Third POV
"Aqua, are you absolutely sure you want to be cast in this romance drama, 'I'll Go Sweet With You Today'?"
Miyako Saitou's voice was thick with doubt. Aqua had just informed them that Arima Kana had invited him back into the entertainment industry for an acting role. The part? A stalker. The bitter irony was not lost on Miyako, considering his mother had died at the hands of one. But that disturbing parallel wasn't even her main concern right now.
Across from her, Ruby's eyes were sparkling with immediate, uncritical excitement at the conversation. "Brother, you're going to audition to be an actor again? And I know that title! It's from that shoujo manga I recommended to you ages ago! It's the most wholesome one we ever read together—it's super popular with girls! What's the problem with that, Miyako?"
Miyako just slapped her own forehead, her expression going completely deadpan.
"Ruby," she sighed, the single word laden with a world of 'you have no idea.' "Don't take my word for it. Just… look at the glorious dumpster fire for yourself."
She unlocked her phone, navigated with a few swift, irritated taps, and slid it across the kotatsu table toward the younger girl.
Puzzled but curious, Ruby picked up the device.
For a second, she just saw her own excited reflection in the dark glass, her brows knit in confusion.
Then she found the streaming app, searched for the drama, and hit play on Episode One.
For the next twenty minutes, a profound silence settled over the kitchen, broken only by the tinny sounds from the phone's speaker.
Aqua ate methodically.
Miyako watched Ruby's face like a grim scientist awaiting a reaction.
And Ruby's expression underwent a journey—from eager anticipation, to confused blinking, to dawning horror, and finally, to a kind of vacant, shell-shocked disbelief.
The credits rolled on the small screen.
Slowly, Ruby lowered the phone.
She turned to look at her twin brother, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide and unblinking, as if she'd just witnessed a conceptual car crash.
"What… is this, brother?" Her voice was a hollow whisper. "Tell me this has to be a bad dream, right? Right?"
Her gaze, now unfocused and dark, sought his for some kind of denial.
"No," Aqua replied, his tone flat yet not unkind. "It's reality. And reality can suck sometimes, Ruby."
Wordlessly, Ruby closed the browser tab.
She reached for the cup of calming tea on the table, took a long, deliberate sip, and then drew a deep, steadying breath, as if trying to physically process the sheer, awful magnitude of the adaptation.
"Brother…" she finally managed, her voice regaining a shred of its strength, laced now with pure pity and awe. "I have… no idea how you're going to endure being anywhere near that production. But if you're set on it… just keep it up, I guess. And seriously, good luck. You're going to need it."
Aqua merely shrugged, a gesture of profound indifference. "I'm not doing it to become a better actor or anything like that."
"Well, in that case…" Ruby said, the sparkle in her eyes completely replaced by weary sympathy. "…give Kana my deepest condolences when you see her. I mean, I don't know what's going on with her lately, but she seemed… off in that. Really off. Her performance was just so… strained and, well…"
She searched for a diplomatic, professional term.
"Regressing?" Aqua interrupted bluntly, cutting straight to the heart of it. "Is that what you mean? I can assure you, she's not. She's just being held back by idiots. That's all there is to it."
He stated it with a cold, confident finality.
Miyako, who had been silently observing their exchange, saw the conversation lull.
"So," she ventured, "what's your actual plan here, Aqua? What are you going to do?"
"Go there," he said, his voice offering no further elaboration, "and try my best."
Well, as expected of him, Miyako thought.
Still as secretive as ever.
But she had long learned the boundaries of this boy who was more like a hardened veteran than a teenager.
She didn't press him.
She simply accepted the opaque answer, maintaining her distance instead of pestering him for truths he was clearly not ready, or willing, to give.
...
"Hey…"
Frill Shiranui greeted them at the front gate of the school, her posture relaxed but her gaze intently on Aqua as he walked up with Ruby.
Aqua met her eyes and gave a slight, acknowledging nod.
"Yeah, hey to you too, Frill Shiranui."
"Me too!" Ruby chimed in immediately, her expression bright and cheerful as always, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.
Frill's eyes shifted from Aqua to Ruby, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips. "Can I borrow your sister for a bit, Aqua? We've got the same next class."
Aqua shrugged, his demeanor indifferent. "You don't need my permission. Just ask Ruby. If she wants to go, she'll go."
"Then, goodbye for now, brother! I'll catch up with you later!" Ruby chirped, immediately unlinking her arm from his and offering a quick, energetic wave.
"Have fun," Aqua replied, his own wave half-hearted as he watched her skip off to join Frill.
It was then that he noticed Arima Kana. She was standing a short distance away, arms crossed, having watched the entire exchange.
As Ruby departed, Kana pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning against and walked over, a determined, almost forcefully enthusiastic look on her face.
"So, Aqua," she began, skipping any further small talk. "Do you have time to come to the set today? I can introduce you to everyone. They're… well, they're good people. And connections like that could be a huge help for your future acting career."
She spoke with a rehearsed brightness, as if his path toward becoming a full-fledged actor was already a foregone conclusion she was helping to enable.
Aqua shook his head, not unkindly but with definitive clarity. "I don't think becoming a 'great actor' is the dream, Kana. It's too slow. And let's be honest—most actors are just bottom-feeders in the entertainment industry's food chain."
