Parallel World Light Novelist

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The April season this year was exceptionally bleak. There were only seventy-two new series making their debut, which was a significant drop of thirty titles compared to the previous year. Within this lineup, forty-seven were low-budget productions with investments under 300 million yen, twenty-one were mid-range projects between 400 and 600 million yen, and four titles had budgets exceeding 1 billion yen.

Among these few high-budget works was Code Geas. Many isekai, and shonen anime that were originally slated for April had almost collectively fled to July, October, or even next January once they realized they would be competing directly with Haruto.

This left the market feeling quite deserted.

The other three high-budget shows remained only because they belonged to the romance, comedy, or slice-of-life genres, which didn’t directly compete for the same audience.

Their producers hoped that by occupying a different niche, they could avoid a total collapse in Blu-ray sales and licensing revenue, though they were still essentially bracing for impact.

This left many feeling quite bitter.

Even major players like the Big Three studios had rescheduled their projects.

They had learned a painful lesson over the last two years. Their high-stakes investments had been utterly dismantled by Madoka Magica and Edgerunners, suffering defeat across television ratings, the Blu-ray market, merchandise sales, and even international licensing auctions. They had barely managed to break even on those projects.

This year, they decided not to be stubborn. They conceded that Haruto was a force to be reckoned with, but they reasoned that his influence could only last so long. They figured they would simply step aside for a few months and reclaim their dominance by the summer and fall seasons. This strategic retreat was met with plenty of mockery from others.

”They’ve already lost the psychological battle,”

”No one can produce three massive hits in three consecutive years. I’m not doubting Haruto’s talent, but everyone hits a slump eventually. Maybe he finally got overconfident and dumped 3 billion yen into a dud. I’m talking about Code Geass. Isn’t there a chance it’ll be a total disaster?”

”Objectively, that is a possibility. I just don’t believe it for a second.”

”Who would dare to bet against him? The big studios are corporations; they don’t mind losing a little face if it means protecting their profits.”

”But it’s pathetic. The Big Three have ruled the industry for decades, yet now they’re being bullied by a studio that’s only a few years old.”

”They tried to fight back the last two years and got humiliated for it!”

”That’s a bit harsh, but you’re not wrong. It made me laugh.”

”The April market is basically a joke.”

”I heard from a friend at Tokyo TV1 that Code Geass is a fifty-episode series that will run for two consecutive seasons. If that’s true, it’s going to bleed into the fall season as well.”

”Fifty episodes? Are you serious?”

”I heard the same thing. People are saying it’s a full year-long broadcast.”

”Don’t listen to rumors. No one knows the exact contract between Tokyo TV1 and Haru-Yuki Animation. Some say twenty-five episodes, some say fifty. It’ll probably just end in the summer like Edgerunners did.”

”But if it really is a year-long epic, and it maintains the quality of Madoka or Edgerunners... then for the next year, fans won’t have eyes for anything else.”

”True. The money and time of the audience are limited. Most fans are students with a set allowance that only covers a few Blu-rays or figures a month. They will always go for the highest quality, most popular work. That’s why everyone is running from Code Geass; they need to separate their release dates from his.”

The entire industry sat with bated breath as the premiere date of April 4th approached.

Tokyo TV1, having successfully collaborated with Haruto on previous projects, had secured the broadcast rights for a staggering 200 million yen for the first three months.

They weren’t being reckless; Haruto’s brand was a verified gold mine. With tens of millions of fans across manga, novels, and anime, sponsors were lining up to pay massive premiums for ad spots during his show. Tokyo TV1 stood to make a significant profit on the deal.

Starting April 1st, the station used every spare moment to loop the Code Geass trailers. Their broadcast schedule was also aggressively designed. While the premiere was Sunday at 8:00 PM, the show would be rebroadcast once a day from Monday through Saturday at various times, morning, noon, afternoon, evening, and late night.

They wanted to ensure that every fan, regardless of their work or school schedule, would have a chance to watch it. If you spent 200 million on a show, you made sure you squeezed every last drop of value out of it.

