It wasn't just the domestic audience anymore. Overseas, the comment section had turned into a nonstop wildfire - countless foreign accounts firing off opinions like it was a competitive sport. Ever since Death Note premiered, the platform's official NS account finally started posting updates about Alex and his work, and the international crowd practically celebrated. For the first time, they could keep up without hunting for scraps of news in obscure corners of the internet, without that familiar irritation of always being a step behind, without leaning on a VPN like it was a daily necessity.
And there was a bonus no one even tried to hide:
It became much easier to demand the next release.
The euphoria, however, lasted about as long as a blink.
The moment Alex announced the company's next project would be JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders, a huge chunk of the audience froze. A lot of Bleach fans and Death Note fans just… stared at their screens, like someone had spoken a language they'd never heard before. JoJo? What the hell was that supposed to be? And worse - this wasn't the third season of Bleach… and it wasn't the second half of Death Note either.
So there was nothing to discuss.
If it wasn't what they'd been waiting for all this time, the world seemed to reach the same primal conclusion at once: attack.
It was almost impressive in a twisted way - global unity through outrage. Domestic viewers and international viewers alike piled on with the same impatience, the same entitlement, the same fury. In the middle of that storm, the few JoJo diehards who were genuinely ecstatic tried to argue back… only to get swallowed alive. One defense earned ten sarcastic replies, ten knives tossed with perfect aim, ten people eager to watch them bleed.
The JoJo fans tried to keep their pride anyway.
"Don't think you can do whatever you want just because you're the majority!"
The response came quick, short, and cruel:
"Sorry. When there are enough of us, we actually can."
And threaded through the chaos were comments that sounded almost like pleading - people trying to negotiate peace with common sense.
"Um… maybe you should just finish those two missing parts first?"
Even Emily - who normally loved to tease and stir the pot, but was savvy enough to never interfere with Alex's key decisions - felt a chill when she saw the wave rising. This time, she honestly thought he should soften his stance. For the company's benefit. For the audience's sanity. For the sake of not turning a loud complaint into a full-on boycott.
In her mind, the logic was painfully straightforward: he should complete Bleach Season 3 and the second half of Death Note before touching anything else.
When she called, she expected resistance. What she didn't expect was to hear a low chuckle on the other end.
"Isn't this a perfect promotional opportunity?"
"Huh?"
Emily was on another set, half in costume, surrounded by crew - yet she sounded like a student staring at a math problem that refused to make sense.
Alex answered calmly, like he was pointing out something obvious.
"Once Stardust Crusaders is out, a ton of Bleach and Death Note fans are going to watch it with that exact attitude - 'I want to see what kind of garbage Alex made.' They'll come in angry, curious, determined to hate it… and before they realize it, they've already given us views. Then we funnel that traffic straight into JoJo."
He said it with a smile you could hear.
Because it was an old phenomenon - ugly, predictable, embarrassingly human. Why did so many people watch something everyone agreed was terrible?
Because they wanted to confirm it with their own eyes.
I know it's bad. But I want to see just how bad.
And there were far more people like that than anyone liked admitting.
With movies, at least money acted as a brake - most people wouldn't pay good cash to watch a disaster that had already been declared a disaster. But a series? A series was different. If you already had a subscription, it was just a tap. And if you didn't even want to tap… piracy would always pick up the slack.
Alex was counting on that impulse - shameful, real, unstoppable. Curiosity fueled by spite. He was going to turn rejection into audience numbers.
"But that's too dangerous!" Emily shot back, unable to hide her anxiety. "If this goes wrong, you'll become the planet's official villain."
"Trust me," Alex said, voice steady - almost amused. "When have I ever crashed?"
Before Emily could answer, the line went dead.
Alex put his phone away and didn't even bother changing his expression as he turned to the man beside him.
"Add more weight."
They were at the gym.
His training partner - wearing a tank top, his physique clearly fuller than before - moved fast, sliding plates onto the bar with careful hands. He'd bulked up noticeably since the days he played Joe Sullivan, and it wasn't an accident. After their last production, Alex had made it clear: it was time to pack on muscle. He didn't need to become some inflated monster… but he also couldn't fall behind certain actors who marketed "discipline" online like it was a religion, showing off routines and abs as if self-control was a moral virtue.
Alex had a role lined up for him now: Kakyoin. A kind of beauty that leaned delicate, almost too refined for the usual action stereotype. A handsome face, softer features - someone who, on paper, looked like he should be fragile… right up until the story demanded he become a threat.
