By the end of the first week, Your Name's 14 billion yen opening week box office and its reputation had effectively established the trajectory of the film's total.
The first-week performance of most films allows a reasonably accurate estimate of the final total, with word-of-mouth causing fluctuation within a predictable range. With these numbers, the market had reached a consensus: a minimum of 50 billion yen total was guaranteed.
Japan's film market was large enough that one more film performing at this level was not in itself remarkable. But this year's spring holiday season had been essentially swallowed by Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba.
An enormous portion of screen allocation had been redirected to it, leaving the box office for every competing film looking poor by comparison. The spring holiday champion had cleared 86 billion yen total. The runner-up had reached only 46 billion.
And now Your Name was producing numbers like this.
A mangaka. An animation screenwriter. A music creator. A twenty-two-year-old who had graduated half a month ago.
The films he had produced as side projects across multiple disciplines were about to take both the annual box office champion and runner-up positions in Japan's film industry.
This was what everyone found impossible to process.
But it was the fact.
However much the traditional film industry insisted that animated films were not serious cinema, this was the fact.
Shirogane-sensei's theatrical works had now swept the box office championships across last year's summer season, this year's spring holiday season, and this summer season consecutively.
And Your Name was not only performing in Japan. Released in overseas markets during the same window, its first international weekend had cleared 6 billion yen. The overseas total by the time it left theatres would likely exceed 26 billion yen.
The major media outlets could no longer maintain their measured distance.
The film industry's total market scale was not enormous. Japan's total annual cinema box office ran around 1 trillion yen. Compared to the animation and animation-related merchandise market, which exceeded 20 trillion yen, the film industry was structurally subordinate to the animation industry.
This was true not only in Japan but had been true in his previous life across multiple major markets. The annual animation industry scale in those regions ran ten to fifteen times the annual film box office.
Animated films taking the annual box office champion and runner-up positions was not structurally surprising. What had been missing previously was any Japanese producer willing to invest at this budget level in an animated film, and any work with the market universality required to convert that investment into results.
Rei's works had been proven in his previous life. The black swan risk that would normally accompany productions at this scale was effectively eliminated.
But it was the first time this had happened in Japan. The media and the film industry professionals were not accustomed to it.
The commentary flew in every direction.
"Shirogane-sensei's Your Name has been publicly criticised by director Li, who described the plot as nonsensical and devoid of artistic merit, and stated that audiences who enjoy such films have poor aesthetic taste."
"Your Name cleared 14 billion yen in its opening week, effectively locking in the summer season box office championship. Shirogane-sensei, when asked in a recent interview whether he intends to continue producing animated films, indicated that a new theatrical release is possible during next year's summer season."
"Both the annual box office champion and runner-up positions will belong to Shirogane-sensei's works this year. A structural shift in Japan's film market."
"Your Name is receiving exceptional audience scores and negative reviews from traditional filmmakers simultaneously. Is this professional jealousy or a genuine shift in market aesthetics?"
"Films are commodities. If you want to discuss art, do not discuss box office. If you discuss box office, do not invoke artistic merit. Directors relying on their seniority to claim Shirogane-sensei's films lack standards have never claimed his films are art cinema. This is the impotent frustration of people jealous of the numbers."
"Your Name has broken the box office record for romance films and achieved the highest audience reputation in the genre. It is also facing criticism from numerous film industry professionals. Is this the film industry's broader dissatisfaction with Shirogane-sensei as an outsider?"
"Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, as spring holiday season box office champion, received five nominations at a major recent awards ceremony and won nothing. Nobody from Illumination Production Company attended the ceremony. The mutual disregard between Shirogane-sensei's operation and the traditional film establishment has become open."
Where significant commercial interests were at stake, disputes followed. Rei had anticipated the criticism Your Name would receive from the traditional film community.
In his previous life, animated films had consistently dominated live-action films in comparable markets, and the reaction from traditional practitioners had followed the same pattern: dismissal of the genre, claims of low artistic merit, and poorly concealed frustration at the box office.
It did not matter.
"They will get used to it eventually," Rei said quietly, over dinner on Wednesday evening.
"That is probably true," Miyu said, thinking it through. "After the next two Demon Slayer films release during the spring holiday seasons in the coming years, they will each be strong contenders for the championship again. The previous film's performance established that baseline."
"It is not only Demon Slayer," Rei said, and paused.
There was nothing to hide from Miyu.
"The Your Name production team has been largely idle since finishing the film. I am planning to start a new animated film project when the timing is right. The company does not support idlers," Rei said.
Miyu's expression froze.
"Another new work."
She was still trying to find the inspiration for her next manga. Rei was generating new project ideas continuously. Was he even a normal person at this point.
"Yes," Rei said.
Beyond Makoto Shinkai's works, Rei had recalled most of the plots of Hayao Miyazaki's classic animated films. Compared to Shinkai, Miyazaki's works were more profound and more classically established.
In terms of absolute single-film box office ceiling, the two directors' peak works were comparable. But accounting for the era in which Miyazaki's films were produced, their weight was considerably greater.
With Miyazaki's works, Shinkai's works, and the Demon Slayer film series, producing one or two animated films per year would take more than a decade to work through all of it. Rei already had a rough plan.
The high-grossing works from his previous life were essential, but he also intended to bring over works he personally loved: Only Yesterday, Porco Rosso, My Neighbor Totoro, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind.
He wanted to build toward a position at the top of the anime industry, not just in Japan but globally. The film industry's total market scale was not large, but its cultural influence was boundless, fully comparable to the major television broadcasters. It could not be neglected.
