In the end, "target" was a simple word… but in the mouth of someone who truly worked in anime, it carried an almost physical weight.
Sumire stayed silent for a few seconds, because Yumi's question wasn't just provocation. It was a blade - one that looked light right up until it touched skin.
Over the past few years, Sumire had worked on quite a few productions alongside Sora's father, Hiroshi Kamakawa. But the overwhelming majority of those jobs weren't really "theirs." They were outsourced episodes, bundles of cuts commissioned by larger studios - projects where Yume Animation acted as a cog in someone else's machine, not the machine itself.
As for original works… true originals… she could count them on one hand.
Two, in the past, led by Hiroshi, and both had been disasters so painful they nearly swallowed the company whole. If Sora hadn't appeared when he did - bringing results, money, and direction - Yume Animation would've shut its doors months ago, quietly, like so many small studios that vanish without even making the news.
And now, once again, they were betting on an original production.
What was the right expectation for something like that?
When Sumire let the thought fully form, her heart gave a short, almost childlike jump, as if her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She found herself split between different desires, all of them dangerous in their own way.
Maybe it would be enough to break even and make a small profit.
Maybe the goal should be reputation - good word of mouth, sincere praise from anime fans across Japan.
But at the same time… reality was cold.
From what people were already saying about the fall market, there would be more than ten series premiering in that same season even within their regional broadcast lane. And the success of Voices of a Distant Star hadn't gone to Sumire's head. She understood that it wasn't "normal." A moderate national buzz didn't happen every time - especially when Natsume Yuujinchou would be airing on a provincial station, with limited reach, restricted signal, and far less weight in the national conversation.
On top of that, the kind of series Natsume was… had a cruel problem: there was no precedent in the market. There wasn't a similar production in recent Japanese industry history that could serve as a ruler. You couldn't comfortably predict the future of something that had no past.
Sumire lifted her eyes, watching Sora's profile from the side.
He was smiling lightly, as if he were too comfortable in his own skin. And that alone was strange. Direction didn't forgive unprepared youth. The industry chewed up people under twenty like bubblegum.
But Sora… Sora had made Voices of a Distant Star happen.
The talent he had shown throughout that production was real. Sumire had no doubt about it.
She felt a thin thread of confidence rise inside her, delicate, almost shy. And alongside it, an ambition she didn't dare say out loud.
Maybe… a realistic goal would be to land within the top three regional ratings in the fall.
Maybe.
Sora heard Yumi's question, and unlike Sumire, he didn't seem intimidated by it at all.
"Expected results, huh…" he murmured thoughtfully, as if he were arranging something obvious. "Fair. Before you do anything, you need a target."
He went quiet for a moment.
Not because he didn't have an answer… but because he was choosing how to say it.
"First… in the broadcast area covering those four prefectures…" Sora raised his gaze calmly. "I think Natsume Yuujinchou needs to rank first in ratings. Among all the anime airing."
First.
The word dropped into the room like a heavy object.
Yumi froze for half a second.
So did Sumire.
"Wait…" Yumi frowned, as if she needed to confirm she'd heard correctly. "When you say 'all'… you mean including the series from the major national networks that also air in this region?"
She caught the implication instantly.
Normally, when people talked about "regional rankings," there was an unwritten rule: you excluded the big-network titles. Because if you put them into the same table, the top four became automatic. There wasn't even a debate.
The major broadcasters poured tens of millions of yen into a single cour. They hired famous directors, star-studded casts, top-tier voice actors, popular singers for the opening theme, marketing campaigns that flooded the entire country.
It was a different league.
In practice, even in Shikoku, those big-investment productions could easily pull 4% ratings in their slot. If the show was genuinely good, spiking to 5% wasn't out of reach.
"Yes." Sora answered, looking at Yumi with calm clarity. "I'm including them."
Yumi opened her mouth… and closed it again.
Because his logic followed, simple and irritatingly direct.
"We're all premiering together in October, in the fall season." Sora shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Why would I 'remove' the major networks' shows from the ranking? Are their originals really so strong that Natsume can't even compete?"
Silence.
Yumi was left speechless - which, by itself, was a rare event.
"You're way too confident," she finally said, half-laughing, but with a strange shine in her eyes.
Sora smiled.
"Confident? Maybe. But it's not some absurd goal." he replied, as if he were stating something perfectly reasonable. "It's just first place in the region. It's not like I said 'first in all of Japan.'"
Sumire stayed quiet, but the feeling in her chest was uneasy.
Because Sora said it… and he didn't sound like he was putting on a show.
