I just wanted you to make a movie: You made a Honkai Star Rail movie

The audience also didn’t think that MiHoYo actually intended for Stelle to die.

Most people were just speculating that this might be a smokescreen.

Judging from the direction of the first two episodes, in the next episode everyone will probably gather around the rest of the Chrysos Heirs.

Castorice is the priestess of death. Therefore, this ”death” is very likely the ”death” in the title Death Titan, rather than actual death.

...

With the end of the second episode, the massive fanbase generated an enormous amount of discussion and feedback.

And because the second episode itself premiered under the global media spotlight, a shocking report was placed before countless people.

By the end of the second episode, the number of viewers had increased by another 80% compared to when it first began airing.

In other words, at least around 600 million people worldwide watched the second episode of the Amphoreus arc.

Compared to the global population that has already surpassed ten billion, these 600 million may not seem like much.

But one must remember that this world’s entertainment landscape operates on a tiered level.

What is truly terrifying is not the number of at least 600 million itself, but the composition of those 600 million people.

Normally speaking, after a show explodes in popularity at its premiere, it inevitably faces some degree of viewer drop-off.

Curious viewers leave, and enthusiasm gradually fades. This is an iron rule of the streaming era.

But Amphoreus went against the trend and continued to rise. That means almost no viewers left midway.

And there were still massive numbers of new viewers continuously joining.

In normal shows, this kind of result was almost impossible. Yet MiHoYo made it a reality.

The cold data is right here. It is far more convincing and truthful than the words of countless opinion leaders.

And... As mentioned earlier, even within a global population of ten billion, there are different social layers.

These 600 million people may seem to represent only about 6% of the world’s population.

But these 600 million almost completely cover the people worldwide who truly have the willingness and ability to consume cultural entertainment.

The rest either lack the objective conditions for cultural consumption, or their lifestyle and environment make such engagement difficult.

In other words, on a certain level, MiHoYo’s Star Rail has already achieved a form of monopoly over streaming-era television.

And using these core 600 million viewers as a foundation, its influence will radiate outward and affect an even more terrifyingly large number of people.

This is unbelievably terrifying. Only by recognizing how frightening this data truly is can one understand why those people in Hollywood reacted so strongly.

At a time when traditional entertainment industries are declining, the benefits that marketing, promotion, and so-called big-name stars can produce are being dismantled step by step by MiHoYo through methods that overturn traditional rules.

Ten years from now, when most people will have grown up watching MiHoYo’s series and absorbing the values conveyed by Star Rail, will the traditional old system still work?

The disruption brought by MiHoYo has also caused huge transformations in other industries.

Traditional celebrities, and even people throughout the entertainment industry, were shocked by these achievements as if possessed. No matter which country they came from, many were nearly losing their minds.

They were envious of these results, but even more anxious about how they could get a share of the pie.

In the past, those international ”superstars” who looked down on others at red carpets and casually received tens of millions of likes on social media fell into unprecedented anxiety and busyness on this day.

Everyone was trying to find connections. Trying to establish contact with MiHoYo.

A cameo appearance? No problem!

As long as they’re given the chance.

Ideally, if they could even get a permanent role in the Star Rail universe, they were even willing to forgo their acting fees.

After all, just look at those previously unknown Okhema Troupe members who appeared in Amphoreus.

The praise, traffic, and attention they received had already far surpassed many so-called big-name international stars.

These people had figured it out. Popularity will fade, and acting fees will eventually be spent.

But becoming a part of the Star Rail universe means securing a seat on the great ship of the future.

Inside the mansion of a certain famous Actress, this woman and her small circle were repeatedly monitoring the viewership data for Amphoreus.

The actress’s voice carried a trembling mixture of longing and barely concealed anxiety.

”My team and I must reassess all of our projects.”

”Tell those studios that want me to compete for awards with art films to put the scripts aside for now.”

