On Natsuyu, the threads about Voices of a Distant Star swelled overnight like an avalanche.
Endless debates about the story. Fans pouring out their bitterness- and sharp, sarcastic jabs- at the scriptwriter, Sora Kamakawa. Breathless praise for the battle storyboards. And above all, the fact that the title had closed out the winter season as the highest-rated ani of the quarter. Taken together, it gave Voices of a Distant Star a level of visibility that was impossible to ignore in Japan's ani scene.
In Tokyo- the industry's beating heart- studios and professionals were watching closely. The curiosity was straightforward: in three weeks, when the Blu-ray released, they'd finally get to see for themselves what kind of quality a short could possibly have to outscore a seasonal juggernaut. And alongside the work itself ca an even louder question: what, exactly, made that eighteen-year-old director special? The very na fans were hoisting up as a genius was also getting torn apart for "showing no rcy" in the script. In the end, who was Sora Kamakawa really?
But attention and traffic didn't turn into revenue by magic. Getting people to move from curiosity to opening their wallets… that was a different ga entirely.
Sora wasn't naïve about it. Even in his previous world, massive franchises famous enough to dominate conventions still failed to appeal to plenty of people- so would take one look at the art style and lose interest instantly. Japan wasn't any different. A 9.2 rating and a wave of passionate praise from Shikoku didn't guarantee a mountain of nationwide preorders overnight.
Even so… he didn't need a miracle.
He wasn't expecting anything obscene, but he did hope for sothing solid: a strong- maybe moderate- volu of orders from outside the region. After all, for anyone living on a tight budget, dropping tens of thousands of yen on collectibles was a calculated decision. Most would prioritize big-network titles with monstrous budgets and polished production. But there was another kind of fan, too… the collectors who bought with their hearts, the ones who didn't flinch at the price tag as long as the box looked good on the shelf. If that crowd latched onto a work, it could change an entire studio's fate.
And starting April 1st- the first day of the spring season- Sora received an update from their partner company handling distribution and rchandise.
Orders for the Voices of a Distant Star Blu-ray from across the country were, surprisingly, well above what anyone expected for a regional studio production. Normally, an ani aired on a local station sold strongly within the broadcast range, while out-of-region orders trickled in at best. But Voices of a Distant Star was different: demand outside Shikoku was strong, too.
That was the Natsuyu effect in action.
Promotion didn't begin and end with television. Forums, comnt sections, word of mouth- the way collective emotion fernted online- mattered just as much as any ti slot on a schedule.
April brought a steady stream of spring premieres to the airwaves, while winter-season rchandise began landing in stores. And that was how the machine worked: the TV broadcast fee barely scratched the surface of an ani's production costs, which could easily climb into the tens of millions of yen. The real money ca after- Blu-rays, rchandise, overseas licensing, advertising, collaboration deals.
…
At Yu Animation, there wasn't a new project in production yet. Instead, the staff were busy negotiating and signing broadcast agreents with overseas networks.
After a full day of etings, emails, and paperwork, Sora lifted his head in his office, his face worn with exhaustion.
"I still don't know how many copies we'll actually sell…" he muttered to himself.
He understood the market logic well. Blu-ray sales weren't just "extra inco"- they were a thermoter. If you couldn't sell discs, no one would believe fans would buy rchandise, pay for collaborations, or spend on licensed gas and skins. And even if Blu-rays alone didn't cover a production budget, the numbers told the industry how large a work really was.
Sora took a slow breath and, almost without thinking, glanced into the system space.
The total emotion points had already surpassed two million.
It was the direct result of viewers moved by Voices of a Distant Star- pouring out feelings of pain, anger, longing, admiration, like a tide.
He was itching to pull the gacha and see what new work he might draw… but he held himself back. In a little over two weeks, the Blu-ray and the novel of the sa na would release nationwide, and that would almost certainly bring another surge of emotions. It was smarter to let the points pile up and do a larger draw all at once.
Besides, even if he pulled sothing incredible right now, it wouldn't an much without the money to put it into production.
His next move depended on real returns: Blu-rays, the book, rchandise, and overseas licensing fees. Only then would he know how much he could afford to gamble.
That was when the office door opened.
April had arrived for real. Trees were budding, the sun rode higher, and the snowbound cityscape of the previous month was already a mory. In its place, a warm spring breeze wandered through the streets, carrying the scent of beginnings.
Sumire stepped inside.
Her long hair fell loose to her waist, and a faint flush colored her pale face in the softer weather. She'd traded her heavy winter coat for a black pleated skirt, and as she walked, her straight, slender legs drew Sora's attention before he even realized he was looking.
With that look, she could stroll past a school gate and no one would stop her. At most, they'd assu she was a student.
"Ti to go," she said.
Her voice was as calm as ever, but sothing had changed. It was gentler- less distant than when Sora had first arrived in this life.
In five years in the industry, Sumire had never worked on a production that drew such a powerful response after broadcast- strong enough to surpass, on Natsuyu, an extravagantly funded ani from a major national network.
Fans might hold a grudge against Sora for the ending… but Sumire, deep down, was grateful. Having her na attached to a work praised so widely filled her with a sense of accomplishnt she hadn't felt in a long ti.
Sora glanced at the sun tilting toward the horizon behind the buildings and let out a sigh, as if shaking off the knot of thoughts in his head.
"Yeah… ti to head out."
Sumire hesitated for the briefest mont, then asked:
"Do you… want to get dinner with ?"
Sora blinked, caught off guard.
Her- making that kind of invitation?
"You want to talk about sothing?"
"I do." Sumire nodded, not looking away.
…
Outside Shikoku Institute of Technology, near the bustling strip of eateries and food stalls, the two parked and walked to the sa ran shop they'd visited countless tis.
Sumire ordered her usual: a simple, clear-broth tonkotsu ran. Sora went for his without rcy- extra spicy, topped with shrimp, the kind that made your tongue burn just thinking about it.
She lifted a few thin strands of noodles with her chopsticks and chewed slowly, but her eyes stayed on him- serious, unwavering.
"Sora… have you decided what direction you want to take for the next project?"
The question landed like a stone in his stomach.
In that instant, he understood.
That was why Sumire had asked him out tonight.
50 power stones = 1 chapter
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