I'm Not A Master, I'm A Director (Type-Moon Fanfiction) - Chapter 27: Aoko: Is This a Movie or a Magus' Gathering?

Shinji still had no idea that he had once again become famous in the magus community.

However, even if he knew, he wouldn’t care. After all, he had more important things to do right now—promoting Fate/Stay Night.

After three days of long waiting, Bandai finally compiled the audience feedback data from all the trial screenings across the country.

This speed could hardly be considered fast, but for a country that still used three fax machines to compile nationwide epidemiological data twenty years later, Shinji didn’t expect it to be any faster.

This nationwide trial screening can be said to be very successful. Not only did the audience praise it, but many viewers also explicitly stated that they would watch the movie again after its official release.

Among those who said such things, there were definitely quite a few “freeloaders” who would watch it for free, but the overall enthusiasm of the audience was undoubtedly a good thing.

Leveraging the momentum of the trial screenings, Shinji, along with several main cast members, also accepted an interview with the media.

Given Bandai’s conservative distribution strategy, they couldn’t attract major newspapers, and with Shinji’s strong request to conduct the interview in Fuyuki City, there were even fewer reporters willing to participate in this slightly strange interview. Only reporters from mid to low-tier media outlets were willing to conduct this somewhat peculiar interview.

These journalists’ attention was mostly focused on the two main actors, Arturia Pendragon and Shirou Emiya. Although Shinji was mentioned, his level of attention was far lower than theirs.

This was also related to Bandai’s publicity strategy. Shinji, as an unknown rookie director, lacked a selling point, while Arturia Pendragon, who had already garnered a considerable following from the trial screenings, was more likely to attract the attention of fans and the media.

Therefore, Bandai’s publicity strategy for Fate/Stay Night revolved around the actors.

If Fate/Stay Night was a huge success, Shinji’s next film could be promoted with the label “Director of Fate/Stay Night.”

The journalists who conducted the interviews had all seen the movie, so they were more interested in interviewing Gilgamesh than the male lead, Shirou Emiya. Although Shirou’s performance in the movie was commendable, his goody-two-shoes character didn’t leave as strong an impression as Gilgamesh did.

However, Shinji wouldn’t dare to release Gilgamesh during this critical period of promotion.

Even if it was Gilgamesh in his “Wise King” form, his tone of speech was by no means pleasant. He was not only arrogant but also condescending.

In fact, as long as Gilgamesh didn’t constantly use phrases like “mongrels,” his arrogant and proud attitude could be marketed as a “tsundere” character.

However, it was still too early, and Shinji planned to use this guy as a promotional point after the movie achieved a certain level of success.

Compared to the troublesome Gilgamesh, Shinji felt much more at ease with Arturia Pendragon.

Although she maintained a serious demeanor throughout, it could be explained as a new actress being too nervous to put on a facade.

As for Shinji himself, when asked by reporters about matters related to the movie, he mostly used clichés like “I have full confidence in the movie,” “The performances of the cast were all excellent,” and “Arturia Pendragon is my favorite actress” to get through the questions.

As the interview concluded, the point screening date set by Bandai was getting closer and closer.

Under Shinji’s careful attention, he finally saw news and advertisements for FSN in the media.

It was said that he was paying close attention because the promotional conditions for FSN were not very favorable. The television broadcast of the movie trailer was scheduled for the late-night slot, the newspapers running advertisements were third-rate, the interviews with the cast were published in magazines with mediocre sales, and even in the theaters hosting the point screening, the movie posters were placed in inconspicuous locations…

Shinji was not very satisfied with Bandai’s timid distribution model, and even Nao, the producer, was dissatisfied with the company’s overly conservative approach.

However, the person who formulated the distribution plan was not her but her superior, Kazunori Ueno.

For Kazunori Ueno, who was about to be promoted to president of Bandai, the success of FSN would be icing on the cake, but if it failed, it would be a disaster and would deal a significant blow to his prestige.

At this critical moment, Kazunori Ueno, for the sake of his own future, was willing to earn money a little more slowly and control costs as much as possible in publicity.

This “not seeking merits, but seeking no faults” approach was translated into the fact that even though the word-of-mouth from the trial screenings was extremely positive, there were only 30 copies of the film for the first round of point screenings.

Fortunately, Shinji’s previous promotional suggestions had an impact. Bandai’s publicity was more focused on the audience aged 15 to 30, rather than the traditional audience of those over 30.

However, as for how effective this publicity strategy would be, Nao herself didn’t know, but she believed that the overall direction should be correct.

“Hehe, that movie has been released.”

In an office in Tokyo, film critic Ippei Kawachi, who was reading reviews in the newspaper, suddenly chuckled disdainfully.

“Which movie?”

The assistant next to him asked with a flattering tone.

“It’s the movie I watched a month ago.”

Ippei set aside the newspaper and picked up his teacup, sneering.

“Hmph, a tacky movie with nothing but explosions and flashes. It’s a waste of my time.”

Ippei’s words were full of disdain and disgust, as if he felt that FSN had tainted his eyes.