And there was another reason Alex wanted to finish Stardust Crusaders as quickly as possible, beyond weaponizing the audience's stubborn backlash:
Muscle was hell to build.
It took time. It took pain. It demanded daily repetition, hunger, discipline no one applauded. The only consolation was that after Part 3, the franchise's aesthetic shifted - less of that era where everyone looked carved out of stone, more of a style where bodies didn't scream quite so loudly on screen.
Still… while that era existed, he had to be ready.
Hours later, back at the office, Alex was reclined as someone worked his muscles loose with a recovery massage. The young woman helping him - too used to the routine, too comfortable from familiarity - finally let a thought slip with a laugh.
"Boss… your muscles are way too big. It's kind of gross, you know?"
Alex's eyes widened in pure offense.
So she'd gotten bold with him now, huh?
And yet, as irritating as it was, an old saying surfaced in his mind like it had been written specifically for this moment: working out in moderation attracts women; working out too much attracts men.
Ever since he started truly bulking up, he could feel the shift. Some of the younger actresses didn't cling to him the way they used to. Their eyes carried a faint edge of judgment, a quiet distaste - as if his body had crossed an invisible line from "hot" into "too much."
Even Violet Grant, who used to chase his attention, didn't make a point of climbing into his lap anymore like it was the safest place in the world.
Alex sighed, caught somewhere between resigned and smug.
"Shallow women… no appreciation for art."
In his mind, the conclusion was blunt: this kind of build wasn't for people who saw the world like a display window. It was for older women - women who understood the appeal of a man who looked like he could break the world with his bare hands.
And whether people liked it or not, Alex knew there was an audience for that.
A few days later, the Stardust Crusaders set was up and running in an old courtyard-style estate, the kind that carried history in its wood, its stone floor, the hush between its walls. Alex had decided the Joestar family "mansion" that season needed that atmosphere - traditional, imposing, heavy with the feeling that secrets could be hiding behind any corridor.
He studied the architecture and, for some reason, thought about how the internet loved stories set in old houses - inheritances, family feuds, neighborhood grudges, dramas where an address became a character. He'd never read that kind of fiction, but he understood the pull: people trapped in one place, pride and power and resentment fermenting for years.
Then Alex became the version of himself the crew knew.
The tyrant of the set.
"I want everyone holding your character in your head," he said, voice sharp and steady. "Get into the role. In real life you don't have a Stand, but in this production… it's part of you. It's not an effect. It's not a prop. It's an extension of your body. I want to see that in the performance. Understood?"
A ripple of tension ran through the cast. Most of them had worked with him before; they knew the weight of that pressure. And after filming abroad, Alex's reputation had only grown: demanding, forceful, allergic to "good enough."
Unlike previous productions, he hadn't handed out the full script this time. It was episode by episode.
Because Stand fights were information warfare. The instant you understood your opponent's ability could be the instant you won - or died. Alex wanted the actors to feel that uncertainty in real time, to react authentically instead of acting from a place of total knowledge.
One of the actors read his Stand profile and muttered, genuinely curious.
"Hierophant Green… destructive power C, speed B, range A… persistence B, precision C, growth potential D… special move: Emerald Splash… wait. That's it? Compared to Bleach, this feels way simpler."
It made sense. In Bleach there were layers on layers - releases, forms, techniques, variations. Here, the concept was direct - and precisely because it was direct, it demanded creativity in how you staged it.
On the other side, Bell, already fully made up as an elderly Joseph - hair dyed gray, wrinkles painted in, hands that looked like they'd carried a lifetime of fights - walked over with his script in hand, face split between shock and indignation.
"Sir… my stat sheet is wrong, isn't it?"
He pointed.
Hermit Purple: destructive power D, speed C, range D, persistence A, precision D, growth potential E.
Bell stared at it like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
"What kind of trash ability is this?!"
And then, by accident, his gaze lifted to the top of Alex's page. The text was right there, unapologetic, like a divine verdict:
Star Platinum: destructive power A, speed A, range C, persistence A, precision A, growth potential A.
Bell went still for a heartbeat - then exploded into a shout loud enough to make heads turn across the set.
"What the - ?!"
It was absurd. It was god-tier. It was the kind of stat sheet that didn't even pretend to be fair. The kind that screamed, without shame: this one was built to rule.
And from the faint smile tugging at the corner of Alex's mouth, it was obvious -
He knew exactly what effect it would have.
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