Kobayashi Tetsu was on his way to Daicon Film.
The driver was Kitagawa Go. The AE86 cruised steadily along the road, without a hint of Akina-style drifting.
Bandai's funding had already been secured. Bandai would put up 150 million yen, Atlus 50 million yen, for a total of 200 million yen to complete the production of the Sonic animation.
After all, this project involved a large number of high-speed movement scenes and combat sequences. Those couldn't be handled with one-on-three animation timing; at the very least, one-on-two was required. As a result, the production cost was significantly higher than that of Royal Space Force.
As for profit distribution, it was similar to before. Daicon Film would produce the animation and hold the related animation copyrights, including releases on videotape and laserdisc. Bandai would hold the toy rights, as well as toy-related creative merchandise rights—things like badges, stickers, and so on.
All that miscellaneous merchandise would later be collectively called "goods" back home. Many people there would claim that buying goods was what propped up entire companies' revenues.
Whenever someone said that, Kobayashi Tetsu couldn't help but laugh.
Atlus would hold the Sonic-related game rights, including all game-derived images and the overall "Sonic" brand itself. In other words, classic characters like Sonic, Knuckles, Tails, and Dr. Eggman were all owned by Kobayashi Tetsu under the Atlus name.
Just as they arrived outside the studio, Kobayashi Tetsu looked up and noticed that the sign on the door had been changed.
Without a moment of mourning for Daicon Film, what greeted him now was a new name: Gainax.
"So they finally changed it."
There weren't many works produced under the Daicon Film name. Titles like Royal Space Force and EVA were all made under the name Gainax.
Kobayashi Tetsu nodded to himself, gave Kitagawa Go a few instructions, and then walked into the studio.
As soon as Kobayashi Tetsu arrived, Okada Toshio spread his arms wide in enthusiastic welcome.
"Ah! Such a small matter, yet President Kobayashi came in person—this could've been handled by someone else. You there, hurry up and make some tea!"
Yamaga Hiroyuki stood up and sent a newcomer to prepare the tea.
A quick glance told Kobayashi Tetsu that there were more people in the studio than last time. It seemed they had made money off Royal Space Force and were hiring again.
Kobayashi Tetsu looked at Okada Toshio.
Okada Toshio, who would later call himself the "Otaku King," went on to publish a series of books promoting otaku culture.
But as time passed, his true nature was exposed. He had little real interest in otaku culture, and those books were mostly written by others and published under his name.
Nowadays, he was widely regarded as Japan's version of Liu Wei or Luo Yonghao.
Kobayashi Tetsu felt that comparison was an insult to "Big Wei." At the very least, that man had truly been a hardcore otaku and never hid his tastes in his works.
If nothing unexpected happened, in 1992, Hideaki Anno would join forces with the core Gainax team—including Yamaga Hiroyuki—to carry out a power shift, ultimately driving Okada Toshio out of Gainax. One morning, when Okada came to work as usual, he would receive a thunderbolt of news: you're fired, we don't need you here anymore.
As president, he would be swept out the door.
And Kobayashi Tetsu could only say—good riddance.
Okada Toshio, Tanimura Masahito, Tsuburaya Takashi—these people were all typical examples of mediocre ability, no real work done, but plenty of money demanded. Whether the company made money or not was another matter; they themselves certainly did, converting all company losses into luxury homes in Setagaya and expensive cars.
And yet, in an era without true heroes, mediocrities rose to fame.
In the 1980s, Japanese otaku culture was just taking off, and Okada Toshio seized the first-mover advantage to become the so-called Otaku King. Tanimura Masahito was smooth-talking and managed to befriend capable people like Iwata Satoru early on, allowing HAL to grow strong. As for Tsuburaya Takashi—without his father's legacy and the Tsuburaya name, he wouldn't even qualify to sweep streets.
"With money in hand, maybe I should think about taking over Gainax too,"
Kobayashi Tetsu muttered to himself. He had no intention of getting overly close to Okada Toshio and casually handed the animation outline to him.
"The Sonic animation must strictly follow the script requirements. Don't go beyond the boundaries of the script. As for the flesh within the framework, you're free to add and fill in as needed."
Okada Toshio took it and skimmed through a few pages.
"So Sonic has a lover on Earth? Could we set her up as some kind of celebrity?"
"That's up to you," Kobayashi Tetsu said, unconcerned.
As long as the animation got made, he wouldn't care even if they said Sonic was in love with Mario.
Okada Toshio nodded solemnly.
This was the kind of thing he could simply pass down the line.
With everything settled, Kobayashi Tetsu was about to leave when Okada Toshio suddenly called out to him.
"President Kobayashi, do you have any interest in science fiction? This year's SF Convention has already concluded, but next year it will continue. Gainax hopes to take on the organization of next year's SF Convention."
Kobayashi Tetsu stopped, thoughtful.
The SF Convention—the Japan Science Fiction Convention—was where major awards like the Seiun Award were later decided. It might look insignificant, but in reality it was a highly influential event in Japan.
Although its status in the 1980s hadn't fully crystallized yet, after twenty years of operation the SF Convention already commanded a fair amount of attention.
By 1984, Daicon Film had organized the SF Convention four times, which was where the name "Daicon" came from.
"Next year's SF Convention, huh."
In a single moment, Kobayashi Tetsu made up his mind and gave Okada Toshio a thumbs-up.
"Sounds good. I support Gainax continuing to host the SF Convention. If necessary, Atlus will provide some assistance. And if there's a chance, I'll attend next year."
Okada Toshio gave Kobayashi Tetsu a deep bow.
If he could bring in someone with enough weight and prestige, their chances of securing the hosting rights would be much higher. Okada Toshio would have gladly sent a few JKs to beg Kobayashi Tetsu to attend if that's what it took.
Kobayashi Tetsu and Kitagawa Go got back into the car. As it started moving, Kobayashi Tetsu suddenly spoke.
"Kitagawa, do you know much about the SF Convention?"
Kitagawa Go thought for a moment, then nodded.
"I went twice when I was younger. Thinking back on it now, the passion was incredible. Everyone around you shared the same interests, loved the same things. Even though it's called a science fiction convention, it wasn't just sci-fi fans who attended."
Kobayashi Tetsu acknowledged this with a nod.
If even Okada Toshio could host the SF Convention, then Atlus might not be incapable of doing so either.
Strictly speaking, it wouldn't be possible to hold onto the hosting rights for long—but organizing the Japan Science Fiction Convention under the Atlus name would greatly enhance its influence within certain circles.
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