Tokyo, October 27th, morning.
"Sir, your coffee."
Alan snapped back to reality, pulling his gaze from the glass and nodded at the sales associate. He glanced at his watch.
10:18.
Twelve minutes until his scheduled eting with the producer.
When eting soone important, he always liked to arrive twenty to thirty minutes early. Not just out of respect or worry about unforeseen delays on the way.
Arriving early gave him a chance to reaffirm the purpose of the eting, what he wanted to say, what he wanted to express, to anticipate what kind of person the other party was, what they might say, and how he should respond.
Alan never considered himself intellectually superior to others, so he especially put effort into preparation.
Not necessarily aiming for a perfect hundred percent, but at least ninety percent readiness.
After all, society wouldn’t treat him like a child and tolerate his mistakes.
Today he was eting a producer from M TV station. The opportunity ca from their previous collaboration on a TV the song.
But it was just a eting chance. Whether it would succeed depended on the actual discussion.
Since ntoring Nozomi Sakura, Alan had been thinking about their developnt path.
It wasn’t hard to imagine, just like his relationship with Akari Hojo.
Originally, he and Hojo were lyricist/composer and singer, now with Nozomi Sakura, it should be the relationship between producer and actress.
The reason was simple, to produce a TV drama, the core decision-maker at the start is the producer.
The process roughly goes: the producer has an idea or selects a script, submits it for planning, which is approved by the TV station’s departnt heads, directors, and top managent. Then the core team is assembled—screenwriters, directors, lead actors...
Of course, just as Nozomi Sakura couldn’t beco an experienced actress overnight, he couldn’t beco a producer all at once.
Normally, he would participate in a script competition and win, but from submission deadline to results took about a year.
He couldn’t wait that long, and who knew what might go wrong in between.
Besides, having connections was better than being clueless, contacting the producer directly, joining as a screenwriter first, then climbing up to producer by rit was obviously more efficient...
As Alan was thinking this, the café door suddenly opened. A middle-aged man in a suit asked the sales associate sothing.
Alan raised his hand in greeting. The man noticed, smiled, waved back, and approached him.
Nishimoto hadn’t even sat down before looking at Alan and saying,
"Ah, sorry for keeping you waiting, A-sensei."
"No, I ca early."
"A-sensei’s style hasn’t changed."
Nishimoto smiled, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He turned to the sales associate.
"Please bring a cup of Blue Mountain coffee, thank you."
"Certainly, please wait a mont."
After the sales associate left a few ters away, Nishimoto looked at the young man’s face with a complicated expression and said,
"Sigh, sotis I really envy you, young and talented..."
"Miss Hojo’s new song is coming out soon too, right? I hear she’s preparing for a concert. She’s really going to establish herself in the music world. If I were a woman, I’d definitely marry you."
Alan forced a smile.
"Not at all, it’s just an empty reputation. I’ve already run out of creative steam."
Nishimoto narrowed his eyes.
"I also heard about your retirent, A-sensei. You don’t know how many people say it’s a loss to the music industry to see a talent like you retire."
Nishimoto took his words as re pleasantries, not taking them to heart.
The music circle’s pie was only so big, jealous peers wished he’d retire sooner.
He smiled.
"Nishimoto, don’t mock . I really don’t have that level anymore."
Seeing Alan unwilling to speak more on the subject, Nishimoto cut to the chase.
"But, well, the music industry’s loss might be the literature world’s gain. I’m really looking forward to the screenplay you ntioned, A-sensei."
Though he said this, it was just surface courtesy. He was here to do Alan a favor since they had cooperated before. If the script wasn’t good, he’d probably just give a few pointers and leave without looking back. Next ti, he’d send his assistant instead.
Hearing this, Alan nodded and pulled a small stack of scripts from his bag.
"These are my recent screenplays and outlines. Please, screenwriter Nishimoto, kindly review them."
"Alright."
Nishimoto took the scripts and glanced at the title: The Kidnapper’s Daughter.
A typical suspense cri genre.
His eyes then scanned the credited writer’s na, Suspect X. He chuckled teasingly.
"Looks like I’ll have to start calling you Mr. X."
Alan smiled but said nothing.
Nishimoto continued reading.
After half a page, his brow furrowed deeply, the wrinkles on his forehead forming a pattern resembling the character ’kawa’. He flipped further, sneaking another glance at Alan.
He wasn’t expecting much but found the script very mature, with a neat overall structure and writing style, unlike a novice’s work.
He opened his mouth, stared at the young man’s face, hesitated, then asked,
"A-sensei, have you registered the copyright for this script?"
Alan understood the implied doubt about authorship. He opened his phone and brought up the website interface he had prepared earlier, placing it in front of Nishimoto.
"I just started the registration two days ago. It’s not completed yet."
In Japan, scripts automatically enjoy copyright protection upon completion. The registration process in Tokyo usually takes about a month. He registered imdiately to silence doubters.
In truth, no one really cared who wrote the script, as long as the law recognized it and it could earn money, that was enough. The origin didn’t matter.
"Oh."
Relieved, Nishimoto praised, "As expected of A-sensei," and resud reading.
As he read line by line, he gradually imrsed himself. After about ten minutes, he looked up thoughtfully, stroked his chin, then glanced down at the outline again and asked Alan.
"Is there more after this?"
Alan smiled.
"It’s still being polished, but the script for episode three will be ready next week."
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