The delay in delivering the genga wasn't a small problem. When one link slipped, the whole chain got dragged with it: Haruto, as animation director, ended up overloaded; Sora Kamakawa, in overall supervision, too. And once the genga stage went off the rails, everything else followed - coloring, compositing, effects… all pushed back.
On an anime production, the moment the schedule starts to drift at the foundation, the gap grows like a snowball. For Ren, who'd logged plenty of miles as a line producer, it wasn't surprising. He'd known from the start that outsourcing that much genga would cause trouble.
When he built the timeline, he'd left a safety buffer. But no one can control a wave of flu knocking out five or six veterans at once, at the worst possible moment. It happened, and overnight the margin of error turned to smoke.
That was why, in the final week before the New Year break, Sora and Ren spent their days calling in favors, asking trusted animators to take on extra cuts to catch up. Even so, the best they could do was reduce the damage - not put the fire out completely.
On the morning of December 30th, the day before the break, Sora ran into Ren right at the studio entrance. One look was enough: the producer's face was drawn, too exhausted to hide it.
"You don't need to grind yourself down like this," Sora said quietly, trying not to make the weight heavier. "A few days late won't stop us from finishing the anime."
Ren let out a slow breath, like he'd been holding it since before sunrise.
"My schedule was tight from the beginning," he admitted. "I planned to wrap all production on The Holy Knight and the Princess four days before broadcast."
He rubbed the back of his neck, staring inside as if the timeline were projected in the air.
"If we slip a few days, we can swallow it. After the break, everyone pulls overtime and we make it back. Worst case… we finish and send the V-Edit to the network on the actual broadcast day. But that's not what scares me."
"Then what does?" Sora asked.
Ren hesitated, and what followed came out heavy - the way it only does when someone has rehearsed the disaster in their head too many times.
"I'm scared something else goes wrong in another department. We kill ourselves on genga, then something blows up in voice recording or compositing… or worse - once the episode's assembled and we watch it as a whole, a major flaw shows up, something that forces us to redo part of the work."
Sora fell silent for a beat, choosing his words.
"I don't think it'll come to that."
Ren shook his head - not denying it, but not able to believe it either.
"Before, most of the work was handled in-house. That prevents a lot of problems early on. But now… with so much outsourced, it feels like more accidents can happen beyond our control." His eyes narrowed as he remembered last night. "Those veterans are just sick, and they promised they'll help once they're better - even from home during the break. But you saw Haruto yesterday… he blew up. Three outsourced cuts got sent back for redraw. It seems small, but it piles up, and suddenly the schedule stretches too far."
Sora forced a light smile, trying not to let the mood sink.
"Those three cuts were the nastiest ones. All alien-creature motion. Even normal animals - cats, dogs - are hard to animate well without long-term observation and experience. If they looked off, it's understandable… don't torture yourself over it."
Sora knew how certain motions could become nightmares on paper. In his previous life, he remembered how people always said adapting certain works was insane - especially when the focus was full-body racing scenes, speed and anatomy pushed to the limit. A horse galloping cleanly, for example, was the kind of thing that separated real skill from the rest: if someone without the level tried to force it, even a casual fan could spot the distortion and lack of harmony instantly.
Ren seemed to loosen a little, as if logic had finally caught up to his anxiety.
"I hope you're right… Maybe I'm overthinking it. This year's already been a series of stumbles for the studio. Maybe the tide turns now. Maybe… the gods owe us some luck too."
He stopped by the small money-tree plant near the entrance and pressed his hands together, dead serious, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"May every saint and every kami listening help us get through this. May The Holy Knight and the Princess keep moving forward without more turbulence, premiere on March 30th, and become a massive hit."
Sora opened his mouth, ready to tease him for being superstitious… but the joke died before it was born. After all, he was standing here living something that didn't make sense by any "logic" he'd sworn by before. If there was a system that could interfere with someone's life, then why couldn't there be things even higher?
