Chapter 58: You Old Fart, You Ran Off Real Quick, Didn’t You?!

                                       

Chapter 58: You Old Fart, You Ran Off Real Quick, Didn’t You?!

When it came to his own people, Shinji was surprisingly generous. The payment and crew salary he offered Rin weren’t exactly astronomical, but for a newcomer, they were nothing to scoff at.

Unfortunately, Rin ended up using most of that money to support her family. In the end, she barely had anything left over for herself.

And sadly, even the meager 500 yen she’d managed to save up didn’t get to stay in her wallet for long.

That entire afternoon, Shinji had been stuck on set, busy with work.

Besides, it wasn’t like things between him and Cloris had reached the stage where they’d be shacking up at a hotel like lovers or something.

Even if Cloris really was his girlfriend, Shinji wasn’t the kind of director who could just abandon an entire crew to go chase women.

If he ever tried something like that, Udagawa Nao would probably drag Kariya to the front of Hyatt and have him yell through a loudspeaker:

"Shinji Matou, the hell's wrong with you?! Are we filming this movie or not?!"

That said, Shinji still had a sense of responsibility—both as the lead figure in the project and as a business partner.

So once filming wrapped up, he invited Cloris out to a lavish dinner at the Hyatt Hotel in Fuyuki City.

To make it very clear that this was a professional dinner, not a date, he even called along Waver, Kayneth, and Kayneth’s fiancée.

The result?

They spent the entire dinner basically invisible. Aside from the occasional clink of cutlery on porcelain, none of the three said a single word.

By the end of it, Shinji was seriously regretting inviting these three freeloaders.

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"Shin-chin~ you're just so heartless," Cloris said with a soft voice, her eyes filled with a mixture of sweetness and wounded accusation.

“Don’t make it sound like we’ve got some dark little secret going on,” Shinji replied smoothly, swirling the wine in his glass.

“This was your decision.”

And for once, there was a bit of smug satisfaction in Shinji’s voice as he spoke to her.

Cloris pouted, a slight frown forming between her brows.

“I didn’t know you’d make so much money just from selling toys!”

Thanks to the Times Group’s distribution network, Bandai had managed to flood Fate/Stay Night’s movie merchandise into snack stands at major cinemas across Europe and America.

The results? Massive profits.

Shinji didn’t know the exact numbers—he’d have to wait for the revenue split details to see the final figures.

But judging from Udagawa Nao’s tone in their recent meetings, Shinji was pretty sure they’d cleared at least 50 million USD.

The best part?

When Type-Moon, Bandai, and the Times Group first signed the deal, the Times Group had only charged a basic logistics fee—no profit margin.

No middleman markup. Literally.

“Our company’s been grumbling nonstop about me giving up such a big chunk of profit,” Cloris murmured, stirring her coffee with a candy stick. Her voice was equal parts sulk and charm.

“They even want me replaced.”

“The Times Group’s planning to change your rep?”

Shinji’s eyes lit up with delight.

“Unfortunately for you. Nope,” Cloris said sweetly.

“Tch.”

Shinji slumped back into his chair, visibly disappointed.

“I smoothed it over,” she continued, giggling like her syrup-drenched coffee.

“Told them we had to show good faith if we wanted to build a long-term partnership. Can’t go chasing a golden egg and lose the goose, right?”

Shinji gave a small nod, still sipping his drink.

That sugar-sweet tone of hers made it hard to tell whether she was being serious or just playing.

“But don’t expect such nice terms for the Fate/Zero merchandise. That deal won’t be so generous.”

“Of course,” Shinji replied casually. “A standard profit split is fine.”

Deals where only the cost was charged were once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Neither Bandai nor Shinji thought they’d ever get that kind of treatment again.

Profit sharing was only natural—after all, sustainable partnerships were built on mutual benefit.

“Still… I never imagined toys would sell this well,” Cloris said softly, lightly resting her hand against her cheek. “And all those adults buying them, too…”

“Hmph. There’s a lot you didn’t imagine,” Shinji huffed with a cold snort.

