Chapter 16: Bandai

    

Chapter 16: Bandai

The private screening for Fate/Stay Night was held at a small cinema not far from Tsuburaya Productions.

It was one of those old, slightly rundown neighborhood theaters with aging projection equipment and dim lighting. Definitely not what you’d call “ideal conditions.”

But Shinji didn’t particularly care.

In this world, cinema technology was pretty much stagnant across the board. Dolby audio, 3D, 4D, IMAX— all those specialized screening formats either still lived in research labs or had become novelties reserved for museums. Commercial applications were still a distant dream.

Every time he thought about that, Shinji felt a kind of historical obligation settle on his shoulders.

Someone’s gotta do it. Might as well be me.

If he could help audiences in this world experience what cinema should be like—he’d consider it a win.

Still, every revolution had to start somewhere.

Right now, what he needed most was for Fate/Stay Night to make a splash in Japan. Only with impressive enough results could he hope to kickstart the era of large-scale commercial films here.

On the morning of the screening, Shinji arrived at the theater entrance alongside his uncle—Kariya Matou—to welcome representatives from Toho Film Company, who had agreed to preview the movie.

At this point in time, Shinji was still a complete nobody in the Japanese film industry—just another rookie without a name, reputation, or record. His presence barely registered with the Toho reps. Even when they shook his hand, it was strictly out of politeness, not interest.

Shinji, of course, wasn’t stupid enough to push his luck.

If it hadn’t been for his uncle’s connections, none of these people would’ve shown up to begin with.

Though the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki had fizzled out, and the Matou family had undergone significant changes, Kariya himself had still chosen to leave Fuyuki due to heartbreak.

That said, this version of Kariya was doing far better than any of his counterparts in parallel timelines.

With some discreet support from Zouken, he had entered the entertainment industry as a tokusatsu actor. After starring in Ultraman Dyna, produced by Tsuburaya Productions, Kariya’s career had steadily climbed, and he now had a respectable name in the field.

Side note—Shinji would never forget the day, as a kid, when he turned on the TV and saw his own uncle playing Shin Asuka in Dyna.

He was so stunned, he spit out a mouthful of water—right into Sakura’s face.

It had cost him three months’ allowance to buy her forgiveness.

“Long time no see, Kariya.”

The man greeting his uncle was Keigo Hata, the head of the second distribution team at Toho—a senior figure and the most important person from the delegation attending the screening.

Standing next to him was Kawachi Ippei, a film critic in his fifties and a big name in the industry. The kind of guy whose opinions could make or break a film’s release strategy.

The fate of Fate/Stay Night at Toho basically came down to what these two thought of the movie.

Frankly, the fact that Toho had only sent a small, mid-tier team to the screening already said a lot about how little they expected from this project.

But Shinji wasn’t surprised.

His uncle might be a minor celebrity in the tokusatsu world, but that didn’t mean he could pull Toho’s upper management out of bed. This level of support was about what Shinji had anticipated.

After exchanging a few perfunctory greetings, the group entered the modest screening room and found their seats.

Shinji deliberately sat near the back corner—not just to keep out of the way, but to observe. From this spot, he’d be able to monitor every reaction from the Toho reps throughout the film.

Front and center, Kariya took his seat next to Keigo Hata and chatted idly with him. Hata himself didn’t seem particularly interested in the film. If anything, there was a trace of thinly veiled disdain in his tone.

A few days ago, Kariya’s studio had been aggressively hyping up this film, trying to push it toward distribution. Naturally, Hata had picked up on something fishy.

So he’d quietly had someone run a background check.

The result? The director of the film was Kariya’s nephew, a guy named Shinji Matou.

At that point, it was obvious what this was. Just another case of nepotism. A no-name kid trying to hitch a ride into the film industry using family connections.

‘Great,’ Hata thought to himself. ‘Just what we needed. Another rich kid playing director.’

Little did he know, that same “rich kid” sitting in the corner was about to hit them with a cinematic punch to the face they’d never see coming.

Situations like this weren’t all that rare in the film industry—especially in Japan, where following in one’s father or uncle’s footsteps was practically tradition.

