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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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Chapter 32: The Line Between Consideration and Suspicion?
Media mix.
By definition, it refers to the expansion of an original work into different types of media—a term coined from Japanese-style English.
The fact that it was Japanese-style English is something I only learned recently myself.
A media mix is, at its core, a strategy—both creatively and commercially—to reach a broader audience.
It usually aims for effects like increased publicity, extending the lifespan of the work’s popularity, and diversifying revenue streams.
There’s hardly anything negative about it, at least on paper.
But of course, good things like that are never handed out so easily.
To pull off a successful media mix, you have to survive a gauntlet of challenges.
The most common—and also the most frustrating—issue is the clash of opinions between the original author and the production staff.
I didn’t see it firsthand, but back when I was an editor, I heard about a case where the conflict escalated so badly that the anime adaptation was completely scrapped.
And now here I am, sitting in on the very kind of meeting where these clashes are most likely to happen—the storyboard/script conference.
I’m not an expert in anime or film production, so me meddling for no reason wouldn’t help anyone.
Still, if they start ignoring the original work or the storyboards are so half-baked that you have to wonder if this is even acceptable quality…
I can’t just sit back and say nothing.
With that grim determination, I took my seat in the meeting room.
“Th-Then… uh, w-we’ll begin… the meeting…”
But the people sitting across from me looked less like creative professionals and more like zombies—no, like souls already halfway to the afterlife—and their voices were dry as dust.
Whatever spark of fighting spirit I had started to gather immediately fizzled out.
＊ ＊ ＊
Director Daito endured the humiliation of watching his salary be toyed with, biding his time, waiting for a chance. His tenacity was eventually rewarded—he finally turned the tables on the situation.
Or perhaps it wasn’t a comeback at all—maybe it was just self-destruction.
“Ghh… guhh…!”
“Guhh. Guhhh.”
“Guh-guh-guh-GAH! Gk!”
The brutal schedule didn’t just apply to the animators—it had hit him too. Director Daito, like the rest of the zombified crew, had completely lost the ability to speak in human language.
Still, since an outsider would be present at today’s meeting, communication in actual human speech was necessary.
Having caught a nap at the office and barely regained his ability to talk like a functioning adult, Daito stared at Jung Junhyuk through deep-set, dark-circled eyes.
A tightly pulled-down cap, a face mask, and oversized horn-rimmed glasses.
His whole outfit made it impossible to read any facial expression—but Daito, who had seen plenty of reclusive writer types, didn’t find it strange enough to be worth noting.
“As shown in the materials in front of you, we’re planning to dedicate Episode 1 solely to the protagonist. It’ll establish their character and abilities, and help the audience understand who they are.”
Despite looking like he might collapse at any second, Daito spoke with surprising fluency and continued explaining smoothly.
“From Episode 2 onward, as shown here—”
The production staff were also bracing themselves for possible trouble with the original author.
They were veterans of similar battles, so each one of them had mentally prepared to handle any kind of conflict with flexibility, no matter what happened.
But Wakayama Jun—the original author—quietly listened, scribbling notes on paper without asking a single question.
Was he one of those types who bottle everything up and explode all at once?
Was he taking notes to build momentum for a final barrage?
Producer Yamaguchi gulped hard, mentally readying himself for whatever might come next.
Daito’s explanation had just wrapped up. If a bomb were going to drop, now would be the time.
And it wasn’t just Yamaguchi who thought so—the entire staff sat on edge, all eyes locked on Wakayama Jun.
“…It’s clear you’ve really studied the original work. I appreciate that. I think we can proceed with this plan.”
Wakayama cast a glance at his editor seated beside him.
Editor Matsuda gave a small, confirming nod in response to that look.
“The script and storyboard work for Episodes 1 through 3 can move forward as proposed. Thank you all for your efforts.”
Watching the author and editor bow in sync—a surreal sight—Daito instinctively checked the time.
“Uh, is there anything else you’d like to say? If it’s just that all the throwable objects have been cleared away and that’s why you haven’t thrown anything yet, I can still go fetch some—”
Unable to accept reality, Director Daito started spouting nonsense.
Yamaguchi quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Haha! Our director’s just… very tired, that’s all! Wakayama-sensei, if it’s alright with you, would you like a quick tour of the studio before you go? We’d be happy to show you around.”
“Oh, in that case—I’ll take you up on the offer for just a bit.”
Jung Junhyuk had been wanting to see how a modern animation studio worked, so when he accepted, Yamaguchi broke into a smile and began leading the way.
＊ ＊ ＊
Despite all the tension, the storyboard/script meeting ended without incident.
As the staff began tidying up the meeting room, Director Daito was getting scolded.
“Are you out of your mind, Director?”
“Do I look like I’m in my right mind?”
Yamaguchi gave a small cough as he looked at Daito, whose dark circles had sunk so low he now looked like a panda that had been punched in the face.
“Well... I mean, if you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have planned such a batshit schedule in the first place. Let’s just move on.”
Yamaguchi let out a sigh and continued.
“If the author’s letting it go, why would we go and ruin it by stirring things up?”
To that, Director Daito let out a short, dry laugh.
“You still don’t get it, Yamaguchi. That meeting was just the opening skirmish. A guy who spent the entire session taking notes didn’t ask a single question. You know what that means?”
“…No way…”
There are two types of complaints an author might make.
One is the kamikaze type who’ll shout right to your face, “You guys don’t understand my work at all! I’m done, forget the anime!”
