Parallel World Light Novelist

Chapter 164: Chapter 163: We Became the Highest Rated Show, and Somehow Even Busier

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6.03%

That was the average viewership rating for the twelfth and final episode of Puella Magi Madoka Magica. At its absolute peak during the closing minutes, the rating spiked to an incredible 6.39%, having climbed steadily from its lowest point of 5.8% at the start of the broadcast.

In the end, it happened.

The episode broke the legendary 6% barrier.

This was no longer a statistic confined to the realm of anime.

In the television market for the summer quarter, spanning from April to June, this series had officially become the highest-rated program across all genres, beating out prime-time dramas, variety shows, live sports, and documentaries. It was a true cultural phenomenon.

The popularity of Madoka Magica had surged with such terrifying velocity that the traditional television and animation industries barely had time to process what was happening.

By the time they looked up, they only saw the series’ vanishing silhouette as it raced ahead, leaving its seasonal competitors in the dust.

Even the employees at Haruto’s production company were wearing expressions of pure disbelief. They had been in a state of shock since the ninth episode shattered the niche barrier, but this was on another level.

This was a team of stray soldiers, industry outcasts, people who had been let go by larger studios, or those who had quit due to toxic management, and together, they had created a miracle.

The animation director, Takeda, was particularly dazed.

Do you know what the industry was calling him now? A once-in-a-decade prodigy.

A veteran who spent twenty years in the shadows just to forge this masterpiece.

Takeda hadn’t slept a wink the previous night. He had spent the entire time reading reviews, feeling a mix of happiness and embarrassment.

He knew the truth.

While he had fulfilled his duties as a director, the soul of the work didn’t belong to him. The art style, the character designs, the choreography of the battle sequences, the musical tone, even the composition of the soundtrack itself, Haruto had been deeply involved in every single thing.

Haruto might have claimed to be an amateur in actual production, but his suggestions were surgical. They weren’t the rambling nonsense of an uninformed meddler.

They were visionary directives that the market had now proven to be 100% correct. Takeda couldn’t fathom how a university student had such a lethal eye for detail.

’Is he a genius in the field of animation as well?’ he wondered.

But the public didn’t know that.

They credited Takeda for the masterpiece, and he wasn’t about to turn down the praise. He knew that his twenty-year streak of being a no-name hack was officially over.

From this day forward, he was a top-tier director in the industry. Having Series Director of Puella Magi Madoka Magica on his resume was a golden ticket that would sustain his career until retirement.

When he arrived at the office today and saw the chairman, Haruto, his smile was the most genuine thing about him.

Haruto, Reina, and Yukino, were all present.

Since the company was still a lean operation, the entire staff was summoned to the conference room. Haruto’s opening statement sent a jolt of excitement through the room.

”The Madoka Magica project has been a monumental success. I promise you all that your bonuses will reflect that achievement.”

With such unprecedented ratings, the return on investment was expected to be ten or twenty times the initial production cost. Bonuses were a certainty, and they were going to be generous. Haruto understood that a brilliant boss who was also a cheapskate would never keep a talented team together.

The royalties from the tankobon sales of his novel, Parasyte, had finally been fully processed. Over the past six months, he had released six volumes with an average sales figure of 5.6 million copies per volume, bringing the total domestic sales to over 33 million copies.

To avoid the staggering 30% personal income tax bracket, he didn’t have the money paid into his personal account. Instead, it went to Dream Culture, a company he had established for his intellectual property. The total amount sitting in that account crossed billions.

As for the use of those funds, Haruto loaned the entire amount from Dream culture to Haru-Yuki Animation to serve as the production budget for the theatrical sequel, The Rebellion Story.

Haruto didn’t fully grasp the nuances of corporate finance, but the legal department at Kiyozawa Library was very helpful; they knew exactly how wealthy young authors liked to move their money and had already prepared several tax-efficient strategies for him.

”However, the actual payout of the bonuses will be delayed by a short period,” Haruto added, making his point clear. ”Every yen currently in the company account must be funneled into the production of our theatrical feature.”

The staff nodded in understanding. No matter how high the ratings were, they had to wait for the merchandise, Blu-rays, and secondary licensing revenue to actually hit the bank. The company had been running for six months now, and up until this moment, they hadn’t seen a single yen of profit. Everything had been sustained by the personal investments of the three directors.