Even so, Keigo Hata couldn’t see much value in a guy like Shinji Matou.

The reason was simple: Shinji didn’t want to become an actor like his uncle—he wanted to be a director.

And in this business, directing was a very different beast.

It wasn’t something you could just walk into because you were born into the right family. Without being steeped in the craft from an early age—or having received specialized training at a professional film school—you had no business sitting in that chair.

To be honest, Hata thought Shinji would be better off cashing in on his pretty-boy looks first. Build up a fanbase like his uncle did, rise in popularity, and then maybe make a late-career pivot into directing.

‘Shame. The kid doesn’t know his place. Lucky for him, though—must be nice being born with a famous uncle in the industry,’ Hata thought with no small amount of cynicism.

Though his eyes were fixed on the theater screen, most of his attention was still on Kariya Matou sitting beside him.

He was already weighing his options: maybe they could agree to release this obvious flop on VHS as a straight-to-video project, and in exchange, get Kariya to act in one of Toho’s upcoming films.

That would be salvageable.

But then the curtain rose—and everything changed.

Within the first ten minutes, Keigo Hata’s expression underwent a dramatic evolution.

From disdain…

To surprise…

To shock…

And finally, to rapt, undivided focus.

“Th-this… what is this…?”

Mouth agape, Hata stared at the screen in disbelief.

As the head of a major film distribution department, he had watched thousands of movies over the years—yet never one with such breakneck pacing and such an overwhelming sense of urgency.

From the very first scene—EMIYA (red coat, twin blades, total badass) clashing with the beastly Lancer on the school grounds—Hata felt like his chest was being squeezed.

The combat choreography was masterful, the story propelled forward with relentless momentum, and the sheer tension had him completely gripped.

Then came the scene where Lancer pursued the protagonist, Shirou Emiya.

The camera shifted dynamically between Shirou, Lancer, and Rin, stringing their reactions and emotions together into a perfectly timed sequence of escalating stakes.

Sure, Hata knew how this kind of setup usually played out. The protagonist was obviously going to survive the opening act somehow.

But still—he couldn’t help but worry about Shirou’s fate.

And then—that moment.

When Saber—Arturia—descended beneath the moonlight, her blonde hair shimmering in silver glow, armor gleaming, sword at the ready…

The tension shattered. The audience’s emotions soared.

“She’s beautiful…”

“Who is that actress? Do we have her casting sheet?”

“Foreign, maybe? American?”

“Never seen her before…”

The murmurs behind him echoed Hata’s own thoughts. Even he—jaded industry veteran that he was—had to admit he was completely taken aback by the girl’s stunning presence.

He glanced down at his watch under the faint light of the screen.

Less than twenty minutes into the film, and he had already changed his opinion completely.

This wasn’t just some amateur’s vanity project.

This film had wildly exceeded his highest expectations.

But just as the theater was buzzing with rising excitement, a jarring voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard:

“What a noisy mess. Completely devoid of meaning.”

A cold, dismissive tone from the front row.

Hata turned his head immediately. The voice belonged to none other than the critic sitting beside him—Kawachi Ippei.

And further back in the theater, Shinji heard the comment too. He squinted through the darkness just in time to catch Kawachi’s scowling expression and furrowed brow.

‘Tch. That’s gonna be a problem.’

Shinji’s eyes gleamed sharply in the shadows.

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Even though Shinji had already predicted that Kawachi Ippei’s opinion might sway Toho’s internal decision-making, he hadn’t expected the man’s influence to be this overwhelming.

“Just mindless noise. Juvenile and boring.”

That was Kawachi’s summary when the film ended.

With a perfectly straight face, he stared down Shinji and delivered his critique with the tone of a teacher scolding a particularly dumb student.

“Kawachi-sensei—”

Shinji attempted to follow up, hoping to at least get a more constructive angle.

But he was cut off immediately.

“Nothing but explosions and fight scenes from start to finish. Barely any dialogue. The few scenes that do try to slow down are ruined by your actors’ complete lack of skill. This isn’t a movie—it’s a circus. Tell me, Director Matou—did your teacher never explain the basics of filmmaking to you?!”

