An anime that could move you to tears… and still leave your chest light, as if something inside you had quietly been put back in place.
To anyone reading that from the outside, it sounded contradictory.
A tragedy like Voices of a Distant Star - but with "healing" at the end? So was it a warm comedy? A slice-of-life full of gentle jokes and cozy moments? And when people combined that with Natsume Yuujinchou's premise - everyday life with youkai, strange encounters, names, promises - the uncertainty only grew.
A lot of the people who had arrived because of Voices of a Distant Star and started following the new project's official account simply couldn't picture what kind of anime this would be. And honestly, they couldn't be blamed. Even in his previous life, Sora hadn't seen many titles that could land that kind of "healing" the right way. There were one or two truly unforgettable examples… and everyone else who tried to copy it only managed to mimic the surface, never the taste. The feeling was always missing.
After pinning that reply, Sora moved on. He didn't have time to manage fan expectations in real time. What mattered now was work. But those who were interested in the project held onto that bright look in their eyes - the almost childlike anticipation of seeing something rare.
"If it's even close to Voices of a Distant Star, I'm in. I'll follow first and worry later."
"I still can't believe Yumi liked Voices of a Distant Star so much she actually invested in the director's second work."
"If Natsume Yuujinchou has the same quality and it's a full seasonal cour… when it starts airing, it's going to flip the market."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm not. Voices of a Distant Star aired on a regional channel and still sold over twenty-five thousand Blu-rays in the first week. If it had been a cour series, with more time to build popularity, it wouldn't have ended up 'only' fifth in average sales for that winter season. I'd bet money it could've knocked down the four productions funded by the major networks."
"That's all speculation. Voices of a Distant Star blew up because Yumi promoted it hard, and a bunch of well-known animators in Tokyo posted praise. That's why the BD numbers exploded… Meanwhile Natsume is everyday youkai life. No mecha, no space battles, none of those insane storyboards people called a 'circus.' And it's already confirmed it'll air on a regional channel again… People should stop setting expectations so high. 'Flipping the market' talk just attracts hate."
"If it sells half of Voices of a Distant Star's average, in that region, it's already a ridiculous miracle. Stop comparing it to major-network productions. Nationwide broadcast versus Shikoku-and-neighbors broadcast… it's literally heaven and earth."
"Also… the project was just approved and you're already debating this? Isn't it too early?"
"Early or not, I'm supporting Sora. I want him to keep the directing style he showed in Voices of a Distant Star: bold, creative, with a real identity. Please, for the love of God, don't let him fall into the market's current template… anime that's nothing but 'cute' bait or cheap fanservice. That stuff is painful to watch."
And just like that, in a single day, the numbers climbed.
Sora's Natsuyume account hit seventy thousand followers.
Sumire's reached ninety thousand.
And Natsume Yuujinchou's official account climbed to one hundred and thirty thousand.
Yumi's influence was real - but it wasn't magic. One post from her didn't turn any production into an instant phenomenon. What happened was more organic: the fans who truly loved Voices of a Distant Star naturally followed the director's next work. Everyone else simply stored the information away, leaving a faint mark in memory: Oh, that project exists. With repetition and time, curiosity grew, and the wider crowd slowly began to pay attention too.
May slipped away without asking permission.
June arrived.
And with it, Yume Animation pushed Natsume Yuujinchou into full motion.
They hired four new production assistants at once - four "production progress" staff, as the studio called them. According to the plan, each would handle the workflow for three episodes. It wasn't luxury; it was necessity. Without people holding logistics, scheduling, and outsourced coordination together, any anime turned into chaos before it even truly began.
Ren, who had proven his competence during Voices of a Distant Star, was promoted into production management. It was a serious jump, and he knew it - but it was also the kind of responsibility you only receive when someone believes you won't collapse the moment the first crisis hits.
Overall animation supervision remained in Haruto's hands - Sora's "uncle," a veteran with over twenty years at the desk, a trained eye, and the kind of patience only decades in the industry could forge. And for a daily-life series like Natsume, which didn't demand constant technical spectacle, he was more than capable of keeping the drawings consistent and correcting deviations before they spread.
Character design, on the other hand, didn't stay in-house. Yume Animation managed to pull in an experienced figure from another studio: Erina, a veteran key animator known for clean lines and clear readability. That kind of hire didn't happen by accident - it cost money, demanded negotiation, required a solid offer. But it also signaled something simple: they weren't playing around.
With the new recruitment, the number of in-house key animators jumped from six to thirteen.
Even then, it still wasn't enough.
Even with a larger team, certain cuts and backgrounds would need to be outsourced to trusted partners. Not out of laziness - out of mathematics. A cour of anime is a machine that doesn't wait. If you try to do everything alone without structure, the show doesn't "run late"…
It dies.