The evening breeze moved through the open-air restaurant as Rei laid out his vision. Miyu listened with a slight smile at the corner of her mouth, her expression showing no impatience.
"The most correct thing I have probably done in my life was approaching you in high school," she said, after he finished. "We both love anime, both have creative ability, and in the end we became a couple."
"I feel the same," Rei said. He paused. "Though when I am with you I always drift back to talking about anime within three sentences. I cannot seem to stop. I am sorry."
"Why apologise. I genuinely like listening to you talk about these things." She looked at him. "Without anime, you and I would not have spoken a single word to each other in high school."
She looked up at the sky above the restaurant.
"Seven years. Time moves so fast."
"Even seventy years from now, I think you and I will still be gathered somewhere like this. You will be describing the highlights of your new anime, predicting what kind of impact it will have on the industry. And I will be sitting across from you listening."
"Such a life..."
Rei's chest tightened.
She looked at him and smiled.
"Such a life is truly wonderful."
"You do not find me unromantic?"
"Romantic? What is that. The charm of anime is a thousand times more interesting than any atmosphere you can construct with money." She paused. "I was just expressing my feelings. I wanted to say these things suddenly."
"It's nothing," Rei said.
He looked at the smile on her face, which appeared especially striking under the restaurant lights. Something instinctive came out of him before he had consciously decided on it.
"Miyu."
"Mm."
"Let's get married."
"Ah?"
In an instant, the composure on her face was gone. What remained was a face that had gone crimson without any help from alcohol.
"What are you saying."
"I am serious."
The proposal did not produce an immediate answer. Miyu did not refuse. After a long pause she said she would think about it, without specifying how long that would take.
Rei understood her well enough. Agreeing immediately would have felt to her like insufficient resolve. Not refusing on the spot communicated her actual position clearly enough.
Whether it took days, months, or longer did not particularly matter. His goal in saying it was simply to make his intentions explicit: he was dating her with marriage as the outcome he was working toward.
He had one failed relationship in his previous life and had never married. In this life there was nothing to struggle with.
Time moved into late July.
The wave Your Name had set off across Japan's anime and film communities continued to build.
The work's commercial value was less prominent than its cultural impact. Merchandise was not easy to design and produce around romance properties of this kind.
Most of the commercial development ran through image copyright collaborations rather than the full merchandise ecosystem that a property like Demon Slayer could support.
But the comparison was to Demon Slayer. Against the film's total production and promotional budget of 6 to 8 billion yen, the return across all channels would ultimately reach eight or nine times that figure. This was not a problem.
Fans were still following Your Name closely. Rei had already shifted his attention to the company's development plans for the next year or two.
However much he liked any given work, operating obvious money-losing ventures was not something he engaged in regardless of personal attachment.
It was not that he could not absorb the losses. It was that he respected the work his subordinates produced. These were industry elites.
He did not particularly care about any individual project's revenue for his own sake, but the project bonuses that formed the bulk of his employees' family income came directly from commercial performance. Their livelihoods were attached to these decisions.
After considering this comprehensively, Rei set aside a number of Hayao Miyazaki works he personally loved but that did not generate sufficient commercial returns. Ocean Waves as well, which was a Studio Ghibli production though not directed by Miyazaki.
He genuinely liked it. The commercial case was not strong enough. It would have to wait until the company had expanded further.
He focused instead on works like Spirited Away and Howl's Moving Castle.
Illumination Production Company's directly employed headcount was approaching one thousand. Himari had been expanding the staff continuously over the past several years in response to what she had come to understand as Rei's essentially boundless creative output.
The company could now handle three to four simultaneous television anime productions. For animated films, the senior production personnel could be divided into two project teams operating in parallel.
Rei needed to provide the script, the project plan, the visual direction, and the character designs. His subordinates could convert these inputs into finished work efficiently.
They were all industry elites. Whether any of them were creative geniuses in the manner of Hayao Miyazaki himself was something Rei doubted. But in a situation where Rei could clearly define the production direction, high-quality reproduction of Miyazaki's work, and even surpassing the original quality, was entirely achievable.
However great Miyazaki's films were, the early animation industry's technical limitations meant they showed their age when viewed today. Illumination Production Company approaching these works had to do so with the explicit goal of exceeding the original production quality.
The story and the vision were Miyazaki's. The technical execution could be better.
Very soon, while Your Name was still screening in Japan's major cinemas, the project proposals for My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away had already begun active internal discussion at Illumination Production Company.
The former had exceptional merchandise market potential. The latter was the peak work of Miyazaki's career, successful in both box office and commercial development simultaneously.
In the television anime market, Attack on Titan's popularity had not grown significantly during the month that Your Name had dominated discussion.
Transition and foreshadowing material without major dramatic peaks, combined with being suppressed by the film's cultural momentum, made this natural.
But by the end of July the situation had changed completely.
The Survey Corps had left the city several weeks earlier, using Eren as bait to draw out the traitors embedded within human society. Then a new Titan appeared that had not been seen before.
A Female Titan, attacking the Survey Corps caravan with clear intelligence and a clear objective: to capture Eren.
The second major arc of Attack on Titan's first season had begun.
This was the arc that would demonstrate most fully the tragic quality of the war between humans and Titans.
It was also the arc through which Captain Levi would begin his journey into the audience's hearts in a way that no amount of prior reputation had quite prepared them for.
The foreshadowing phase was finished. The climax had arrived.