The film industry in this world was way too primitive.

Just by pulling a few tricks he remembered from his past life, Shinji could rake in absurd profits.

Not that merchandising was a totally foreign concept here.

The Big D next door—Disney—had been making a killing off toy sales for decades.

But most of Disney’s products were aimed at kids, and their main sales channels were toy stores and their own theme parks.

That’s what made Shinji different.

He turned anime merchandise into adult collectibles, and sold them at movie theaters.

Simple. Profitable. Revolutionary.

For now, at least, he was the one holding the golden goose.

Most of the big shots at movie studios had never even considered the idea of selling merchandise to adults at cinemas.

In their fossilized minds, adults simply weren’t interested in that kind of stuff.

And to be fair... they weren’t entirely wrong.

Adult purchases of merchandise and toys were rarely driven by necessity—aside from a few die-hard fans, most of it was impulsive.

Basically, if you didn’t hit them with that perfectly-timed temptation right after they watched a movie—when their emotions were peaking—those wallets weren’t opening.

The problem was, those so-called studio executives never looked past the surface.

They saw that adults didn’t normally buy toys, so they assumed they’d never want them.

They never once considered how that behavior might shift the moment someone walked out of a thrilling film, heart pounding and mind still wrapped in the story.

In Shinji's original world, the first movie to earn more from merchandise than from the box office was none other than Star Wars.

That film was the turning point—the moment when Hollywood finally realized, "Wait... toys? We can get rich off toys???"

Even then, it wasn’t until Jurassic Park that Hollywood finally cobbled together a halfway decent merchandise sales system.

Shinji, who had witnessed first-hand the blundering idiocy of Hollywood decision-makers in his past life, knew exactly what kind of people they were.

Stubborn. Lazy. Cowards.

If there was an old way to make money, they’d cling to it like barnacles to a boat.

New ideas meant new risks—and new risks meant new costs.

And for these people, the word “cost” might as well have been a mortal sin.

Seriously, calling them short-sighted meat-eaters was honestly putting it lightly.

These dinosaurs were always trying to stuff every movie into the same cookie-cutter formula, thinking all they had to do was sit back and count the cash.

Never once did they treat movies like actual cultural works—they just saw them as products on a conveyor belt.

And ironically, it was precisely because of that old-school brain rot, because the film industry in this world lacked a whole generation of creative business minds, that Hollywood had ended up stuck, thrashing around in their little North American sandbox.

Which, of course, gave Shinji the perfect opening to rise.

“The Fuyuki film studio should have a third of its space completed by the end of this year,” Shinji said, turning toward Cloris.

“I want production crews from the Times Group to start filming there as soon as it’s ready.”

“You could be a bit more specific,” Cloris replied with a teasing smile.

“You mean your own crew... filming VFX-heavy blockbusters, right?”

Shinji gave a small nod.

“Not just that. I also want the Times Group to start publicly disclosing our production costs—at the right time.”

Cloris narrowed her eyes, amused.

“Aren’t you worried that other studios might try to snipe your box office?”

Shinji gave her a smirk, the kind that practically screamed villainous charm.

“Even if I don’t show my hand, once the Fate series takes off, they’ll start copying me anyway. So why not build an entire film ecosystem—with me at the center?”

There was only so much money one man could make alone.

But create a system where he called the shots, and that money would never stop flowing.

Shinji’s true ambition had never just been a hit film or two.

He wanted a world where he had absolute authority—a system built in his image.

Only then could he rake in everything.

“But if we’re starting next year,” Cloris asked thoughtfully, “will your magus even be able to keep up with the workload?”

It was the first time during the entire dinner that Waver had spoken.

His voice was calm, but laced with quiet pride.

“The Modern Magecraft Department will have nearly 150 graduates next year. We’ll have more than enough manpower.”

It was a firm, composed reply—and it carried the weight of someone proud of what they’d built.

