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404 Recognize the Boss Lady
🕑 Added 2025-07-25 15:18:52 +0000 UTCKyousuke looked at the silent, downcast Akane and gave a quiet smile before speaking:
“If President Kosaka has other matters to attend to, please rest in the lounge for now. I’ll come speak with you once I’ve wrapped things up here.”
Everything he had done today wasn’t just about getting a public apology, like Utaha had said, or earning a little publicity.
Akane was drawn to his talent—and he, in turn, was drawn to the resources in her hands.
Tansan Animation Studio operated a little differently from most animation companies.
Even putting aside future plans for original works, their immediate goal was to train talent and strengthen their team through adapting major IPs—Attack on Titan and Sword Art Online, both of which he held the rights to.
Usually, animation projects are initiated by planning companies.
These firms have deep industry connections and the financial muscle to match.
They provide funding while also assembling the entire production committee.
From finding investors and coordinating with music producers, advertisers, and TV stations, to pre-launch marketing, post-launch merchandising, and licensing—it’s all under their domain.
In this structure, animation studios are essentially contractors.
Sure, they get a cut of the profits, but the initiative is out of their hands.
Sometimes, the planning role is taken up by publishers or music companies.
For example, Kyousuke’s last animated project, One Punch Man, was planned this way.
A successful anime adaptation can boost the original work’s popularity enormously—you only had to look at the ever-growing balance in Kyousuke’s bank account to see that.
For publishers, the revenue from anime is often trivial compared to book sales, which is why Kyousuke had no trouble acquiring adaptation rights.
The same logic applies to music companies, toy makers, car manufacturers, horse-racing syndicates, even voice acting agencies—anyone with a dream could initiate a project.
Of course, not all animation studios are just hired hands.
Some powerhouses like Kosaka Akane’s Mars take charge of everything—planning, production, licensing, merchandising.
They play the game on their own terms.
Tansan clearly wasn’t that powerful.
But despite being a production studio, they mysteriously had the rights to adapt two major hits, which gave Kyousuke a strong bargaining chip in forming a production committee.
He had no intention of giving up creative control, but lacking industry connections meant he needed allies.
And that’s where Akane walked in, practically delivering herself on a silver platter.
A rabbit this naive—of course Kyousuke wouldn’t let her go so easily.
She thought just issuing a public apology was enough to settle the score after all the trouble she caused? Not a chance.
His words, his intimidation—it wasn’t just for show.
Even if she hadn’t come in person, as long as he could leverage Mars’ name, the industry’s resources would naturally start flowing his way.
“I understand. I look forward to our meeting, Hojou-san,” Kosaka Akane said with a nod.
Originally, her schedule had her flying back to Mars headquarters in Osaka on the 2 PM flight after resolving this issue.
Two project teams were set to report to her today—the fate of dozens of people depended on her decisions.
But now, standing before such a formidable genius, all of that could wait. A partnership between two geniuses was what truly excited her!
“Kisaki, take President Kosaka to Lounge Room 2.”
Seeing the once-domineering Kosaka Akane looking so meek now, Hojou Kyousuke smiled faintly. Kisaki called out:
“This way, President Kosaka.”
Kisaki gave a respectful nod.
Hosting someone like her required the company’s No. 2 to step in personally.
As he thought this, his eyes happened to catch the three girls seated at the interview panel—and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.
For a moment, he almost agreed with something Kosaka Akane had said earlier.
Sure, the company had a promising future under his boss’s leadership.
But even he couldn’t help but wonder—'had his boss created this studio just to impress girls?’
[TL Note – Yes…. Yes he is….]
‘No! I can’t doubt Boss’s ambition!’
‘We’re going to climb to the top of Japan’s entire ACG world, expand our empire by leveraging those foolish otakus, and devour everything!’
Out in the hallway, when Akane walked past, Kazama Rikuto and the others glared at her with righteous fury.
But the woman didn’t even spare them a glance.
She walked gracefully, her flame-colored hair swaying like fire behind her.
Kyousuke returned to his seat and, as usual, placed his katana under the table before turning to the girl beside him.