For background art, Sora held firm to his decision: he entrusted that sector once again to the studio tied to Ren - the same team he'd worked with successfully on Voices of a Distant Star. In Tokushima - and Shikoku in general - recruiting strong background artists quickly was difficult. This wasn't Tokyo, where talent was everywhere. Here, anyone truly good was already locked into a stable company, and pulling someone away like that required money, time, and luck.
On top of that, Ren's name had gained value after the previous project. The lush, almost dreamlike backgrounds in Voices of a Distant Star had been widely praised, and his reputation rose with them. When Sora suggested working together again, the answer came fast, without hesitation: yes.
Add in the newly recruited photography team, the expanded compositing staff, and the music-and-effects crew… and when the dust finally settled, Yume Animation had reached thirty-five people.
Still not enough to produce an entire anime completely in-house.
But Sora understood what truly mattered.
The goal wasn't to do everything under one roof. The goal was to keep the right people in the key positions. When the critical roles were held by "their own," communication costs dropped, decisions moved faster, and - most importantly - quality control stopped being a gamble.
They spent an entire week on nothing but this.
Small meetings, big meetings - meetings that turned into arguments, arguments that turned into schedule edits. More than ten formal sessions, not counting hallway talks and late-night messages.
Until, finally, the full workflow was locked in: who did what, when it was due, who it passed to, where the bottlenecks were likely to appear, where the biggest risks lived.
And when that meeting ended, a new phase opened for Sora and Sumire.
Now came the work that truly shaped the soul of an anime.
Storyboards.
Directing drafts.
Decisions of rhythm and silence.
The kind of choices the audience never sees…
But always feels.
Yumi, who had been spending entire days at the studio "observing as an investor," had joined a few of the meetings. And the moment she looked at the detailed schedule - dozens of steps, each with deadlines down to the day - she felt her scalp tingle.
"This looks like… a nightmare," she admitted, staring at the table like it was a curse.
In the past, she'd open her computer, record a video, and tear into a bad anime without mercy. But now, seeing that maze of processes, she began to realize something uncomfortable: even "trash anime" had to pass through this hell. It carried the sweat of dozens - sometimes hundreds - of people. And she… she crushed all of that online with sarcasm, like it was just another disposable product.
Guilt wasn't enough to make her stop.
But it was enough to leave a scratch.
"If everything goes exactly according to plan - with quality and no delays - you can breathe," Sumire replied calmly, studying the papers with seriousness. "The problem is, anime never goes according to plan. Something always happens… and when it does, that's when it becomes real hell."
She said it, and without meaning to, her gaze slid to Sora.
At the end of Voices of a Distant Star, with only two or three weeks left, he'd caused a storm: he decided to replace entire battle scenes. That period had ripped sleep away from everyone. The internal staff, the outsourced partners, the collaborators… there were days when five hours of sleep felt like luxury.
"I see…" Yumi murmured, and then smiled, as if her conclusion was both absurd and inevitable. "If a disaster like that happens again, I'll have content for my videos. My followers will love watching the chaos behind the scenes."
The comment came out far too light, shamelessly so.
Sumire didn't get irritated. Over these past days, she and Yumi had gotten along surprisingly well. Yumi liked people who worked seriously - and Sumire was exactly that. And for the "educational" videos Yumi wanted to produce about anime production, it was Sumire who answered everything in detail, as if she were - without noticing - becoming that influencer's unofficial consultant.
Sora cleared his throat, uncomfortable with how unfiltered she was.
"That's exactly why… as director, I'll do my best to avoid that kind of situation," he said, trying to sound firm, as if he could make that promise to fate itself.
Then he turned to Sumire.
She was calm, as always - composed, steady - like that world of deadlines and risks was simply… her natural environment.
And for some reason, that made Sora even more aware of how much he relied on her.
"And over the next few months…" he said seriously. "I'm going to need you a lot, Sumire."
It wasn't empty praise. Even after directing Voices of a Distant Star, Sora still had zero real experience with what truly defined a full cour. A short film or a smaller project lets you breathe. A season forces you to maintain rhythm, consistency, and decisions under pressure for weeks on end.
A different scale.
A different monster.
Sumire straightened.
"We're in the same boat," her voice came out steady. "I'm only a little older, and I entered this industry a few years earlier. But with your talent… it's very possible that during Natsume, you'll show even more creative directing methods. And if that happens, it might be me who needs to learn from you."
The two of them spoke like they were standing in a formal ceremony.
Yumi looked from one to the other and made a face.
"You two…" she cut in, laughing. "Do you really have to talk this weirdly? I feel like I'm watching some bargain-bin corporate drama."
The tension that had gotten too serious snapped in an instant.
She crossed her legs, rested her chin on her hand, and smiled - now with a competitive sparkle in her eyes. Not gossip.
Ambition.
"Since you two love speaking so beautifully…" Yumi leaned forward. "Then think about what actually matters. What's your target for Natsume Yuujinchou? What result do you want to achieve?"
"Target…"
Sumire repeated the word in her mind, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully, as if she were already pulling numbers and scenarios out of thin air.
And the silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was the kind of silence that announces a decision.