He wasn't posturing.
He truly believed it.
And that kind of belief was frightening.
He also wasn't talking out of thin air. He knew the major broadcasters' original anime well - he watched them, analyzed them, observed them. They were excellent, polished, sometimes near-movie level.
Even so…
In his heart, none of them carried the emotional impact Natsume did.
"…," Yumi.
"…," Sumire.
Sumire understood first: this wasn't delusion. It was a target.
And when someone set a target with that kind of firmness… it infected the air. You could feel the room's gravity shift, like the walls themselves became heavier.
Yumi narrowed her eyes, suddenly interested.
"Alright." she said, smiling in a way that was both mischievous and excited. "If you're serious… then I'll take it seriously."
Sora nodded, still smiling.
"Do. I don't joke about things like this."
Yumi stared at him for another moment, as if weighing whether it was courage or madness.
In the end, she didn't say anything else.
She left with a thoughtful expression, like someone who'd just been handed a dangerous new toy.
Sumire remained where she was, watching Sora's profile.
His smile hadn't faded.
And inside her, something ignited: the desire to win, a kind of premature pride… and also the fear of everything going wrong.
But it wasn't a fear that paralyzed.
It was the kind that straightened your spine.
That night, Sora went to bed early.
But for Yumi… night was when her real life began.
She edited video, recorded audio, wrote a script, finalized an acidic reaction piece about a currently popular anime, and uploaded it to Natsuyume. And when she was done - her mood sharpened, her mind fully in "internet mode" - she opened her profile and posted a quick update.
The text was long enough to feel personal, but calculated enough not to reveal anything that could compromise the company.
She summarized what she'd seen at Yume Animation, removed sensitive details, scrubbed names and numbers that couldn't leak…
And then came the main point.
The centerpiece of the post was the afternoon conversation with Sora and Sumire.
Yumi wrote as if it were casual, but she seasoned it with the exact amount of exaggeration needed to set the internet on fire.
She posted something like:
"I asked our director, Kamakawa Sora-sensei, what his expectations were for Natsume Yuujinchou when it premieres in October."
"He said he's convinced that in the broadcast region of Tokushima's station - covering four prefectures - Natsume Yuujinchou will be the king of the fall season. And that even the big national networks' anime will have to settle for 'second place' when competing against it."
Just a few lines.
But explosive content.
Yumi had over ten million followers. She knew exactly what they loved to see: bravado, tension, big promises, a fight about to happen. And at the same time, it was promotion - it made people who'd never even heard of Natsume stop and look.
If Sora delivered what he'd said, that post would turn into prophecy.
In October, the comment section would explode with people calling him a genius, and it wouldn't be hard for it to end up on anime news sites as "the young director who said it - and did it."
And if he didn't…
Well.
That was entertainment, too.
The industry was full of directors who made grand declarations, promised results, said things like "if I fail, I'll leave the industry and apologize" - only to get crushed by reality. They became memes. They became jokes. They became cautionary tales.
Sora wouldn't be the first.
At worst, he'd carry a public scar - a "cringe past" haters would drag up later, if he ever truly became famous.
To Yumi, it was a risk far too small compared to the gain.
The post needed to go viral.
The next morning, Sora woke up like always.
He grabbed his phone, opened Natsuyume, logged into his verified account, and prepared to interact with his followers - something Yumi, as an investor, had essentially placed on his list of required tasks.
But… something was off.
The comments were packed with people joking:
"JAPAN'S #1 ANIME DIRECTOR!"
"THE BEST IN JAPAN!"
"KING OF THE SEASON!"
Sora blinked, confused, and started reading. One message led to another, and when he followed the thread back far enough, he found the source.
Yumi's post.
Over two million views.
Over one hundred thousand comments.
And among them, the most liked comment read:
"Did the director of Voices of a Distant Star get kicked in the head by a donkey? A short film got a bit of success and now he thinks he's already 'Japan's #1 anime director'?"
That was when everything clicked.
And Sora's mood dropped in an instant.
The phone in his hand felt heavier than it should.
He closed his eyes, breathed… and felt his forehead throb.
Yumi.
Are you sure this is "promotion" for Natsume Yuujinchou?
Or did you just shove me into the center of the ring and yell "no rules" to the crowd?
The urge to call her right then surged up like fire.
But Sora didn't call.
He only stared at the screen, his expression dark - like someone who realized too late that he'd just been used as bait.
And deep down, a tiny, irritating part of him understood something else, too.
Now… he had no way to back out.
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