Eriri’s pale, slender hand never stopped twirling her pen.
Trained since childhood, the girl’s hand wasn’t just beautiful—it was agile.
As her delicate fingers moved, the pen fluttered like a butterfly at her fingertips, flapping its wings yet never escaping her control.
At the same time, her small mouth kept moving, murmuring explanations to Katou Megumi about industry norms and flipping through candidate resumes, giving quick summaries of each person’s background and role.
“It’s rare to see Sawamura-san this nervous and serious,” Utaha whispered into Kyousuke’s ear with a calm expression.
“This is the career she loves,” he replied, smiling at the sight of the golden-haired princess’s focused profile.
“Well then,” he said, “let’s officially begin the interviews.”
“Yes!”
Eriri instantly shut her mouth and put on a serious expression, catching Megumi completely off guard.
Outside, a staff member who received the cue began ushering the interviewees into the room one by one.
The first to enter, of course, was Kazama Rikuto.
While interviewees typically behave respectfully, Kazama’s bow was unusually deep and exaggerated.
Kyousuke noticed the shame written all over the man’s face but didn’t say a word—no comfort, no mention of past events.
He simply went straight into the formal interview process, assessing the man’s professional competence as if nothing had happened.
They may have known each other for years, but this step was crucial.
It showed the authority of the boss and increased the employees’ sense of unity and respect for the company.
Kazama started off a bit stiff—which wasn’t ideal for a veteran episode director.
His job required excellent communication skills.
He had to take the director’s vague instructions and relay them to every department.
Like when the director says, “I want the blood in this scene to have a wabi-sabi aesthetic, so that viewers are instinctively reminded of the character’s past.”
That’s all the direction given.
The rest? Kazama had to figure it out.
If the animators didn’t get it and the director wasn’t satisfied, Kazama would get chewed out from both ends.
Kazama Rikuto’s current performance was clearly subpar.
And the more he realized that, the more desperate he became—so much so that even his speech began to lose coherence.
Utaha furrowed her brows but said nothing.
This wasn’t her turf.
Katou Megumi turned her head to glance at Eriri, her large dark eyes full of doubt—as if to ask, “This is the talented person Hojou worked so hard to recruit?”
But she had misjudged.
The blonde girl, who moments ago was nervously chattering and twirling her pen to keep calm, now looked even more anxious than Kazama Rikuto.
Kyousuke said nothing to comfort Kazama.
He wasn’t looking for subordinates who needed hand-holding—he wanted competent professionals.
This man wasn’t a beautiful girl, so he didn’t qualify for any of Kyousuke’s gentleness.
Calmly, he repeated the same questions from earlier, sticking to the planned structure.
In a small company like Tansan, having the president himself handle interviews added a personal touch—helping both parties get to know each other.
In big companies, this kind of rapport-building would be handled later through welcome ceremonies or internal networking events.
Hearing the repeated questions, Kazama Rikuto sensed Kyousuke’s unique brand of encouragement.
He understood that the message was:
‘Forget what just happened. Focus on the interview in front of you.’
Gradually, his emotions settled.
He began to speak with renewed confidence, finally showing the value he truly brought to the table.
‘Yes, I have to prove that Hojou-san did not make a mistake by inviting me to join Tansan!’
As Kazama regained his composure, Kyousuke’s questions began to deepen, moving into specific case studies—namely, Attack on Titan.
After all, Kyousuke was considering giving Kazama the role of Director for the adaptation, so it made sense to test him at this level.
Of course, Kyousuke would ultimately control the final product.
Even if Kazama was listed as director and got a pay raise, the vision and direction still belonged to Kyousuke.
After all, Kyousuke wasn’t some typical mangaka.
His manga were practically animated first in his mind and then drawn out afterward.
If he wanted a specific effect, he could just pull it directly from his imagination.
The only reason he needed a director was because he didn’t have time.
It was a little embarrassing, honestly. Even after breaking three records, winning the Bookseller Grand Prize.
Foiling the schemes of the reigning queen of the industry, and earning the trust of his eager team…
He was, at the end of the day, still a sixteen-year-old high school student.