”The only goal worth putting our full effort into right now is getting an audition opportunity with MiHoYo. Even if it’s not a leading role, as long as it’s a role that can leave a mark within the narrative built by Star Rail, that’s enough.”

These anxious words, if heard by others, would probably leave them stunned.

After all, for someone of her stature to say such things would normally be unimaginable.

But this actress was not joking. She had already realized that within the Star Rail universe created by MiHoYo, the artistic vitality of a standout supporting character, and the global discussion and recognition it could receive, might surpass ten others dramas.

And this top-tier actress’s thinking was not an isolated case.

In the eyes of artists across different countries around the world, after the second episode of Star Rail delivered its unstoppable impact, obtaining an audition with MiHoYo had already risen to the level of a life dream.

The more reserved ones were still quietly figuring out how to establish connections.

Those who had thrown caution aside were already madly hinting at and tagging MiHoYo on social media.

Even some fans had begun trying to help their idols apply for roles online. Under Star Rail-related topics, they would ”casually” bring up themselves or their idols.

”Feels like XXX’s temperament would be perfect for a Memokeeper.”

”Our sister looks amazing in historical costumes. MiHoYo please take a look, does the future storyline still need new characters?”

”Our brother has been practicing archery for three years, just to prepare for the Hunt!”

These stars, who in the past required producers to visit them three times and whose agents would put on airs, were now rushing to prove how perfectly they fit into the Star Rail universe.

Like peacocks spreading their tails. Their posture had lowered all the way into the dust.

Even more amusing were the capital backers and production companies behind these stars.

In the past, when raising investment and discussing what kind of show they wanted to produce, these people would often use IPs, and labels to paint grand promises for investors.

But ever since the massive explosion of traffic brought by Amphoreus, these same people had suddenly changed their attitudes.

They began reflecting on themselves.

”Our old model of relying on IPs, traffic stars, and famous directors has already stopped working.”

”The audience is no longer buying it.”

”MiHoYo has already proven that if you want to gain global recognition and praise, there is only one core requirement: an ultimate, high-quality story, combined with respect for and refinement of specific cultures.”

”And we are extremely bad at the former, and have never respected the latter.”

”We must change immediately and learn from MiHoYo.”

This was a message posted internally by the CEO of a certain long-established production company.

Situations like this were appearing again and again. Major companies urgently began launching so-called ”Star Rail-like projects,” trying to imitate MiHoYo’s successful formula.

At the same time, these relics from the old era were still using old-era thinking, and even attempted to poach talent from MiHoYo.

They tried to recruit MiHoYo’s screenwriters, the true core personnel.

But when they actually began trying, they were shocked to discover that they couldn’t even find the people they were supposed to poach.

It was as if MiHoYo had hidden all those behind-the-scenes creators away. They didn’t even have a target, let alone the chance to steal talent.

There was no other option. These companies in the traditional entertainment industry could only start competing internally.

Ironically, they began emphasizing things like respecting culture and history within their companies.

The atmosphere became overly pretentious, as if overnight everyone had suddenly turned into scholars and philosophers.

Yet they still couldn’t produce a single work that came close to the real level of Amphoreus.

And the rhetoric they used to repeat, that modern audiences no longer had taste, nor the patience to appreciate deep works, disappeared completely.

The facts proved one thing. It wasn’t that modern audiences lacked patience or taste.

It was that what you produced was simply a pile of garbage. Who would want to eat garbage?

...

At the very center of the storm, inside MiHoYo, everything remained calm.

In the office, a group of people sat together, enjoying some time off.

Aventurine casually scrolled through the messages on his phone.

Ever since the second episode ended, proposals and invitations from major agencies and entertainment companies had sprung up like bamboo shoots after rain.

All these messages were basically flooding toward him.

He only glanced at them before curling the corner of his mouth into an amused smile.

”Things outside have already gone crazy. Those celebrities seem to have caught a disease where they refuse to act unless it’s with MiHoYo. The bidding has gotten so intense that they’re even willing to pay us to appear. Some are even promising to bring their own promotional resources. How should we handle it?”