Meanwhile, Haruto funded his own promotional campaigns across the major metropolitan areas. During the first three days of April, the other new shows began to air. Their results were largely consistent with their budgets, with ratings ranging from 0.1% to 3.0%. The top performer was a school comedy called My Neighbor is an Idiot, which debuted at 2.72%.

Finally, April 4th arrived. It was a beautiful, sunny day. For most people, it was just another Sunday, but for Haruto’s fans, the celebration had begun at sunrise.

”Finally. It’s 3:00 PM. Five more hours to go.”

”Let’s go, boys! It’s finally time!”

”I wonder what the man himself is doing right now?”

”He’s at a fan meeting in Hokkaido. I’m actually in the crowd right now.”

”Man, he went all the way there for this?”

”He’s visited five cities in the last week. I’ve never seen him push a show this hard. Given how much he’s personally invested in the promotion, the quality of Code Geass has to be insane.”

”I believe it. The trailers and production budget are on a completely different level from Madoka or Edgerunners. The results should be even bigger.”

”I still find it hard to believe anything could top Madoka.”

”It is a high bar.”

”Two years ago, a show with a 300 million yen budget became an insurmountable mountain. Even Edgerunners, as strong as it was, still fell slightly short of Madoka’s total sales. It’s sitting at second place all-time, which is a bit of a tragedy.”

”Right now, no one can challenge Madoka’s record except Haruto himself. He’s always said that Madoka wasn’t his peak. He doesn’t want to be someone who peaked at his debut. I hope he realizes that dream with Lelouch.”

”To beat Madoka, he has to break the mold of traditional storytelling again. Code Geass looks like it’s full of new ideas. Mechas, superpowers, political drama... if he pulls this off, he’ll start a new craze in the community.”

The hype reached its boiling point by 7:00 PM. As the evening news concluded, the usual weather report was followed by Tokyo TV1’s scheduled block of commercials.

At 7:45 PM, the ratings for the station began to skyrocket exactly as predicted. It jumped from 2.31% to 3.5% in three minutes, and by 7:50 PM, it had shattered the 4% mark.

The staff monitoring the real-time data felt their hearts pounding. A crowd of executives and employees had gathered at the headquarters to watch the numbers. Even for a top-tier station, they had never seen a show hit 4% before a single second of it had actually aired. This was a level of draw that far surpassed the most famous idol actors.

At 7:55 PM, Mizore put down her phone and stopped chatting. She turned her full attention to the television.

As expected, the station was looping the trailer she had already seen dozens of times. Over the past week, hardcore fans had analyzed every single frame of that footage, theorizing about the plot and the setting.

Mizore had followed those theories closely and was approaching the premiere with a sense of curiosity. She wanted to see if any of the fans had actually managed to guess Haruto’s vision.

She took a long sip of her soda.

Suddenly, the screen flickered and the audio changed. Mizore tensed up.

The sound of cicadas filled the air. A distant shot showed children playing in the countryside. As they turned around, the camera panned to a massive volcano in the distance where flocks of birds were taking flight in a panic. Then came the roar of engines as a tide of fighter jets and giant machines swept across the sky.

The cinematography went out of its way to emphasize the crushing weight and presence of these war machines. Haruto had spared no expense on the budget for the first episode.

Mizore didn’t know the story yet, but the visual quality conquered her in the first ten minutes. After years of watching anime, seeing Code Geass was like stepping out of a village and seeing a high-end film set for the first time.

Everyone and everything looked peak.

A female voice began to narrate.

”In the year 2010 of the Imperial Calendar, the Holy Empire of Britannia declared war on Japan. Japan, a neutral nation, stood against the world’s only superpower.”

The narration briefly and clearly explained the world’s status quo. The world’s only superpower? Japan? Mizore found the setting fascinating. In the real world, power was split between several major nations that kept each other in check.

Mizore’s group chats were exploding with theories based on just the opening few minutes. The prologue concluded with a shot of two children standing in the middle of a ruined landscape: Lelouch and Suzaku.

”Suzaku, I swear it... one day, I will obliterate Britannia!”

Lelouch’s voice was high-pitched but filled with a venomous, deep-seated hatred. That single declaration established the core narrative of the entire series. Then, the opening theme began to play.

The story had officially started.