Entertainment to the death, make a tokusatsu film that will crush the entire internet.

Netflix Asia Pacific Headquarters, Seoul.

The daily newspapers on Kim Min-young's desk had been piled up for three days without being touched.

He's been busy with something really important lately.

Netflix's lineup for the next quarter of Korean dramas includes five original series being developed simultaneously, representing the largest investment in the Asia-Pacific region's history.

As for the China market?

He glanced at the briefing his assistant handed him.

Tencent Video and Lizi Entertainment have each released a new animated series.

It was broadcast simultaneously overseas, and the initial broadcast data was acceptable.

It's acceptable.

His definition of the word is very precise.

It entered the top ten in terms of viewership in several small markets in Southeast Asia.

It barely made it into the top 20 in Japan, and made no splash in Europe and America.

Compared to the Korean dramas that debuted in the top ten globally in their first week, they're not even worth a second glance.

"Mr. Jin,"

The assistant stood at the door, holding a new monitoring report in his hand.

"The growth rate of those two animated series, Penguin and Tanuki, in Southeast Asia is a bit unusual. Should we keep an eye on them?"

Kim Min-young slowly picked up his Blue Mountain coffee and blew on the steam rising from the rim of the cup.

"Penguins, what did you start with?"

The assistant paused for a moment, then said, "Uh, social media and games?"

"What about the video aspect?"

The assistant added, "...However, there were some copyright disputes in the early stages."

"Where's the raccoon dog?"

"Primarily driven by traffic generation."

"That's fine then."

Kim Min-young put down his coffee cup. "A platform that started by copying and pasting, a company that survives by inflating its data."

"What kind of trouble do you think they can cause overseas?"

"Their animations don't have any IP foundation, the backing of a Japanese production team, or the support of our global distribution system."

"If these two companies can also threaten our market share, then I can hand over my position as head of the Asia-Pacific region to vending machines."

The assistant didn't say anything, but bowed slightly and left.

Kim Min-young reopened the script outline for the Korean drama project and quickly cleared the matter from his mind.

Everything is under control.

At the same moment, neon lights illuminate Tokyo.

In an old-fashioned apartment filled with celluloid original drawings and storyboards.

An elderly man with gray hair is sitting in front of a computer.

His name is Miyashita Satoru, and he is sixty-seven years old.

Retired animation producer.

He has participated in the production of animations spanning four eras, from Showa to Reiwa.

The number of works handled exceeds three digits.

After retiring, his only pleasure was watching new animated works from various countries online.

Occasionally, I'll post some comments on Twitter that nobody reads.

Today, his screen displays two animated films from China.

Fox Spirit Matchmaker and Akame ga Kill!

Miyashita Satoru had only clicked on it casually to take a look.

His impression of Chinese animation is still based on what he saw a few years ago.

The visuals are improving, but the pacing and narrative logic of the scripts are generally stiff.

It's either full of nonsense or forced sentimentality.

But these two are different.

He watched "Fox Spirit Matchmaker" first.

Within the first ten minutes, the worldview unfolds naturally, like peeling an onion, layer by layer, without any narration reading out the instructions.

No character stands there blankly explaining the setting to the audience.

Tu Shan Su Su's lines subtly contain hidden information.

Bai Yuechu's every rant was perfectly timed.

Then he opened Akame ga Kill!

Less than ten minutes into the story, the Night Raid organization makes its appearance, and the dark side of the capital city is cleanly and decisively exposed.

Be straightforward and don't pretend to be profound.

The control over the pacing and timing of the climax is textbook-perfect.

From the story structure to the narrative rhythm to the dialogue design, everything is just right.

Miyashita Satoru took off his reading glasses, his brows slowly furrowing.

He had heard of Tencent, the internet giant in China.

However, the animation production quality has remained lukewarm.

I've heard of Lizi Entertainment; it's a company that started with variety shows, and is practically a newcomer to the animation field.

How could these two companies possibly produce a script of this caliber at the same time?

This is not something that can be achieved simply by throwing money at hiring good screenwriters.

Screenwriters with this level of skill can be counted on one hand worldwide.

A person came to mind.

In China's animation industry, the skill in scriptwriting is unfathomable...

