Chapter 27: Aoko: Is This a Movie or a Magus' Gathering?

                 

Chapter 27: Aoko: Is This a Movie or a Magus' Gathering?

Shinji had no idea he was once again becoming a hot topic in the magus community.

Not that he would’ve cared even if he did know—he had more important things to deal with right now. Namely, promoting Fate/Stay Night.

After three long days of waiting, Bandai finally finished compiling the audience feedback from preview screenings across the country.

Honestly, that kind of turnaround time couldn’t be called fast—but considering this was a country that still relied on three fax machines to track national epidemics twenty years into the future, Shinji wasn’t going to ask for miracles.

All in all, the nationwide previews were a huge success. Not only was the general response overwhelmingly positive, but a lot of viewers outright stated that they’d be coming back to watch it again once the movie officially hit theaters.

Sure, some of those folks were probably freeloaders giving the classic “I’ll definitely watch it next time!” routine—but even empty words like that showed one thing: the movie had left a good impression.

Riding the momentum of the previews, Shinji—alongside a few of the lead cast members—participated in a press interview arranged by Bandai.

Of course, Bandai’s conservative marketing approach meant they didn’t bother reaching out to any of the big-name newspapers. And with Shinji insisting the interview be held in Fuyuki City, the turnout was even smaller. Only a handful of mid- to low-tier outlets were willing to make the trip for what was, frankly, a pretty strange press event.

Naturally, all the reporters’ eyes were locked onto the main stars: Arturia and Shirou. Though Shinji was mentioned here and there, he was clearly not the main attraction.

That was partly due to Bandai’s PR strategy. Shinji, being a no-name rookie director, simply didn’t have much media pull. On the other hand, Arturia had already charmed a good number of fans during the previews and was slowly building commercial appeal—making her the ideal face of the campaign.

Basically, Bandai’s whole marketing plan was centered around the actors.

If Fate/Stay Night turned out to be a smash hit, then Shinji might finally get to wear the title of “Fate/Stay Night’s Director” as a badge of honor for his next project.

The reporters conducting the interview had all seen the film, so when it came to the male lead, Shirou... well, their real interest was elsewhere.

Shirou’s performance in the movie was solid enough, but his do-gooder personality just didn’t leave as strong of an impact as a certain arrogant golden king.

That’s right—what they really wanted was Gilgamesh.

But there was no way in hell Shinji was letting that guy anywhere near the press, not at such a critical stage of the promo campaign.

Even the so-called “wise king” version of Gilgamesh had a tone that could only be described as... unpleasant. Maybe not quite “flaming jerk,” but definitely “nose-in-the-air, better-than-you” levels of arrogance.

Still, if he could just get Gil to stop throwing around the word “mongrel” every other sentence, his over-the-top pride could actually be repackaged as some kind of tsundere charm.

But it wasn’t time for that yet. Shinji’s plan was to save Gilgamesh as a later promotional card, after the movie had already gained some traction.

Arturia, by comparison, was so much easier to work with.

She remained stone-faced throughout the interview, but Shinji could easily spin that as a case of “newcomer stage fright” and brush it off.

As for Shinji himself—whenever the reporters tried to dig into questions about the film’s production or direction, he mostly dodged with the usual PR fluff:

“I have full confidence in this movie.”

“All of our cast gave amazing performances.”

“Arturia is my favorite actor—hands down.”

—And that was about it.

Just another day in the life of a rookie director trying to survive in a world full of magi, movie stars, and media spin.

Shinji honestly didn’t have much to brag about in front of reporters right now. His only option was to wait for the actual release and let the movie speak for itself.

As the interview wrapped up, the countdown to Bandai’s official limited release drew ever closer.

Thanks to Shinji’s deliberate attention to the press, he finally spotted some Fate/Stay Night-related news and advertisements beginning to surface.

And when he said “deliberate,” he meant it. Because let’s be honest—Fate/Stay Night’s promotional conditions were anything but ideal.

The movie trailers were being aired during graveyard shift TV hours.

The newspaper ads? Buried in the pages of third-rate publications.

Actor interviews? Tucked into barely-selling magazines.

Even in the cinemas selected for the special previews, the posters were shoved into obscure corners where no one would notice.

Shinji was... less than thrilled with Bandai’s reserved, borderline cowardly approach to distribution. Even Udagawa Nao, the project’s marketing manager, found it hard to stomach how conservative the company was being.

But the real problem wasn’t her, it was her boss: Kazunori Ueno.

Ueno, who was on the cusp of being promoted to Bandai’s president, saw Fate/Stay Night as a double-edged sword. If it succeeded, it’d be a nice feather in his cap. But if it flopped? It would be a career-crippling disaster.

So, with everything on the line, Ueno took the safest route: spend as little as possible and minimize the risk. “No credit, no blame” was the core of his strategy.

And what did that look like in practice?

Despite the glowing feedback from the previews, Bandai only struck thirty copies of the film for the initial theatrical release. Thirty. For the entire country.

Still, Shinji’s earlier input hadn’t gone completely to waste.

He’d advised Bandai to focus marketing efforts on the 15–30-year-old demographic, rather than Japan’s traditional moviegoer base of thirty-somethings and older. Whether that gamble would pay off remained to be seen, but Udagawa felt the direction was at least fundamentally sound.

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“Heh... so that movie’s finally getting released, huh?”

In a cramped Tokyo office, film critic Kawachi Ippei gave a snort of derision as he flipped through his morning newspaper.

“Which movie?” his assistant asked, voice dripping with flattery.

“You know. That one I previewed a month ago.”

Kawachi tossed the paper aside, picked up his teacup, and scoffed.

“Hmph. A vulgar film full of nothing but explosions and flashy lights. An absolute waste of my time.”