After all, opportunities for fresh graduates in the Clock Tower had always been limited.

If you came from a proper lineage, fine—you could inherit your family’s workshop, or stay on as a researcher.

But for those without prestige or property, the only path left was to become a grunt for the old noble houses—magic's equivalent of indentured labor.

And now?

Now there was another path.

Now that Fuyuki City had become a promising new land of opportunity, it was nothing short of a godsend for the vast majority of bottom-tier magi.

Here, the magecraft they spent years studying could not only provide a stable living—it could even lead them to new frontiers of the Mystic Arts.

As for concerns that sending over a hundred mages to Fuyuki might disrupt the Modern Magecraft Department... Waver wasn’t worried in the slightest.

With Fate/Stay Night now a breakout phenomenon, the Modern Magecraft Department’s name had finally made waves across the entire magecraft world.

Back then, people looked down on the department because of its lack of history and pedigree.

In a Clock Tower environment obsessed with lineage and tradition, anything new was seen as shallow. Worthless. Unteachable.

But now?

Not only did Modern Magecraft produce top earners, its students could interact with ancient heroes and study archaic mysteries—some of which had likely already been lost within the depths of the Clock Tower itself.

And with the twin lures of money and mystery, this once-neglected outcast department had suddenly become the hottest pick in the Tower.

This year, the number of applicants was so overwhelming that Waver had to implement an entrance screening process.

Just last year, they couldn’t even fill the seats in their lecture hall.

“The more our department thrives, the more sway we have within the Clock Tower,” Cloris said as she raised her glass toward Waver and Kayneth.

“To a brighter future—for all of us.”

“I second that,” Waver replied, lifting his glass with a smile. “Though it’d be even better if we had more pay and less work…”

He shot a hopeful glance at his esteemed professor.

But Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, shining with elegance as always, completely ignored him and clinked glasses with Cloris instead.

“I believe the Modern Magecraft Department has a brilliant future ahead of it,” Kayneth said with perfect decorum.

“TEACHER!! Are ‘raise’ and ‘paid vacation’ not even in your vocabulary?!”

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“So… Lissy, are you really sure you want to come back with me?”

Shinji looked helplessly at Cloris, standing outside the gates of the Matou residence.

Dinner had ended, and his plan was to send her back to the hotel for a good rest.

But instead, Cloris had insisted—insisted—on visiting the Matou household.

“What are you even saying, Shinji?”

Cloris stood with hands on her hips, looking at him like he was the crazy one.

“As the heir to the Flora family, how could I not pay my respects to the Matou house now that I’m here in Fuyuki?”

“But still…”

“We’re literally at the front gate already!” Cloris pointed dramatically.

“Don’t even think about running now, Shinji! No escape! Face it head-on!”

‘Even though our names sound the same, hearing her yell that line just makes me irrationally irritated.’

With a weary sigh, Shinji gave in to fate and opened the front door to the Matou residence.

And what he saw was—

“Welcome, Flora-san!”

Sakura and Artoria stood waiting at the entrance, holding up a hand-painted welcome banner. Judging by their smiles, they had been waiting there for quite some time.

“W-Why are you two here?”

Seeing the sparkling eyes of his little sister and her Servant, Shinji suddenly had a bad feeling.

“Ojii-chan told us to greet the guest,” Sakura said proudly, waving her phone.

“He said Flora-san was likely to stop by tonight, so we should give her a proper welcome.”

“Where is that old geezer now?”

Shinji asked, frowning.

“I think he dragged Yan Qing and the others off to go play mahjong,” Sakura replied.

“Didn’t he message you?”

Startled, Shinji quickly pulled out his phone.

Sure enough, there was an email from Zouken Matou.

[Gramps is taking all the obstacles outta your way. Go forth, my good grandson! 🐍🔥💪]

‘…You old fart, you ran off real quick, didn’t you?!’

Right then and there, Shinji seriously considered hurling his phone at the pavement.

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