Shinji’s polite smile twitched. He could feel it cracking.

‘This bastard…’

But rather than engage further, Shinji pivoted with expert grace.

He’d spent enough time dealing with stubborn magi from the Clock Tower to know the type: people like Kawachi were unmovable. You couldn’t win them over with logic or debate.

“Ah, Keigo Hata-san, what about your thoughts?”

Better to shift to someone who might actually listen.

Keigo Hata looked visibly torn.

He’d just had one of the best cinematic experiences in recent memory. Truth be told, he had a pretty high opinion of Fate/Stay Night after that screening.

“Director Matou, regarding this film—”

Before he could finish, Kawachi Ippei grabbed his arm.

“Wait. Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of signing this movie? Listen to me—I absolutely refuse to approve it! Putting my name next to a film like this would be an insult to my reputation!”

That shut Hata right up.

After all, he was just a mid-level distribution team head. Kawachi was a prominent film critic—someone whose name carried serious weight in the industry. If they had a disagreement, the company would absolutely side with him.

Besides… Keigo Hata wasn’t entirely sure Fate/Stay Night would succeed in the market.

He wanted to believe in it—he liked it—but Kawachi’s industry instincts were sharp. The man had been doing this for decades and had a knack for reading market trends.

If Hata pushed for the film and it bombed at the box office? He’d be the one taking the fall. No one else.

And that was the thing about film distribution—it was a lot like playing the lottery. Until the results were in, you never really knew whether a project would sink or soar.

As a man with a wife and kids to support, Keigo Hata simply couldn’t risk his entire career on one bold guess.

But still… giving up on Fate/Stay Night? It felt so wasteful. Like letting something precious slip through his fingers.

Caught between his professional instincts and personal admiration, Hata was deeply conflicted.

With Kawachi opposing the film so vocally, and himself lacking the clout to argue back, all he could do was write a favorable report and submit it up the chain. Maybe, just maybe, he could push for a second screening.

“Director Matou… I’m truly sorry. I’ll make a request to my superiors—see if we can schedule a second trial screening for this remarkable film.”

“Thank you, Section Chief Hata.”

Shinji’s tone was polite, as always.

But both men knew the chances were slim. Keigo Hata was doing his best—Shinji could respect that—but they both understood that the real decision-makers probably wouldn’t care.

As they stepped out of the theater, Hata took one last wistful look back over his shoulder.

A deep, inexplicable sense of loss gnawed at him.

‘Had the company just thrown away a golden opportunity?’

“Shinji, what now?”

Kariya Matou was practically pacing in circles, anxiety etched across his face.

“Ojisan, calm down. You’re making me dizzy.”

Shinji clapped a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, gently bringing him to a halt.

Kariya turned to face him. “You’re not worried? At all?”

“Worrying doesn’t change anything,” Shinji sighed. “What do you expect me to do, force them to sign a contract at gunpoint?”

He looked off toward the road, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Tch, there’s a miscalculation on my part. I didn’t expect a critic to hold that much sway.”

In truth, Shinji had considered using suggestion magecraft back when Kawachi started ranting in the theater.

But he’d decided against it in the end.

One critic wouldn’t be enough. And if he wanted this film to go big, he’d need to influence all the key executives at Toho, maybe even half the major critics in the country.

And if he had that kind of power? He’d already be a Magician, not just a second-rate magus.

“So? What now?” Kariya pressed, frowning. “Should we try approaching Toei next?”

Technically, they did have some ties there—Kariya had been in tokusatsu shows years ago—but those relationships had long since gone cold.

Shinji rubbed his chin, thinking aloud.

“Hmm… maybe we pivot to an overseas release. Waver might’ve found an opening already on the Western side—”

Before he could finish the thought—

“Excuse me. Are you the director of Fate/Stay Night?”

A young man in a white shirt approached him. His expression was polite, if a bit nervous.

Shinji blinked. “Yeah. And you are…?”

He vaguely recognized the guy—he’d been sitting a few seats down during the screening.

“I work for Bandai Visual,” the young man said, offering a sheepish smile. “I wanted to ask… are you considering other distribution partners for the film?”

Shinji blinked.

“…Bandai?”