This'll Be Fun, Right?

"Nervous?"

At my question, Sylvia swallowed hard. Her gaze was locked on the enormous magic screen that filled the entire wall of the central control room.

"Do I look like I'm not? Half the empire's population is staring a hole through that black screen right now."

She wasn't wrong. It was eight o'clock in the evening. Across the continent, people had gathered in droves before the millions of mana displays that had been distributed far and wide. Nobles waited in the drawing rooms of their estates; commoners held their breath in village squares and pubs, all of them watching for the screen to come to life.

"Countdown. Five seconds."

I laid my hand on the control panel, and Sylvia counted down beside me.

"Four. Three. Two. One. We're live!"

Click—

The instant I flipped the switch, a magnificent wave of mana surged forth, and every screen across the continent blazed to life at once. But what appeared was neither the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠solemn imperial crest nor the young emperor's childish face.

Whoosh—

Beside a waterfall pouring down in a cool, glittering cascade, a stunning elf beauty appeared at the center of the screen, her dazzling golden hair spilling long down her back. She offered the camera a bewitching smile and swept her fingers through her shimmering locks.

The flower of capitalism. The beating heart of broadcasting.

It was the first commercial for shampoo and soap, the new products of the Ian Merchant Guild I had secretly founded last month under my own name.

"Director. Inserting a commercial like that before His Majesty the Emperor's sacred first address—have you lost your mind?"

"This is all part of recouping the production costs. Look. We're already getting a reaction."

The moment the ad ended, the numbers graph displayed in one corner of the control room began shooting up like mad. You could almost hear it from here: the purchasing desire of imperial women exploding at the sight of an elf's shimmering hair, something they had never seen in their lives.

The screen went dark once more. And then, at last, a golden border unfurled and the magnificent imperial anthem swelled through the air.

The grand banquet hall of the imperial palace, standing in the very heart of the capital. With hundreds of high nobles arrayed in ranks, a ten-year-old child emperor stepped forward along a lavish red carpet: Theus.

Golden hair. Blue eyes. A little boy already boasting a finished, striking beauty, having inherited the Late Emperor's distinct features in full. Even the way the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠oversized imperial ceremonial robes, still too big for his frame, fluttered faintly with every step was enough to trigger every protective instinct in the room.

"Ah—ah. Ahem. Mic te—test."

Standing before the camera, Theus gave the magitech device a nervous tap. Through the screen, that young, trembling voice spread across the entire empire.

I'd told him to do that. He was nailing it. The foundation of any speech is a mic check.

"Beloved citizens of the Empire. We are Theus von Klaus, twenty-eighth Emperor of the Empire."

He was adorable. He'd tried to drop his voice as low ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as it would go to sound grown-up, but it cracked, and the tips of his ears flushed bright red—all of it captured on camera without mercy.

"W-We... We have come before you t-today to proclaim this great magitech communications network, completed through the dedication of Chancellor Ian, Grand Magus and Chancellor of the Empire."

The lines were excellent, too. Word for word the script I'd written for him.

I watched the emperor's speech with deep satisfaction and pressed another button on the control panel.

"Sylvia. The Window of Communication magitech devices at the bottom of the receivers—they're activated, right?"

The system I had poured the most effort into. The comment function.

Anyone who operated the small typewriter-shaped terminals installed at the bottom of the mana displays could post their opinions along the bottom of the screen. A true public forum, processed through magical encryption that guaranteed complete anonymity.

"Yes, they're activated. A black scroll bar has appeared at the bottom of every screen. However..."

Sylvia tilted her head, staring at the monitoring window.

"Not a single comment has been posted. We have tens of millions of viewers, but the input fields aren't moving."

Of course they weren't. The person on that screen was the ruler of the Empire. Would a commoner—or even a minor noble—dare scribble on a screen showing the Emperor's face? Terrified of losing their heads for lèse-majesté, not a single soul was touching those typewriters.

"I built them a stage and they still won't step on it. That's why the first commenter is everything."

I spun around in my chair to look at Sylvia.

"Sylvia."

"Yes, Director."

"Sit down at that comment input magitech right now."

Anxiety swept across her face at the order.

"...What are you going to make me do this time?"

"We need to get the mood going. If nobody posts now, nobody ever will. You break the ice."

I stepped in close and whispered a few instructions in her ear. The moment she heard them, Sylvia's pupils shook as if an earthquake had hit. Behind her glasses, the look she gave me was painted over with pure horror.

"You're actually going to have me write that...?"

"Yeah. Write it. How disappointed would His Majesty be if there wasn't a single comment?"

"If I get hanged for this, I'm telling them you made me do it."

"Don't worry. That's not going to happen. It's anonymous. Untraceable, remember?"

Sylvia set her trembling hands on the typewriter magitech. Squeezing her eyes shut, she began to type exactly as I had dictated.