“What is Bandai thinking? They’re actually planning to release such a movie… Really, the taste of Japanese film companies is getting lower and lower. Can’t they be a bit more artistic like European films?!”

Ippei sighed with deep regret, as if he was very dissatisfied with the current state of Japanese cinema, which he believed had lost its way and its moral compass.

“Mr. Kawachi, please calm down~” The assistant smiled wryly. “Such low-quality movies usually don’t get much attention and won’t occupy prominent spaces like this. I think this film is likely to have a short run in theaters.”

“Hmph, that’s the best outcome!”

Ippei said coldly.

Although he said such things, he felt that it was an insult to him for such a movie to even be shown in theaters for a week.

Even though he had already dismissed this movie so negatively, Bandai dared to release it. Did they have no regard for his opinion?!

Ippei ordered his assistant, “Put Bandai on the blacklist. In the future, refuse any requests related to their films.”

“Understood.”

The assistant nodded in response, and he didn’t care about his boss’s demands. The films released by Bandai were either animations or tokusatsu, and they were far from Ippei’s taste. The two sides were not on the same page to begin with, so canceling cooperation would not result in any loss.

“Do we have any new job invitations today?”

After belittling Bandai, Ippei finally shifted his attention back to his work.

The assistant promptly picked up an envelope from his desk. “There are no new invitations, but Shochiku sent a thank-you letter.”

“Let me see…”

Ippei picked up the envelope and glanced at it. It was a thank-you letter from Shochiku for his positive review earlier in the year.

The film he had praised was about the redemption journey of a criminal, which was right up Ippei’s alley. As a result, he had given it high praise in his newspaper column.

The movie had already grossed 1 billion yen at the box office and was still playing in theaters. Shochiku Eiga was very grateful for Ippei’s positive review and had sent him a bonus of 1.5 million yen.

Ippei naturally pocketed the check from the envelope. “Shochiku seems to know what’s good for them. They’re much better than some obscure film companies.”

The assistant responded with a smile, “Of course, Shochiku knows very well that this movie’s success is largely thanks to Mr. Kawachi’ endorsement.”

“Hahaha, you’re absolutely right! The prosperity of Japanese cinema relies entirely on us film critics, hahaha!”

Ippei’s hearty laughter echoed throughout the office as he put aside his displeasure with that terrible movie.

FSN? What was that? Was it worth the attention of someone like him?

That kind of thing that he felt polluted his eyes would have no audience, no box office, and would slowly rot away in a corner. That should be the ultimate fate of that movie.

What Ippei didn’t know was that the vast majority of anime fans and moviegoers were unaware of the upcoming release of FSN. However, there was one group of people who had been eagerly waiting for this movie for a long time.

On April 14, 2003, a very ordinary Monday, FSN premiered in Japan with screenings in 25 theaters.

There was no premiere, no media event, not even a big announcement. FSN quietly and unobtrusively made its debut.

However, those who had been keeping an eye on the release of FSN were among the first to arrive at the movie theaters.

‘Last time, I couldn’t see some details because Aoko was constantly talking. This time, I must…’

Alice clenched her fists and pumped herself up, her eyes filled with determination.

Thanks to the fact that FSN was released on a weekday, there weren’t many people in the movie theater, which made Aoko, who didn’t like being around others, very happy.

She glanced at her watch and saw that the screening time was approaching, so Aoko stood up and prepared to enter the screening room.

Suddenly, a familiar surprised voice sounded from beside her.

“Hey, Alice , what are you doing here?”

Aoko turned to look and saw her very familiar friend, Aoko Aozaki.

“Aoko… What a coincidence.”

Despite feeling a bit flustered inside, Aoko greeted her with a nonchalant demeanor.

Aoko awkwardly scratched her head and said, “Yeah, quite a coincidence.”

A coincidence? Not at all. There were only 25 theaters nationwide, and in all of Tokyo, there were only three theaters with point screenings.

…”

…”

While Alice and Aoko were playing the staring game at the entrance, someone else joined the conversation.

“Isn’t this the young lady of the Aozaki family?”

“You are…”

The short-haired young man in front of her made Aoko vaguely remember his face, but she couldn’t recall his name.

“I’m from the Shibamatsu family.” He introduced himself. “Aozaki-san, are you here to watch this movie, just like us?”

“Us?”

Aoko noticed that behind Shibamatsu, there were five or six people.

Although she couldn’t name them, Aoko knew that all these people came from magus families.

“My grandfather thought it was embarrassing for him to come and watch a movie at his age, so he specifically sent me over.” Shibamatsu smiled wryly. “A few of us were like this, so we decided to come together.”

“Is that so?”

Aoko didn’t know how to respond and could only smile awkwardly while maintaining her politeness.

But it didn’t end there. After Aoko and Alice entered the theater, several groups of young men and women gradually entered the hall, and without exception, they were all young people from magus families.

By the end, Aoko realized that there were very few ordinary people in the entire theater, and most of them were from the world of magic.

“What the heck is going on? Is this a gathering of second-generation magus in Tokyo?!”

As Aoko sat in her seat, ready to watch FSN for the second time, she was completely bewildered.