His old materialist certainty wasn't as solid as he liked to pretend. He straightened, pressed his hands together too, and with the most serious face imaginable, added:
"And let me get rich. Let me get really rich."
The debt on his back was the kind of thing that wouldn't let him sleep peacefully.
"Pfft…"
A small laugh came from the side, restrained but clear.
Sora and Ren turned at the same time.
There stood Sumire: a long white dress, hair falling over her shoulders, her pretty face dusted with fine snow. The tip of her nose was red from the cold, but her expression was the same as always - cool, proper, almost untouchable.
Sora glanced at his clasped hands and felt heat rise into his cheeks.
"Sumire… was that you laughing just now?"
"No. Why would I laugh at you?" she replied, already walking past them toward the studio.
But the instant she turned fully away, her shoulders shook in the most obvious way, like she was fighting to keep from bursting out laughing.
Sora froze.
So did Ren.
She laughed. She absolutely did.
They exchanged a look, perfectly synchronized in embarrassment.
…
That afternoon, Sora handed out New Year gifts and bonuses in yen to the few employees still on the roster. With that, the studio's week-long holiday officially began.
For most people, it would be a warm, noisy season - family gatherings, laughter, a full table. For Sora, it was different.
Hiroshi Kamakawa wasn't someone he could simply "spend the holidays with," and the mother of the body he now inhabited had died when he was a child. In the end, it was just him - alone.
The house he lived in and the car he drove had an expiration date. If he didn't pay off what he owed within a few months, everything would be seized.
So the next day - Ōmisoka, New Year's Eve - Sora left early and went straight to the studio.
For someone in supervision, work was never-ending. And if he was going to be directionless, he might as well work.
But he hadn't expected one thing.
The studio was already open.
The main lock was undone, and Sora's chest tightened slightly. Only three people had keys: him, Haruto - who'd been close to Hiroshi for years - and Sumire, as the assistant lead on the anime's production team.
Sora stepped into the work area and, from a distance, saw something that didn't belong to a holiday: a small electric heater running beside a desk, and Sumire curled in her chair, flipping through materials and genga with focus sharp enough to cut the world in half.
He didn't try to hide his footsteps, but she was so immersed she didn't notice at all.
"Sumire… you're not going home?"
His voice wasn't loud, but in an empty studio it carried.
"Huh - !"
She startled for real, snapping her head up, eyes widened for an instant. When she saw it was Sora, she reined it in immediately and returned to her usual cold calm.
"You…" she began, then stopped halfway.
She didn't need to finish. She remembered his situation.
Why would Sora come to the studio on New Year's Eve?
Because for him, "home" wasn't something that really existed anymore.
And, apparently… it didn't for her either.
Sumire stayed silent for a few seconds before answering his original question.
"It's just me at home. So it's better to stay here and work. My cuts aren't the most important, but… I want to do the best I can. I want the staging to be perfect."
"Just me."
Sora understood immediately. The kind of loneliness that doesn't need explaining.
"I see…"
He looked around at the empty desks. Two people in an entire studio was awkward: too close felt intrusive; too far felt rude.
In the end, Sora sat two desks away - the distance that still felt "normal" - and watched Sumire return to work without losing her rhythm.
She was ridiculously serious… coming in on New Year's Eve, on a fixed salary, with no overtime pay. Why?
The more he thought about it, the more he arrived at only one answer: love for the craft.
Not wanting to disturb her, Sora pulled out his own materials. He powered up the computer, put on his headphones, opened the software, and took a small composition keyboard out of his bag.
While his fingers tested a few notes, his mind sank into the space only he could access. He repeated the melodies and structures of the original soundtrack in his head, and before any detail could slip away, he wrote them down on blank staff paper. Now and then he played a passage to check the tone and feel, adjusting here and there as if fitting a memory into the present.
More than an hour passed like that.
"What are you doing?"
The question came from behind, unexpected.
Sora was still fully absorbed in recreating those pieces for this world when Sumire's voice pulled him back.