Tap. Taptaptap—

And one second later, across millions of screens broadcasting over the entire continent, the historic first comment appeared in sharp, unmistakable letters along the bottom of the display.

"......!"

A suffocating silence settled over the control room. On screen, the young emperor in the middle of his solemn address caught sight of the text at the bottom and stumbled over his words.

"I-I've lost my mind... I just committed imperial blasphemy with my own two hands..."

Sylvia clutched her head and sank to the floor. But this wasn't over. If I wanted to flip the atmosphere completely, I needed a much bigger hit.

I shoved the crumpled Sylvia aside and sat down at the typewriter myself. I rolled my knuckles once, then unleashed a typing speed honed on Earth that would have put any keyboard warrior to shame.

Clackclackclackclackclack—!!

I smashed the enter key.

Thwack—!

The second comment, highlighted in yellow, was branded along the bottom of every screen in blazing clarity.

"D-Director!! What did you just—!! Hey! You lunatic!! 'Pinch those chubby cheeks, boop-boop'—are you insane!!"

Sylvia finally unloaded a stream of curses at me. But her screaming didn't last. Her eyes, still fixed on the comment window, flew wide open.

Those two vulgar, shamelessly thirsty comments had become the fuse. Noble wives who'd been fidgeting over imperial law, and women across the entire continent, all arrived at the same realization at once: Wait. It's really anonymous? Nobody's actually getting arrested? And everyone else is thinking the exact same thing?

And in that same moment, the emperor standing on the dais could be seen fidgeting as he looked into the magitech camera. I knew exactly what was about to happen and shouted in a rush.

"Front camera!! Close-up on His Majesty's face!! Now!!"

And then—

Blink—

In the close-up of the young emperor's face, a pair of jewel-bright eyes fluttered shut and open again.

I threw my arms up in triumph.

"YES!! That's my emperor, you little genius!!"

"Did you just call His Majesty the Emperor 'you little'—!!!"

Ding—! Ding-ding—! Ding-ding-ding-ding—!

After the emperor's wink, comment notification chimes began pouring in like delivery-order alerts at a neighborhood's most popular restaurant. Tens, then hundreds, then thousands of comments punched through the scroll bar and surged upward.

The scroll was moving so fast the letters were barely readable. From the refined noble wives of the capital to the merchant-guild madams of the marketplace, they had all hidden behind the shield of anonymity and were pouring out the raw, unfiltered feelings they had been holding in their chests.

On screen, the emperor's face flushed so red it looked ready to burst, caught in a banquet of praise and shamelessly thirsty comments. I'd given him a portable terminal so he could see them, after all.

"Uh, uhm... uh...?"

The close-up of the emperor's flustered, darting eyes only made the comment window explode even harder.

"This is a smash hit!! Well—of course it is."

The inaugural broadcast was a roaring success. The system's stability had been proven, and the shampoo would sell like crazy even without me checking the numbers. We'd secured the emperor's popularity and name recognition on top of it. Most of all, I had branded into the minds of the imperial citizenry the thrilling taste of dopamine that anonymous comments could deliver.

The comments were mild for now... but would they stay ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that way?

Meanwhile, the emperor had finished his address.

"We pray for the peace and well-being of all our beloved subjects."

The reaction detonated. As the emperor left the dais, Sylvia's legs gave out and she slid to the floor in a heap.

"Hah, hah... I feel like I just lost ten years of my life."

"Get up. This is only the beginning—if you're collapsing over this already, how are you going to survive the rest?"

Sylvia staggered back to her feet. Then she looked at the numbers graph still climbing without pause, and her mouth fell open in disbelief.

"Concurrent viewers have surpassed thirty million. Real-time comments have exceeded eighty thousand. This is... a miracle. The largest number of people in imperial history are sharing the same emotion at the same time."

"That's the power of broadcasting."

With the speech over, the screen cut to the imperial orchestra beginning a celebratory performance. Still drunk on the afterglow of the first broadcast, the comments showed no sign of stopping.

I stood and walked to the window. Beyond the station glass, the capital square spread out below at a glance. The roar of tens of thousands packed into the square, cheering up at the screen, carried all the way up here.

I pulled a neatly folded sheet of parchment from my coat and tossed it to Sylvia.

"There. We've got our justification, and the test is done. Now the real game begins."

"This is...?"

Sylvia unfolded the parchment, her eyes racing over the writing. She turned the first page, kept reading—and her face went white.

"Wh-wh-wh-wh-what is this? You crazy son of a b— I mean, Director?"

"It's a roster. The casting list for a project I've been preparing for five years."

Written on it were the names of the most renowned young men and women in the Empire.

"Director. Don't tell me the 'entertainment' you've been going on about this whole time was... hiding their identities, living together in one mansion, and falling in love... this?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be a fucking blast, right?"