A few minutes later, Vivian Frost finally managed to calm herself down. She fanned her flushed face with her small hands, breathing steadily, before casting a guarded look at Rachel Quinn, as if she were staring at a thief who had just made off with her most precious secret.
Her expression was full of resentment.
That long-legged dead monkey had won with nothing more than a basic attack.
Rachel looked completely unharmed—relaxed, smug, and annoyingly composed. Meanwhile, Vivian felt like she wanted to dig a hole in the floor and vanish forever.
Damn it.
Seeing that Vivian was genuinely upset after her outburst, Rachel instantly switched tactics. With the speed of a seasoned survivor, she stepped behind Vivian and began massaging her shoulders, leaning close and whispering with a grin.
"Oh dear," Rachel murmured softly. "I didn't hear anything just now. Did you say something, boss?"
Vivian sniffed, crossed her legs, and instantly regained her arrogant posture.
"That's the correct attitude."
The word "boss" wasn't accidental.
Rachel's choice of address made her stance clear.
To be honest, Rachel was secretly hoping—no, praying—that someone would finally come and take over the mess that was Q-Quinn Animation Studio.
Did anyone know what it felt like to be a company founder who survived on boxed lunches every single day?
Rachel spent her days online, face stiff, scrolling through endless web novels, searching for stories with adaptation potential. Negotiating copyright fees. Arguing with authors. Reading contracts until her eyes burned.
She was exhausted.
She didn't want to do this anymore.
And now—Vivian Frost had arrived with money.
Not pocket change.
Ten million in investment. Plus equity.
Her best friend was pulling her out of the mud. If Rachel refused… wouldn't that be a slap to Vivian's face?
Vivian Frost was a premium dairy cow.
If one of us gets rich, we don't forget the other.
That was the rule.
"Then, Boss," Rachel said smoothly, instantly businesslike, "let's talk about work. And the contract."
Vivian nodded and pulled out her phone.
On the screen were the materials Ethan Reed had handed over earlier—the finalized concept draft for the animation Northstar Games planned to produce.
It was… strange.
Hard to describe.
But Vivian could feel it in her bones.
This animation would be good.
More importantly, she genuinely liked the female lead.
A cool, white-haired older-sister type. Gradient hair. Calm, decisive, powerful.
…Way too cool.
---
Meanwhile — Skybound Platform
"What the hell?" Alex Sage shot to his feet, eyes wide, phone still pressed to his ear.
"Ethan Reed, did I hear that right?"
Leo Hart, who had just stepped into the corridor with him for a smoke, froze in place.
The cigarette slipped from Alex's fingers and hit the ground.
"We're a gaming platform, not a video platform!" Alex exploded. "Are you kidding me?"
"We'll promote your game, sure. Trailers? Ads? No problem. But an anime?"
"What does an anime have to do with your game?"
His voice kept climbing.
"You're serious? You're actually serious? You people at Northstar make an anime before making the game?"
Alex rubbed his forehead, looking like his sanity was slipping away.
"What is this strategy supposed to be? Expanding world-building? Boosting immersion? Promotion?"
He paused.
"…Wait. Isn't advertising always for the same damn purpose?"
Leo's cigarette also slipped from his fingers.
From the call alone, he finally understood what Northstar's chief planner was proposing.
No.
This had to be recorded and sent to Ethan himself.
Was he drunk?
The situation felt absurd.
It was like—
Northstar: Skybound, we're back.
New game. Let's team up again.
Skybound: Sure, sure.
Northstar: Here's an anime.
Outrageous.
Last year, Northstar had generated massive revenue for Skybound. Fairness existed, sure—but absolute fairness didn't. People were driven by利益 and emotion.
Skybound naturally favored Northstar.
But still—
Why animation?
And why ask a gaming platform to open an advertising page for an anime?
"We're a damn gaming platform!" Alex hissed.
He raised his hand, only to realize his cigarette was already on the floor.
Leo quickly lit a new one for him, then one for himself.
"Ethan," Alex said into the phone, forcing calm.
"I think you should reconsider. The animation industry's environment is worse than gaming. Assembly-line productions everywhere. People prefer novels now. Comics have almost collapsed."
"And knowing you, this anime won't be cheap."
He exhaled.
"What happens if it flops?"
---
Northstar Games Headquarters
Ethan Reed leaned back comfortably in Vivian Frost's executive chair, smiling faintly.
"It's fine," he said. "We're rich now."
"We've finalized the Animal Party hosting platform deal."
He paused.
"…Which means we can afford to be a little capricious."
"Besides," Ethan continued calmly, "the anime exists to serve the new game."
"And my boss already acquired an animation studio."
Alex Sage went silent.
So to make a game, they:
Produced an anime first
Acquired an animation company
Burned insane money
Was Northstar out of their minds?
Not just domestically—even overseas, no one did this.
Collaboration was normal. Acquisition was madness.
No—
What was he thinking?
Alex suddenly realized his own logic had been warped.
Making animation itself was already weird.
In the end, he sighed.
"I can't promise anything," Alex said. "I'll bring it to the higher-ups. If the vote passes, I'll call you."
"I'll wait," Ethan replied.
After hanging up, Alex leaned against the wall and smoked in silence.
"Are they serious?" Leo asked.
"Yes," Alex replied. "Vivian Frost already started the acquisition."
"They just announced a AAA game, and now they're making anime?"
"They say it's to deepen immersion," Alex muttered. "But I've never seen this strategy work. Anime adaptations with built-in fanbases barely succeed—and this game isn't even out yet."
He shook his head.
"I don't think it'll be a hit. But Ethan's already decided."
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
"…But Northstar has always been unreasonable."
They rose out of nowhere, leaving competitors stunned. Catching up was already impossible—forget stopping them.
And now—
People were starting to play AAA games domestically.
---
Back at the Studio
"Then it's settled," Vivian said briskly.
"You dead monkey, remember—don't worry about the budget."
"Ethan said special effects and visuals must be maxed. Every frame beautiful. Fight scenes explosive."
Rachel swallowed hard.
"Do you even know what the budget per episode is?"
"Yes," Vivian replied casually.
"About four million per episode."
Rachel froze.
One episode cost more than her entire company.
In Japan, even top-tier productions averaged 10–15 million yen per episode. Extreme budgets were reserved for key scenes.
But Northstar?
Four million per episode. Across the board.
Ten episodes meant forty million.
Were they making an anime… or a movie?
"…Seriously?" Rachel muttered.
Vivian lifted her chin proudly.
"We take games very seriously."
"Then we're done here," Vivian added.
"Start work in a week. Once Ethan finalizes the draft."
She stood up, smiling.
"So—want to eat? Any recommendations in Linan Arcology?"
"…KCF?" Rachel replied blankly.
Then realization hit.
Her face twisted.
"No! There's amazing food!" she blurted out.
"Longjing shrimp! Crab roe stewed tofu!"
Oh shit.
This wasn't the shut-in gamer girl anymore.
This was a big-time corporate fugitive dog owner.
Vivian Frost—
How much money did you make this year?
Forty million… just like that?!
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