The other is the backdoor saboteur, who’ll whisper things like, “Yeah, I checked it out… That studio? Total garbage, like actual scrap metal,” and slowly poison your reputation across the industry.
The first type hurts you fast and publicly—but the second type can destroy you over the long haul. And it's far nastier to clean up.
“Remember those notes he took? If we check them, I bet there’s a whole list of nitpicks in there—things he’s just waiting to throw in our faces—huh?”
Daito started flipping through the notepad Wakayama Jun had left behind.
It was a stack of A4-sized sheets—dozens of them. They’d prepared them just in case anyone needed to sketch something out to explain a point visually.
And sure enough, the pages on Wakayama’s desk were filled with drawings.
Storyboards. ‘Actual’ animation storyboards.
Some followed the exact content from the meeting. Others included completely original cuts that had never been discussed.
“Hoh… Hmm.”
Not every original cut was gold, but a few ideas were surprisingly fresh—even ones Daito hadn’t thought of himself.
Yamaguchi, who had wandered over and was now looking at the storyboards beside him, let out a low murmur of admiration.
“Wait… He drew all this during the meeting?”
It looked like he’d even used some of the sheets placed at the editor’s seat to keep drawing.
By rough estimate, there were at least 50 pages.
And all of that had been drawn in just the two-hour meeting—while listening to explanations and answering questions about the original work.
Daito gripped the stack of papers tightly.
“Where did Wakayama-sensei say his studio was again?”
Noticing the fire returning to Daito’s eyes for the first time in forever, Yamaguchi panicked and grabbed his wrist.
“Ah—No! Don’t! Whatever you’re thinking—just don’t!”
“I just want to ask him… to consider collaborating—”
“Everyone, grab him! Quick!”
Yamaguchi’s shout sent the staff swarming in from all directions to subdue the director.
A joint project between the original author and the anime director—when it works, it ‘really’ works.
But most of the time? It’s a fast track to hell.
“Get a bat! We need a bat! Knock him out and make him forget! Induce amnesia!”
It was Daito’s fault for having such a cursed idea in the first place.
If they could just smack his head a few times, maybe he’d go back to having nice, reasonable thoughts.
And so, after being mobbed in a group beatdown, it took several days before Director Daito dared to utter the words “joint project” again.
＊ ＊ ＊
Munch, Munch.
Eating lunch alone in the old school building gave off a gloomy vibe.
In the past, there was Kanna, who would chatter away like a radio even when no one asked—but these past few days, it’s just been me, by myself.
Not that it’s because I don’t have friends or anything!
When Kanna had outside appointments, it was normal for me to eat with classmates.
And when she didn’t have anything scheduled, we’d usually just meet here without even planning it—but lately, she’s been avoiding me.
She only leaves a brief message and makes sure not to run into me.
If I had to give this situation a light novel-style title, it’d probably be something like—“Kanna-chan From My Class Who Keeps Saying She’s Dieting, But Randomly Eats Bread Anyway, Has Been Acting Kinda Strange Lately?”
There’s no way a manly guy like me could ever understand the delicate emotions of a teenage girl.
“Holy shit!”
Still, even a manly guy like me can’t exactly stay calm when a spider suddenly drops onto his arm.
Anyway… I might not get what kind of adolescent crisis she’s going through, but hey, we’re still lunch buddies under the same roof, aren’t we?
So I decided to take the mature route… and approach Kanna-chan, who keeps trying to avoid me.
＊ ＊ ＊
After school, once classes had ended.
Jung Junhyuk quietly followed behind Kanna as she walked home alone.
Kanna was a celebrity.
Striking up a conversation somewhere crowded with people’s eyes on her could put her in an awkward spot.
Wanting to be considerate, Junhyuk waited until Kanna reached a more deserted area before approaching.
Once she turned onto a street with no one around, he quickly stepped up behind her and reached out.
“Kanna—”
At that moment—
Whoosh—
“Gah—!”
Kanna’s elbow jabbed hard into Junhyuk’s lower abdomen.
But that wasn’t the end of Kanna’s assault.
She suddenly grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked hard.
At the same time, she raised her other hand, holding what looked like pepper spray, ready to spray—
“W-Wait! It’s me! Me!”
Writhing in pain, Junhyuk barely managed to calm her down.
“W-What the heck! The stalker was ‘you’, Jun-kun?!”
Kanna’s shocked voice rang out as she suddenly released his hair with a quick slip.
Rubbing his sore scalp, Junhyuk shot her a sharp glare.
“If I go bald in this life too, I swear I won’t forgive you.”
He muttered it quietly enough that she probably didn’t hear—
But the deep grudge in his eyes must’ve gotten through, because Kanna looked genuinely apologetic.
“Ah, sorry… I thought someone was following me. I honestly thought it was a stalker or something.”
“Man… I was just waiting to catch up when you got somewhere quieter…”
As Junhyuk groaned and complained, Kanna gave him a look that said, ‘Are you hearing yourself?’
“When you put it that way, you ‘do’ sound exactly like a stalker though?”
To be fair, Kanna had every right to react the way she did.
Who wouldn’t freak out if someone suddenly came rushing up from behind?
“…Come on, let’s go grab a coffee or something. I feel bad for hitting you. I’ll treat.”
For some reason, Junhyuk looked a little pitiful as he gently touched his hair, eyes full of quiet longing.
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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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