filled seven A4 pages. Together, we crafted the script for me to become his "best friend."

Friend proxy for weddings. The reasons for such requests are varied. Some have moved frequently for work, losing touch with childhood friends. Others find workplace relationships superficial, with no one they can invite. Still others have always struggled to make friends. Takashi-san's situation, however, was a little different.

During his university years, he truly had a best friend. Let's call him Yuta-san. After graduation, they stayed in touch, celebrated each other's career changes, and confided in one another about their romantic lives. Takashi-san had apparently always been certain that Yuta would be the one to give the wedding toast.

However, Yuta-san's overseas assignment was confirmed six months before the ceremony. Furthermore, due to circumstances in his assigned country, a temporary return to Japan in January proved impossible. Takashi-san initially considered asking another friend to give the toast. Yet, the feeling of "I don't want anyone but Yuta to do it" persisted.

"I don't want a substitute friend," Takashi-san said. "I don't want to fill the void left by Yuta with just anyone. That's why—I decided I'd rather ask a professional than a real friend."

Upon hearing these words, my heart ached a little. He had chosen me to protect his friendship with Yuta-san. Precisely because I was known to be a "fake," the authentic bond remained untarnished. That was the nature of the request.

In three weeks, I became Takashi-san's "university best friend." The name of the club, the places we supposedly went for training camps, the menu at our favorite izakaya. Takashi-san's peculiar laugh, his habit of touching his right ear when he spoke. Through two meetings and several phone calls, we accumulated "shared memories."

To be entrusted with the toast at a wedding is to be a special person to the groom.

To be asked to give the toast as a "friend's representative"—rather than a boss or relative—is akin to declaring before over a hundred guests, "This person is a witness to my life." That is why, when I accept a toast proxy request, I feel an even greater tension than usual.

I refined the speech content together with Takashi-san. The story of how he, heartbroken in university, sang karaoke all night long. This was apparently a real episode that happened between him and Yuta-san. When Takashi-san said, "I want you to use this," his voice was slightly hoarse.

During the actual ceremony, as I recounted that story, I saw Takashi-san's eyes redden. The face he was remembering was not mine. It was Yuta-san's face. And that was perfectly fine. I was like a screen. Takashi-san's true memories were projected onto my surface. While the guests saw me, Takashi-san saw Yuta-san.

"Everyone, please raise your glasses. Takashi, congratulations, truly. —Cheers!"

One hundred and twenty glasses chimed. My glass chimed too. That sound still lingers in my ears.

As I repeatedly attend weddings as a proxy, I always come up against the same question: What exactly constitutes a true friend?

Someone you spent every day with during your student years, but haven't even sent a New Year's card to since graduation. Someone you exchange "likes" with on social media, but can't recall when you last met. Someone who came to your wedding, but spent the entire reception fiddling with their smartphone.

On the other hand, I dedicated three weeks to Takashi-san. I memorized episodes from his life, studied his favorite turns of phrase, and rehearsed the speech repeatedly for his important day. This is not friendship. It's work. Yet, the time and concentration I poured into those three weeks, isn't it something that many of those called "real friends" no longer actually invest?

Please don't misunderstand. I'm not trying to say that I am a real friend. What I want to convey is that the line between "real" and "fake" isn't as sharply drawn as we might think. If the emotion is real, then it is real. Takashi-san's tears during that speech were undeniably real.

Requests for wedding attendance increase in January. I believe this is because it's when people who spent the year-end and New Year holidays alone, deeply feeling their solitude, start to take action.

But friend proxy for weddings reflects a slightly different kind of loneliness. To hold a ceremony means, at the very least, having a partner by your side. A loved one has been found. Yet, there are no friends to celebrate that happiness with. This "one step away" loneliness carries a different kind of pain than the loneliness of being single.

Japanese society is surprisingly indifferent to friendships. There's immense support for romance and marriage: dating apps, marriage agencies, couples counseling. But for the struggle of "not having friends," it's often dismissed with a single phrase: "It's your own responsibility." You don't have friends? That's probably a problem with your communication skills, they say.

Is that really so? Long working hours, frequent job transfers, the nuclear family structure, the decline of local communities. I think it's harsh to push the cost of maintaining friendships solely onto individuals. In Takashi-san's case, had Yuta-san not been assigned overseas, I wouldn't have been needed. Friendship wasn't broken; it was the societal structure that physically tore it apart.

Each New Year, similar requests arrive at my door: "Please fill the friend's seats," "Please give a speech," "Please liven up the after-party." In each and every request, there is an untold story.

As I finished my speech and returned to my seat, the staff member playing the role of a "university peer" sitting next to me whispered, "That was excellent." He, too, was a Family Romance staff member. That day, including myself, three staff members were seated at the friends' table. The remaining seats at the table were filled by Takashi-san's actual acquaintances.

As the reception progressed, something peculiar began to happen. Takashi-san's actual acquaintances started striking up conversations with me. "You've known Takashi a long time, haven't you?" "That was an excellent speech." "Let's go for a drink sometime." While I responded with a smile, inside my head, I was calmly processing information. I couldn't afford to slip up.

Yet, at the same time, I found myself filled with a sense of warmth. These people were accepting me as "Takashi's best friend." They had laughed and applauded during my speech. The "friendship" I had performed was, in this space, functioning as real.

Before the after-party, Takashi-san quietly approached me. After bowing deeply and saying, "Thank you very much," he hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"I'm thinking of sending today's video to Yuta, including the part with your speech."

For a moment, I was speechless. What would Yuta-san think when he watched that video? With what feelings would he listen to the speech of a stranger who had stood in his place?

"I'm sure he'll be pleased," I said. Whether that was the right answer, I still don't know.

When I left the hotel, the January night wind stung my cheeks. With my hands shoved into my coat pockets, I walked towards the station.

Today, I led a toast in front of 120 people. As "Takashi's best friend." But walking alone through the night city, I am simply Yuichi Ishii. Tomorrow, there will be another assignment. I will become someone else's "father," "husband," and "friend."

After that, did Takashi-san truly send the video to Yuta-san? What kind of expression did Yuta-san make, watching the unknown "best friend" on screen? Perhaps, between the two of them, that speech might have sparked a new conversation. Using me as a stepping stone, perhaps their real friendship began to stir once more.

If so, that would be for the best.

I don't want people to become dependent on me. I want them to use me to forge genuine human connections. I always think that. The glasses clinked for the toast. I hope that sound reached Yuta-san across the sea. Even if it didn't, in Takashi-san's heart, Yuta-san must have been sitting in that very seat.

In truth, it would be better if a service like this didn't exist. But as long as there are people who need it, I will continue to stand, glass in hand. At the next wedding, and the one after that. To ensure no empty seats on someone's important day.