Only that young man remained.

That person is called "A-Hikari" by Japanese anime fans on Twitter.

He single-handedly created "CLANNAD" and "Ultraman Tiga".

But Miyashita Satoru quickly dismissed his own idea.

It's too ridiculous.

According to his information, these three companies were locked in a life-or-death struggle within China.

They're vying for release dates, promotional campaigns, and market share.

Penguins and raccoons are old rivals, having fought each other for almost ten years.

How could Ah-Guang possibly write scripts for two competitors at the same time?

This goes beyond the scope of normal business cooperation.

He entered a state that even Miyashita Satoru could not comprehend.

"Let's take another look."

He muttered to himself, put his reading glasses back on, and continued watching the next episode.

Meanwhile, in the Land of Light, in the director's office.

Yang Qian flipped through the folder in her hand.

A petite young girl stood in front of me.

Rie Kugimiya, 23 years old.

I came to China from Japan at the end of last year through the voice actor recruitment program of the Land of Light, and have been working here for just over six months.

She previously voiced several NPCs in "Honkai Impact 3rd".

He voiced a minor character who appeared three times in Part 2 of "JoJo's Bizarre Adventure".

She also voiced a junior character with only three lines in the K-On! radio drama.

She never imagined she would be called to Director Yang's office for a private talk.

"Kugimiya,"

Yang Qian put down the folder, speaking as if discussing the weather, "You'll have to work hard from now on."

Rie Kugimiya lowered her head slightly.

She speaks fluent Chinese.

But when I'm nervous, I still unconsciously slip out the honorific endings of Japanese words.

Yang Qian continued, "For the new project, I've decided on you as the voice actor for the female lead."

Rie Kugimiya was stunned.

heroine?

She's only been here for six months.

She's only played a few minor roles.

How could it suddenly be like this—

"Director Yang, are you really going to swear in the animation? Wouldn't that be inappropriate...?"

Her voice grew softer and softer.

Yang Qian has already given her a brief introduction to the character's personality.

Her first reaction after hearing this was...

Why is this female lead constantly swearing?

Two out of three lines in the script are insults.

Some called her an idiot, some called her a pervert, and there was one sentence that made her cheeks burn even when she read it aloud.

Yang Qian leaned back in his chair, speaking in a leisurely tone.

"Don't worry, you have to believe that the audience will really like the sound of you swearing."

Rie Kugimiya: "..."

She found those words even more unsettling.

"Come on, now repeat the sentences I taught you."

Yang Qian picked up her teacup.

Rie Kugimiya took a deep breath.

She closed her eyes, packing all her shame and modesty deep into her mind.

"Baka!"

Crisp, crisp, with a hint of condescending arrogance.

"Hentai!"

The ending note rises.

"Stop right there!"

The voice rose in pitch, each word distinct.

boom!

The door opened.

Su Xiaoran pushed open the door and entered, carrying a stack of documents.

Her movements froze when the door was halfway open.

Silence is Cambridge tonight.

Su Xiaoran's eye twitched.

Countless thoughts flashed through her mind at the speed of a quantum computer, finally settling on one image.

Director Yang, office, young girl, swearing.

She gently placed the documents on the low cabinet by the door, then took a half step back.

"Director Yang, I didn't know you had this kind of taste. Don't worry, I will never tell anyone."

"I swear on my salary."

Yang Qian: "......"

After Su Xiaoran finished speaking, she turned around and left, closing the door behind her.

Rie Kugimiya was still standing there, her face as red as a ripe crab.

"Director Yang... has Supervisor Su misunderstood something?"

Yang Qian took a sip of tea, her expression calm.

"It's okay, she won't misunderstand."

She paused for a moment, then added, "She was just joking."

Rie Kugimiya responded with a skeptical "Oh."

But Su Xiaoran's expression from just now kept replaying in my mind.

That expression was definitely not a joke.

She took a deep breath and decided to temporarily put aside thinking about the problem.

Since Director Yang said it's nothing...

Never mind... Director Yang said it was nothing when he was giving out the knife.

Let's believe half of it for now.

......

"Dyna, you idiot! You can lose even when you're on the right side of the pitch!"