Yukino had borrowed 10 million yen from her connections to keep things afloat. Reina, whose new novel Blade of the Other Side had become a massive hit, had also loaned her royalties, amounting to several million yen, to Haruto.

During the broadcast of the anime, Haruto had invested every spare cent into marketing, buying top-tier search engine keywords and social media trends.

Now that the series had concluded, international broadcasters were practically banging down the doors to negotiate licensing rights for overseas markets. But that money was still a month or two away. Meanwhile, the movie had to be produced both quickly and with high quality. They needed to strike while the iron was hot, ideally within the three-month window following the finale, to maximize their profits.

The money he earned from Parasyte had to be split: half for production, half for the promotion of the movie, the Blu-ray sets, and the merchandise. Plus, the lease on their office space was coming up for renewal, and they needed another few million just to stay in the building.

Rent in a prime Tokyo area was notoriously high.

Haruto simply didn’t have the liquid cash for bonuses yet. He had been dreaming of buying a high-end sports car since before he entered university, but that dream was still just a concept in a brochure.

He was broke.

Only now did Haruto truly understand the struggle of an entrepreneur.

Every time the company expanded, the capital requirements grew exponentially. Even someone like him, who could pull in millions of yen from a single work, was feeling the pinch. He couldn’t imagine how people managed to start from zero.

But if they could just hold on for two more months until the Madoka revenue started rolling in, everything would change. The total profit for this series was going to be measured in the billions.

After the meeting concluded and the goals for the coming months were set, the staff left the room, their spirits high. Only Haruto, Reina, and Yukino remained.

”So... want to go out and walk around for a bit?” Yukino asked with a playful smile, her face radiant.

”I’m fine with that. I don’t have any elective classes this afternoon. What about you, Reina?” Haruto checked his watch.

”I don’t mind. I’ll just skip class,” Reina said casually.

”Wait, you’re the top-ranked student in our entire major. Don’t say things like that so lightly! You’re making me feel like a bad influence,” Haruto retorted.

”A bad influence?” Reina looked at him curiously.

”Before you met me, I bet you hadn’t skipped a single class in your entire life. Now I feel like the delinquent friend leading you astray,” Haruto grumbled.

”Hmm... that is true,” Reina thought about it for a second and nodded. Then, seeing Haruto’s stunned expression, her lips curled into a tiny, rare smile. ”But it was my choice to be led astray.”

”Oh, please. It’s just an elective class. You two act like it’s some grand rebellion,” Yukino said, rolling her eyes.

For several months, Haruto and Yukino had been buried under the mountain of work that came with the Madoka broadcast, while Reina had been busy with the serialization of her new novel. The three of them hadn’t had a chance to simply hang out together like this in over half a year.

They headed to a nearby shopping district to eat and relax. Naturally, they didn’t get far before fans recognized them and asked for photos. They quickly bought masks to cover their faces as they didn’t need the headlines or the drama that would inevitably follow on the forums tomorrow. In a game center, Haruto was locked in a life-or-death struggle with a crane machine.

”Hey, Haruto. What’s the plan from here on out?”

Yukino was sitting on a nearby stool, watching the claw descend toward a plushie.

”The plan?” Haruto replied, his eyes fixed on the machine as his hands worked the joystick. ”What do you mean?”

”The company currently has 71 employees. They aren’t rookies; they’re all seasoned industry pros, which means their salaries aren’t cheap. When you add in the rent, utilities, and operational costs, the burn rate is massive. The profits from Madoka will be huge, but we can’t just rest yet. The movie is only ninety minutes long; we’ll be finished with production before you know it. We need to start thinking about the company’s direction once the Madoka Chapter is closed.”

Reina took a sip of her drink, her ears perked up as she listened intently. Yukino was right. As the managers of the company, they had to be thinking months, if even years, ahead.

If Haruto had bigger ambitions for the industry, he needed to start laying the groundwork now.

Haruto dropped another coin into the machine, his gaze narrowing.

”I know...”

Running a company wasn’t like writing a novel. A light novel could end, and the author could take a six-month break before starting something new. But an animation studio was a living beast. The cost of maintaining that staff was staggering.

”I’m so broke right now I can’t even buy the car I want,” Haruto laughed. ”I have no intention of paying people to sit around and do nothing. I’ll have the script for our next project ready as soon as possible.”