He met her widening eyes with a steady, serious look. "What I want is to be a director. A great one. I'm only doing this acting gig now to get an insider's perspective, to see how the current industry machinery works from the actor's point of view, and to make the connections I'll need later. That's it."
Kana's expression shifted from enthusiasm to outright bewildered concern.
She reached out and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, her brows furrowed. "You? A director? Are you running a fever, Aqua? You look normal, but you're talking nonsense."
Aqua gently brushed her hand away, a faint, patient smile on his lips. "No fever. And I know how it sounds—impossible, right? A teenager with a director's ambition." He paused, letting the absurdity hang in the air for a second before dropping his first piece of concrete evidence. "But I've already secured a deal with Argus Company for the adaptation rights to Sword Art Online for my future film projects. I'm not just dreaming; I'm building the foundation. I've even started writing the script. Want to read it?"
The truth, which Kana could never guess, was his overwhelming advantage.
Nestled within his mind was a loli goddess, Tsukuyomi, a repository of future knowledge containing complete scripts of this world's yet-unwritten stories—including the full, tragic narrative of Sword Art Online, the VRMMORPG that would one day become a death game trapping ten thousand players.
Whatever Kayaba Akihiko's original, twisted purpose for creating that nightmare might be, Aqua's pre-emptive move changed the entire board.
By acquiring the rights and producing a major film before the game's launch, he would force Argus into the spotlight.
The company's desire to capitalize on the movie's hype would be tempered by intense public scrutiny. Savvy tech analysts, concerned parents, and even government agencies would dissect the film's plot.
They would see a fictionalized version of a game-hijacking, a creator playing god, and thousands dying trapped in a virtual hell.
No parent watching that, no journalist reporting on it, would let Kayaba Akihiko operate in the shadows.
There would be demands—for safeguards, for oversight, for the kind of ethical firewalls applied to advanced AI.
Public pressure would force Argus to ensure their flagship VR product was safe, turning it from a potential experimental cage into what it should always have been: a fun, revolutionary game for everyone.
Aqua's determination was ironclad.
He would use the script of a doomed future to strangle that future in its crib.
The death game would remain where it belonged: in the realm of fiction, on the silver screen.
A warning, not a reality.
As he stood before a confused Kana, the plan was already in motion.
The die was cast.
There was no turning back.
Kana took the offered script, her initial skepticism giving way to focused concentration as she began to read.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the soft rustle of pages.
Slowly, her casual posture stiffened.
Her eyes, which had been scanning the lines with polite interest, began to dart across the pages with accelerating urgency.
By the time she lowered the stack of papers, her mouth was slightly agape.
She stared at Aqua, not with confusion anymore, but with a kind of stunned awe.
"Aqua… did you… write this?" Her voice was a hushed whisper, barely containing her disbelief. "This isn't just good. This is… genius. No, that's not even the right word. This is a potential masterpiece."
She gestured with the script, her movements animated. "The concept—a death game trapping ten thousand players, a developer playing God, that 'beater' character rising from the chaos… It's brutally commercial. It's exactly the high-concept, high-stakes genre piece the industry is starving for right now. I can't even articulate how sharp this is."
She took a breath, her mind already racing ahead. "And the timing… if the rumors are true and Sword Art Online actually launches in the next two years, the hype from that would bleed directly into the movie's promotion. It's a marketing synergy you couldn't buy."
She looked at him, genuine shock mixing with professional admiration. "What did you even say to them to get the rights? This should have been a nightmare to negotiate."
Aqua accepted her praise with a calm nod. "Yeah, I wrote it. But the directing credit will go to my mentor. I'll be his assistant and the lead scriptwriter. My main job, besides the writing, will probably be helping him scout some of the key actors."
He shrugged, as if the monumental deal were a minor detail. "Getting them to agree wasn't hard. The name 'Taishi Gotanda' attached as director opened doors. And once they read the script… well, the quality did the rest of the convincing for me."
A visible wave of relief washed over Kana. The tight, concerned set of her shoulders loosened, replaced by a warm, expansive smile.
It was a pure, unguarded expression, free from the performative cheer she often used as armor.
"Good," she said, the word soft and heartfelt. "Really good, Aqua. It looks like I don't have to worry about your 'impossible' dream after all. You're not just dreaming—you're already building it." Her happiness for him felt tangible, a genuine shared triumph.
Aqua felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—gratitude, perhaps, for her uncomplicated support.
He nodded again, more firmly this time. "I hope we can work together properly in that future, Kana. I already have you in mind for a role. Maybe Argo, the information broker. Or Silica, the beast tamer. I have the highest confidence you could own either one."
Kana's smile turned playful. She snapped a crisp, mock-formal salute. "Yes, sir, Great Director Hoshino! Please take good care of me in the future!"
The shared absurdity of the moment broke the last of the tension.
They both laughed, a real, unfiltered sound that echoed briefly in the space between them.
The weight of the script, the magnitude of his plans, momentarily lifted.
For now, they were just two teenagers on the cusp of something, standing at the edge of their present.
With the new understanding humming between them, they turned and walked together toward the soundstage of I'll Go Sweet With You Today, ready to grind through the day's shoot on the flawed romance drama.
But the path ahead now felt different. It was no longer just a meaningless job for Aqua, or a depressing grind for Kana.
It had become a stepping stone—a shared, temporary stage in the much larger production that was, against all odds, beginning to take shape in Aqua's determined hands.