Everyone listened to Aventurine’s report.

They were both shocked and amused.

”These people have really changed their attitudes. They used to act so untouchable. Now they’re actually willing to pay to work. That’s rare.” Ratio criticized them bluntly.

”A pilgrimage of mediocrities. What they value isn’t art, but fame and profit. Rather than wasting time communicating with them, my suggestion is to close the channel directly.”

”Oh? Ratio, you usually act like you’re willing to teach anyone. Why are you suddenly so selective here?” Aventurine said with interest.

”Do you think these celebrities are people who need my guidance? Are they mediocre?”

”No. They’re geniuses. Geniuses of fame, profit, and desire.” Ratio replied calmly,

”The payment they receive for appearing in a single episode is enough for money to eliminate most of life’s vulgar troubles for them.”

As usual, the two argued back and forth. But no one believed those celebrities truly had any chance.

Because Xia Wen’s attitude had always been very clear. Actors could only be chosen by MiHoYo itself.

And they kept a respectful distance from so-called celebrities.

”Tell the outside world. When MiHoYo chooses actors, we never look at salary or status.”

”We only look at fate.”

At that moment, Xia Wen, who had been sitting on the sofa watching everyone debate with a smile, finally spoke.

How could those people possibly be allowed to join? Every role was essentially a trap.

Using this excuse would at least calm those outsiders who were so jealous they wanted to devour MiHoYo.

And no one could find fault with it.

”Alright, boss. I’ll go tell them.” Aventurine nodded.

...

On the other side, inside the filming set, the people of Okhema, who had just finished reshooting scenes, were resting.

Even on such a critical day, they still preferred staying on set.

It seemed that only working hard could make the anxiety and worry in their hearts disappear.

And after work ended, the explosive reaction to the second episode left the entire set silent.

”My god... six hundred million people?!”

”How many people does our country even have again?”

Phainon had the most reshoot scenes. After filming all day, his head was already spinning.

But when he saw the numbers on his phone, his mind felt even more overwhelmed.

He knew Star Rail was popular. But before this, there had never been a clear number telling him just how popular it was.

Now, whenever Phainon thought about his performance being watched by six hundred million people, his whole body stiffened and turned cold.

The others weren’t much better.

”...The number almost feels meaningless now.” Aglaea had already collapsed back in her chair, rubbing the corner of her eyes while staring at her phone and muttering.

Once upon a time, her greatest fantasy had only been for Okhema’s theater performances to fill a venue of several thousand people.

Her biggest dream had simply been for everyone to one day step into a ten-thousand-seat theater.

But now, with the help of Star Rail, it felt like they had already surpassed theaters entirely.

”Th-th-this... this is too terrifying!” Hyacine’s small face was excited.

She remembered that she had just finished filming her highlight moment.

After filming it, Hyacine had actually felt pretty good about her performance.

She thought the audience would probably like it. But now that confidence had completely vanished.

In the past, Hyacine believed that the greater the audience’s expectations, the better she could perform.

Carrying so many people’s hopes could actually become her motivation.

But this... six hundred million... was a bit too many.

Hyacine’s head began to spin.

A powerful urge surged within her, making her want to reshoot her scenes fifty more times, just to select the very best version.

Phainon felt the same pressure. After learning that so many people would be watching his performance, he felt he needed to put in six hundred million times more effort to give the audience his best.

”What are you two trying to do?!” Furina, who was already exhausted, looked at Phainon and Hyacine with a terrified expression.

Gods have mercy! Ever since Xia Wen had Furina and Rick, he had basically stopped participating in filming.

As the assistant director, she had practically become the director in name, everything had to be filmed by her!

And Phainon and the others’ enthusiasm for work was clearly about to skyrocket again.

How could there be people who liked working overtime this much?! Furina simply couldn’t understand it!