His voice was thick with disdain, as if the very memory of Fate/Stay Night was offensive to his artistic sensibilities.

“What the hell was Toho thinking, trying to distribute that kind of garbage... Honestly, Japanese studios have no taste these days. Why can’t we aim for more artistic cinema, like they do in Europe?!”

Kawachi’s lament sounded as if the entire Japanese film industry was going to hell in a handbasket, and he, the last bastion of good taste, had been left behind in a sea of mediocrity.

“Please, Kawachi-san, don’t get so worked up~” his assistant said with an awkward smile. “A film like that isn’t getting much exposure anyway. Just look at the page size—it’s tiny. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it flopped in a week and vanished from theaters.”

“Hmph. That’s what should happen.”

Kawachi sneered coldly.

And yet... even as he said that, the idea of that movie surviving even a week in theaters felt like a personal insult.

He had already dismissed it so thoroughly, already condemned it with his professional authority—how dare Bandai still go ahead with the release? Did they not understand whose opinion they were ignoring?

“Blacklist Bandai,” Kawachi ordered without hesitation. “From now on, I won’t review anything they make.”

“Understood.”

His assistant nodded. Frankly, he didn’t care one way or the other. Bandai only ever produced anime and tokusatsu films—none of it was anywhere near Kawachi’s usual fare. Cutting ties wouldn’t hurt business.

“Any new offers today?” Kawachi finally asked, now that his ritual trash-talking of Bandai was complete, it’s time to go back to work.

The assistant hurriedly grabbed an envelope from his desk. “There’s no new invitation, but we did get a thank-you letter from Shochiku.”

“Oh? Let me see…”

Kawachi Ippei opened the envelope and skimmed the letter. It was about a film he had praised earlier that year—a redemption drama about a criminal trying to atone for his sins. The story had resonated deeply with Kawachi’s refined sensibilities, and he had written a glowing review in his newspaper column.

The movie had since grossed over a billion yen at the box office and was still going strong. Shochiku, deeply appreciative of his kind words, had included a check for 1.5 million yen as a token of thanks.

Kawachi casually slipped the check into his coat pocket. “Now this is how you do business. So much more respectable than certain third-rate studios…”

His assistant chimed in, rubbing his hands with glee. “Of course, sir. Shochiku knows their film was such a hit because of your glowing review.”

“Hahaha! Damn right it was! If it weren’t for critics like us, the Japanese film industry would be in shambles!”

With that self-congratulatory laugh echoing through the office, Kawachi Ippei tossed all thoughts of that “awful” movie to the back of his mind.

Fate/Stay Night? What even was that?

Nothing worth remembering. Just a film so ugly it offended his delicate eyes. There would be no audience for that kind of trash, no box office returns. It would quietly rot away in the shadows where it belonged.

—Or so he thought.

What Kawachi didn’t know was that, while most of the general public still had no clue Fate/Stay Night was even releasing, there was a certain group of people who had been waiting for this film with desperate anticipation.

On a completely ordinary Monday—April 14, 2003—Fate/Stay Night officially premiered in Japan. Only 25 theaters across the country carried the film.

There was no red-carpet premiere.

No press events.

Not even a major public announcement.

It just… slipped quietly into cinemas, like a whisper in the wind.

But not everyone was caught unaware.

As soon as the news dropped, Alice Kuonji rushed to the theater at full speed.

‘Last time, Aoko wouldn’t stop talking the whole time… I missed so many details. This time, I have to focus.’

Clenching her fists to psych herself up, Alice's eyes were burning with determination.

The fact that the screening was on a weekday delighted her. The theater was nearly empty—perfect for someone who hated crowds.

She checked her wristwatch. The showing was about to start. Taking a deep breath, Alice stood up and made her way toward the theater doors.

Then suddenly—

“Huh? Alice?! That you?!”

She froze. That familiar, surprised voice could only belong to one person.

Turning around, she saw exactly who she expected: Aoko Aozaki.

“…Aoko. What a coincidence.”

Though a flicker of panic flashed in Alice’s eyes, she did her best to maintain a calm, indifferent expression.

Aoko scratched the back of her head with an awkward grin. “Yeah… Super coincidental, huh?”

Coincidence? Not even close.

There were only 25 cinemas in the entire country showing the movie. Tokyo had three. The odds of them accidentally picking the same one were one in three.

“…”

“…”

The two girls stood at the door, staring at each other in awkward silence—until a voice cut in from the side.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Aozaki-san.”

“Huh? You’re…?”

Aoko glanced toward the speaker—a short-haired young man she vaguely recognized, but whose name escaped her.

“I’m from the Shibamatsu family,” he introduced himself. “Aozaki-san, are you here for the film too?”

“…You guys?”

Only now did Aoko notice that the Shibamatsu kid wasn’t alone. He was accompanied by five or six other young people.

She didn’t know their names, but it was clear from their presence that they were all from old magus families.

“My old man thought it’d be embarrassing for someone his age to go watch a movie,” the young man explained with a wry smile. “So he pushed the task onto me. Turns out a bunch of other families did the same, so we just decided to come together.”

“I… I see.”

Aoko forced a polite smile. She had no idea what else to say.

But it didn’t stop there.

Even after she and Alice entered the theater, more and more young men and women filed in—every one of them unmistakably from a magus lineage.

By the time the screening started, Aoko realized with dawning horror that the number of normal moviegoers was shockingly low.

The entire auditorium was filled with second-generation magi from the Tokyo area.

“…What the hell is this?” she muttered, slumping into her seat, eyes wide in disbelief.

“A magus family reunion disguised as a movie screening?!”

She had come for a quiet rewatch of Fate/Stay Night.

Instead, she had walked into the magical world's most awkward mixer.

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