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Still sitting at his dining table, Michael tapped his cigar on the ashtray.
The cold, calculating look had not left his eyes.
"Evans," Michael said, his voice completely serious. "We are going to sell the script with the backend revenue percentage. But we are not selling it to Hollywood. We are going to a Japanese anime production company."
They were having this conversation after Michael took emma's present from evans.
Evans, lowering his coffee cup. "Are you sure?You want to turn a tense, live-action courtroom drama into an anime movie?"
"Animation is a medium, not a genre," Michael corrected smoothly. "It allows for perfect control over facial expressions, lighting, and tension."
Michael picked up his phone from the table.
He dialed a private, international number he rarely used. He waited as it rang.
"Hello?" an older, gentle voice answered in Japanese.
"Miyazaki-sensei," Michael spoke warmly, his tone shifting into one of deep, profound respect in Japanese. "It is Michael. I hope I am not disturbing your evening."
"Ah, Michael-kun," Hayao Miyazaki chuckled softly through the speaker. "You are never a disturbance. It is always a joy to hear from you. How is your writing?"
"It is going very well, sir," Michael said. "In fact, I am calling to ask for your wisdom. I have written a script. It is a very tight, character-driven story set entirely in one room. Twelve men arguing over a verdict. I want to produce it in Japan, keeping my backend revenue rights. Do you have any suggestions on which studio would agree to this?"
Miyazaki was silent for a long moment, thinking deeply about the request.
"A story set in a single room..." Miyazaki finally said, his voice thoughtful. "It relies heavily on human emotion, subtle movements, and pure dialogue. It is a beautiful concept, Michael. But it is not what Studio Ghibli will make. We paint sweeping, natural fantasies. For a story like this, you need a studio that excels at the absolute highest level of human expression and character acting."
"Who would you recommend, sir?" Michael asked.
"You must talk with Kyoto Animation," Miyazaki said firmly. "They are brilliant artists. And because of their structure, they would be willing to agree to your backend demands way easier than the other animation houses in Tokyo."
"Kyoto Animation," Michael repeated, nodding. "Thank you so much for your guidance, Mr. Miyazaki. I hope to meet you soon, sir. Perhaps I will travel to Japan."
"I would like that very much," Miyazaki replied warmly. "We will drink tea and discuss art. I look forward to it, Michael-kun."
Michael smiled and ended the call. He put his phone down and looked across the table at his manager.
"Evans," Michael ordered. "Translate the script. Send it to Kyoto Animation, along with our full proposal. Tell them they can keep their creative freedom, but I want my backend percentage. And tell them I will personally fund the production at fifty percent."
Evans stared at Michael, completely exhausted by the sheer scale of the plan. "Are you doing all of this just to anger and frighten the Hollywood studios?"
Michael picked up his cigar, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Oh, Evans. They have no idea what I am going to do now. They thought they could reject me. But they are going to suffer."
Evans just looked at Michael, shook his head, and let out a very long, heavy sigh. "I will call the translators right now."
Thousands of miles away, in the quiet city of Uji, Japan, the atmosphere inside the Kyoto Animation boardroom was incredibly tense.
Seven top executives and lead directors sat around a polished wooden table.
In front of each of them rested a translated copy of Michael's script, 12 Angry Men.
The President of the studio folded his hands on the table.
He looked at the faces of his colleagues. "Let us begin. You have all read the script sent by Mr. Michael Owen. What are your thoughts?"
A senior director leaned forward, tapping the cover of the script. "It is a masterpiece. There is no other word for it. The pacing, the rising tension, the conflict between these twelve jurors... I loved it. I could visually see the scenes playing out in my head as I read."
"I agree," a female executive added. "The psychological depth is incredible. We could use lighting, shadow, and micro-expressions to elevate this story into something breathtaking."
"The artistic value is undeniable," the chief financial officer said, frowning slightly. "But we must discuss the business side. Mr. Owen is demanding a significant percentage of the backend revenue. That is highly unusual for a foreign writer."
"But look at who he is," the senior director countered. "He is a world-renowned author. He has millions of dollars at the palm of his hand. His fanbase is massive. He will bring an entirely new, global audience to our studio."
The executives discussed the terms back and forth for nearly an hour.
They loved the story, but the business contract was bold and completely unprecedented.
They could not come to a conclusion.
The room fell into a heavy, uncertain silence.
Finally, a quiet, older board member at the end of the table spoke up.
"We should take a leap of faith," the older man said softly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Before this meeting began," the older board member explained, "I received a personal phone call. It was from Hayao Miyazaki."
A collective gasp echoed around the table. Miyazaki was a living legend.
"Miyazaki-sensei did not just ask us to look at the script," the board member continued. "He told me, 'Take the deal. This young man is a gold mine, not just of money, but of pure art.' He is ready to finance fifty percent of the entire production out of his own pocket. That shows immense trust in our animators."
The room went completely still, deep in thought.
What the board members did not know was the deep, personal bond between Michael and the legendary director.
Over the past eight months, through countless times working together, Miyazaki had come to care for Michael almost as his own grandchild.
Their views on the purity of art, storytelling, and respecting the audience were exactly the same. Miyazaki had not vouched for Michael because Michael asked him to. He did it because he believed in the boy's genius.
The President of Kyoto Animation closed his eyes, thinking deeply about Miyazaki's words.
He looked down at the brilliant script in front of him.
He opened his eyes and looked around the table. Every single director and executive was nodding silently in agreement.
They were artists first, and they could not let this story slip away.
The President placed his hand flat on the script.
"Then it is decided," the President said, his voice firm and absolute. "Accepted."
"Michael owen's 12 angry men"