He should be enjoying the sweet simplicity of campus life.
Which meant someone else had to handle the late-night overtime, chugging energy drinks like water, pulling out their hair, and sleeping with their head under their desk.
That someone was going to be Kazama.
Kyousuke had high expectations for him!
As he and Kazama dove into a lively exchange, Eriri’s pen had unknowingly stopped moving.
Even though she kept telling herself that she was here as an interviewer and needed to properly evaluate each candidate’s abilities, she just couldn’t help herself.
She turned and stared, mesmerized, at Kyousuke as he spoke passionately.
Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with admiration, her lips curled into a soft, dopey smile.
Katou Megumi, at first, had been diligently trying to jot down the questions Kyousuke asked
—but she had never trained in shorthand, so there was no way she could keep up with his pace.
After trying for a while, she gave up and set her pen down.
Yet, despite technically failing her “assignment,” there wasn’t a hint of frustration on her face.
‘Well… Hojou probably only gave me this task to make me feel included anyway…’ she thought.
‘So I might as well focus on what he’s saying.’
‘That way, I can find something I’m really good at and help out in my own way.’
With that, Megumi placed both hands neatly on the table, subtly shifting her body toward Kyousuke’s direction.
As she turned, she noticed Eriri and Utaha doing the exact same thing.
That realization made her expression soften even more.
‘Ah, so this is what being a proper interviewer looks like.’
Megumi nodded inwardly, feeling surprisingly at ease.
‘No wonder even Eriri can handle this job—it’s actually pretty easy!’
She looked back up just in time to see Kazama swallowing reflexively from talking too much.
The sight made Kyousuke feel thirsty too, so he picked up his water bottle and took a sip.
Then he glanced to his left—only to see Eriri and Megumi mirroring his exact action, down to their expressions.
‘Get it together, Eriri! You’re interviewing a director right now!’ Kyousuke thought with an inward sigh.
‘If you don’t start acting like the boss lady, they’ll eat you alive later—like, “rainbow-colored-black-and-white” kind of trouble!’
‘…Wait, wasn’t that the colorist’s job?’
‘…Oh, right. I’m the one who sets the final look and makes impossible demands on the art team.’
‘Well then, no problem! I’ll make sure to clearly explain the visual goals to Eriri. If once isn’t enough, I’ll tell her twice.’
‘If we can’t finish the discussion at the office, we’ll continue it at home. And if we can’t settle it before bed…’
‘…we’ll finish the conversation after we wake up!’
‘I really am such a kind boss,’ Kyousuke thought proudly.
‘I’m nothing like Kosaka Akane, the blood-squeezing factory tyrant.’
‘My level of employee care is off the charts.’
‘Seriously, what other animation studio CEO cooks breakfast and combs hair for their key animators?’
‘If everyone treated their staff as kindly as I do, we’d be swimming in masterpieces by now!’
With that thought, Kyousuke turned toward Eriri and said aloud:
“Sawamura-san, do you have any questions?”
She was sitting in the interviewer’s seat, after all.
If she didn’t say a word, it’d be weird.
This was a chance to assert her presence in the company.
If they were a yakuza group, the new guy would be bowing to the floor and pledging loyalty by now just to get paid.
“Eh?!”
Caught off guard, Eriri let out a surprised yelp.
Then she quickly composed herself and put on a serious face.
“Ahem… Kazama-san, it’s been a while.”
They were old acquaintances.
After all, it was thanks to Kyousuke that she’d worked as a key animator on the One Punch Man adaptation.
“It’s been a while, Miss Sawamura. I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused.” Kazama gave a deep bow from his seat—at the very least, his bowing skills were maxed out.
Eriri took a deep breath, then slowly began to ask the questions she had prepared in advance.
She wasn’t just some spoiled girl dragging Kyousuke into games like Kosaka Akane had mocked.
She may have originally planned for a small two-person studio, but once she saw the company Kyousuke had built for her, she had immediately thrown herself into studying the industry, soaking up all the knowledge she could.
