Tokyo: The Manga Begins with the Funeral of Frilian

Matsumoto stared at him for several seconds.

"Kamiya-sensei, you're still young. Do you think that just because your manga sold ten million copies, you can stop caring about anyone else? Let me tell you, it's Heisei 4 now, and the bubble economy has burst. The entire animation industry is looking for money. Apart from Yamato Toys, you won't find another sponsor willing to fully fund it."

He stood up, flicking the hem of his suit jacket.

"Do you know what 180 million yen means? It's enough to buy three buildings in Tokyo right now, enough to hire the top animators in the industry, enough to make an anime whose visuals crush all other works at the same time. But no one will spend that money because no one thinks that a slow-paced elf memoir can sell merchandise, except me."

"I gave you a chance, but you didn't want it."

Matsumoto stood up.

"Then I'll see how far you can fly without my money."

"Minister Matsumoto."

Shiori Shirakawa stood up.

He was holding a tea tray with a freshly brewed cup of hot tea on it.

Matsumoto turned to look at her.

Shiori Shirakawa walked up to him and placed the tea tray on the table.

Then she picked up the cup of scalding hot green tea. The bottom of the cup tapped lightly on the table, but the tea splashed out.

It splashed right onto the front of Matsumoto's Hermès suit.

"Your tea."

Her voice remained gentle, and her expression showed no change.

It was as if I had just accidentally slipped my hand.

Matsumoto looked down at the dark water stain on his chest, his face turning a deep purplish-red.

"you."

He was so angry he couldn't speak.

"The door is behind you."

Kamitani Yuma didn't even look up, continuing to move the dip pen across the manuscript.

"No need to see me out."

Koichi Matsumoto stood there, panting, the tea stains on his chest spreading rapidly.

The secretary hurriedly pulled out a tissue, but he pushed it away.

"No need to wipe it."

His voice was very low, as if it were being squeezed out from between his teeth.

"I'll remember this cup of tea today."

He turned around, his leather shoes making a dull thud on the wooden floor.

He paused when he reached the entrance hall, as if waiting for something.

  

Perhaps they are waiting for a word of persuasion to stay, perhaps for a way out, or perhaps for Kamiya Yuma to come to his senses.

He realized that he had rejected 180 million yen.

The only sound in the master bedroom was the scratching of a pen across paper.

The door slammed shut.

The footsteps in the corridor gradually faded away, the elevator doors opened and closed, and the entire apartment building returned to silence.

Shiori Shirakawa bent down and wiped the tea stain on the table with a rag.

Her movements were very gentle, as if she were polishing a precious piece of porcelain.

"That suit must be very expensive."

She said softly.

"A Hermès set costs around 200,000 yen."

Hoshino Rin was still standing in the corner, her eyes wide open above her mask.

"He actually called Frillie's rhythm garbage. I was just about to ask him if his aesthetic sense stopped developing in the placenta."

"I said angrily."

Kamiya Yuma interrupted them.

"No need to say anything, they're already gone."

Shiori Shirakawa straightened up and placed the rag neatly next to the tea tray.

"In fact, he's not wrong. It is indeed very difficult to find a second sponsor willing to provide full funding these days."

"Then let's not go all in," said Yuma Kamiya.

"What do you mean?" Shiori Shirakawa asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Their model is a production committee model led by the TV station. The toy factory provides the money, the TV station provides the time slot, and the toy manufacturer provides the production fee. The three parties pool their money, and whoever contributes the most has the final say. The fatal flaw of this model is that the money is outside, and the outside money will impose external conditions, which will change the internal things."

"But we're different. The first edition of Volume 10 had one million copies, and the royalties were enough to cover most of the production costs for the first season."

Shiori Shirakawa was stunned.

"You'll have to pay for it yourself."

"We don't contribute all of it. We contribute the majority and take the lead. We'll find investors who are willing to respect the original work to make up the rest. The TV station will contribute broadcast resources as a portion, the record company will contribute music as a portion, and Dongyang Animation will contribute production as a portion. Everyone contributes a little, and no one has absolute control. Only we have controlled the final decision-making power over content review from the very beginning."

Shiori Shirakawa quickly walked to the low table, sat down, opened the newly bought folder, flipped to a blank page, picked up a red pen, and began to write.

How should the production committee's funding be divided?

"Kamiya Studio will take 51%, and Onodera-senpai will find the remaining 49%. Whether it's a TV station, a record company, or a toy factory, as long as they agree to one condition, they can join us. That is, they will not interfere with the content creation. The script, character design, storyboard, voice acting, and casting of the animation will all be decided by the original creators."

Shiori Shirakawa's pen moved swiftly across the paper.

"Then the director? Directors at Dongyang Animation are usually appointed by the company itself."

Kamiya Yuma remained silent for a moment.

"We don't need to worry about that. Onodera said he has someone in mind."

The next morning, Ryota Onodera rang the doorbell of his Itabashi Honmachi apartment again.

After the door opened, he stuffed a bulging brown paper bag into Kamiya Yuuma's hand, changed into slippers, walked straight to the low table, sat down, and drank the tea that Shirakawa Shiori handed him in one gulp.

"After Matsumoto returned to the company, he filed a complaint with the Shueisha board of directors, saying that the original author team was arrogant and conceited, that the assistant did not know the rules, and that the finance director deliberately spilled tea on him. Yoshikawa Taro remained silent for a long time after hearing this."

"And then?" Kamiya Yuma asked.

Then Yoshikawa said four words: "Well done!"

He put down his teacup and continued speaking.

"However, the news of Yamato Toys withdrawing its investment has already spread in the industry. Now everyone in the industry is saying that the animation of 'Frilian' is a hot potato. The production cost is high, the sponsor has run away, and the original author is unwilling to compromise. Matsumoto has said that whoever takes on this project will be going against Yamato Toys."

"Then let everyone know that Kamiya Studio will contribute 51% of the funding, giving them control, and the remaining shares will be offered through public bidding, with only one condition: that the original work will not be altered."

Ryota Onodera was stunned, and it took him a while to recover.

"Do you know how much it costs to produce a season of anime? 150 million yen. 51% of that is nearly 80 million yen. This isn't like making doujinshi; it's real money being thrown out of your pocket."

"The royalties from volume 10 are enough. If not, there will be volume 11 and volume 12. The sales of this manga are still rising, and the royalties will keep coming in. Rather than waiting for other people's money to buy our soul, we should use our own money to protect our own work. I think that's the right thing to do."

Ryota Onodera was silent for a moment, then suddenly stood up, walked to the telephone, and dialed Editor-in-Chief Tanaka's number, his voice trembling slightly.

"Editor-in-Chief Tanaka, this kid's gone mad! He's going to fund his own animation project, and he's not kidding, he's done the math."

He held the receiver and suddenly turned to look at Yuma Kamiya.

"Editor-in-Chief Tanaka asked, 'Is there anything you want me to tell him?'"

"To quote him directly: If Jump doesn't even dare to make this kind of manga, then what kind of Shonen Jump is it?"

Ryota Onodera hung up the phone, leaned back on the sofa, and let out a long sigh.

"You master and disciples—no, you bunch of lunatics."