It was as if every frame was still hanging in the air, drifting.
Inside Yume Animation, the entire staff- just over a dozen people- sat staring at the Shikoku TV broadcast with blank, steady eyes, like they were trying to hold on to something already slipping through their fingers. A slow, stubborn emptiness pressed against their chests.
It was over.
Three months that had felt long and, at the same time, too happy to fit neatly inside memory. During the final week, almost everyone had been running on no sleep, stacking late nights upon late nights to finish the last touches on Voices of a Distant Star. And yet, now that the episode had finally aired, what remained wasn't pure relief- it was the ache of missing it before it had even settled.
In Japan, animation drove a massive part of the creative industry, but the people who carried the real weight at the bottom rarely saw it reflected in their paychecks. The pressure was relentless, the workload brutal, and still… anyone who chose to stay in this world usually did so because they loved it, at least a little. For Sumire, it was exactly that: exhausting to the point of pain, and yet, deep down, she'd enjoyed it.
Because they knew what they'd made. This wasn't another disposable, paint-by-numbers anime you watched on autopilot and forgot the next day. This was something real- something that could hook into the heart and force the audience to swallow hard. Being part of work like that gave you a kind of pride money couldn't buy.
But in the end, everything ends.
The premiere ratings were still a mystery- the station wouldn't release the numbers until the next day. As for the audience reaction… no one had really stopped to check. And the question that kept circling, cruel and insistent, still had no answer: after a project like this, would Yume Animation survive, or would it finally collapse- swallowed whole by the debt that had existed long before the inheritance?
But at least tonight… they chose not to think about it.
After setting aside what they'd need to pay out over the next few days- back wages and the remaining balances owed to subcontracted studios- there was still a little left in the company account. Not much, but it was there.
Sora Kamakawa let out a short, restrained smile, cleared his throat, and broke the silence.
"Alright. To celebrate Voices of a Distant Star airing smoothly tonight- and, more importantly, to thank you for the work you've put in over these past three months… we're having a staff get-together. Company treats."
The room shifted as if someone had cracked open a window. Smiles appeared, shoulders loosened, people looked at one another like they could finally breathe again.
Beside him, Sumire lifted her phone without drawing attention. The screen was already open to the country's biggest animation and film forum: Natsuyume.
And there, the threads about Voices of a Distant Star had exploded.
What stood out was the near-unanimity.
Half the posts sounded like they'd been written by people with broken hearts- cursing the writer as if he'd committed an unforgivable crime, calling him cold, cruel, "soulless," like his head had been slammed in a door.
But at the same time, almost everyone praised the production without holding back: the sheer quality, the meticulous detail, and especially those space battles with mecha- bold framing, inventive cuts, a sense of impact that made you want to rewind just to feel it again.
Sumire couldn't quite suppress her smile.
From what the internet was saying right then, the audience had loved it. They suffered for the story- for the impossible bond between Mikako and Noboru, for the agony of wanting and never reaching- and they turned that pain into devoted resentment toward the "creator god" behind it all: the director and scriptwriter, Sora Kamakawa.
It was the first time, across all the anime Sumire had worked on, that a premiere hadn't come with complaints about quality, direction, or "low budget." It was a sea of praise. The hatred was reserved for the ending.
…
The next day, March 31st, the official numbers dropped.
Within Shikoku TV's broadcast range- the four prefectures it covered- Voices of a Distant Star posted an average rating of 3.54%.
By the station's recent standards, it was an outstanding result.
All it took was one comparison: the show that had occupied the same time slot the week before, The Magical Swordswoman Charlene, had averaged 3.11% across its eleven episodes. In other words, Voices of a Distant Star didn't just hold the slot after the previous series ended- it actually climbed, without tanking the numbers, without angering sponsors, without creating a headache.
The people in charge at the station were practically speechless.
The only pity was obvious: it wasn't a seasonal, weekly series. If an anime could debut with numbers like that, its potential after a full cour- three months of broadcast- would have been staggering.
Over on Natsuyume, the noise was even louder.
Since Voices of a Distant Star had aired officially on television, the site rolled out a dedicated rating page early that morning. In Japan, only the major national networks- Tokyo's five private giants and NHK, the public broadcaster- had true nationwide reach. Regional stations depended on their own signal strength, covering their local area and, at most, neighboring regions.
Any work that aired on a major regional station or above was cataloged on Natsuyume and opened up for scoring.
In the winter season alone, more than one hundred and seventy anime had aired across stations nationwide. Aside from a small number broadcast by the national networks- shows that had fans everywhere- most titles stayed confined to their broadcast regions. For viewers elsewhere, seeing those series meant one thing: buying the Blu-ray once it released.
And that raised the inevitable question: was it worth spending yen on?
In those moments, Natsuyume's ratings and comment sections were the compass.
Across that enormous list, most titles struggled to break 6.0. Only nine cleared 8.0. And above 9.0, until then, there had been just one: Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds - Season 2, a hit that premiered on one of the big networks and held a 9.1 after drawing millions of ratings.
But on March 31st- the very last day of the winter season- everyone noticed the rankings change in a way no one expected.
Out of nowhere, a short film appeared.
A single episode. Barely any runtime. And with a score that looked like a typo: 9.2.
Voices of a Distant Star had overtaken Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds and seized the top spot.
People opened the rankings and stared at the #1 title with the same expression you wore when you thought you'd misread something.
A dark horse on the final day?
Suspicion came fast: not enough voters, fans inflating the score, premiere hype. But when they looked closer… the number of ratings was already over one hundred and fifty thousand.
One hundred and fifty thousand people giving it 9.2.
That wasn't the work of a handful.
Curiosity swallowed even the skeptics, and fans from outside the region plunged into the comments.
And it was chaos- glorious, messy chaos.
Thousands of posts: roughly a third screaming that Sora was "heartless" for refusing to give Rinka a happy ending; another third raving like there was no ceiling- about the music, the combat, the mecha-and-space-battle storyboards that were "insanely good"; and the remaining third digging up everything they could about the director himself.
By the time a single night had passed, his profile was laid bare as if he were already a celebrity.
Eighteen years old.
One year out of high school.
Heir to a name, forced to step in when the crisis hit.
Handled direction, script, and music composition on his own.
The tone in the threads shifted from praise to outright worship. People said Shikoku had found a rare genius, that Sora was a talent that didn't appear for years at a time, that he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with acclaimed directors from Tokyo's major studios. Some fans were practically placing him on a pedestal.
And that was when a lot of outsiders started to sneer.
"Shikoku fans exaggerate like crazy."
"It's a one-episode short- how does that deserve 9.2?"
"Twenty-something minutes isn't even enough time to build a world."
"'Battle cuts ten years ahead of the industry'? Give me a break."
Once they realized it was a short directed by an eighteen-year-old, many lost interest immediately. The score was high, sure- but short films weren't a priority for most people, much less something worth paying for on Blu-ray.
"Buying a Blu-ray for an anime made by some kid fresh out of school? I'd have to be insane."
But not everyone thought that way.
Some fans- whether they liked it or not- respected numbers. It was the highest-rated anime of the season, with a voting base far too large to dismiss as manipulation. And if it was real…
Plenty of people went straight to check the Blu-ray release date for Voices of a Distant Star.
Whether it was gold or just noise… they'd find out when it hit the shelves.