Iwata Circus
Ultimately, pushed by the director and producer's insistence that you shouldn't keep a lady waiting, Kyung-ho opened the door and stepped outside. As the door swung open, the cool night air, now chilled, rushed in like a wave.
Under the nearby streetlamp, Mari stood with her arms crossed.
"You came out quickly."
"Yeah... well..."
He trailed off vaguely, and Mari strode toward him in her heels, clicking sharply against the ground, before cutting straight to the point without hesitation.
"Why didn't you come to our side?"
Kyung-ho looked up, meeting her eyes directly.
"Because there's something I want to do here."
"Something greater than Captain Varok?"
"Of course. I'll make it even better."
Mari bit her lip slightly. She looked almost hurt, as if her pride had been wounded.
"...And after that work is done?"
Kyung-ho closed his eyes for a moment and fell silent. In the cold air, the faint scent of her perfume, mingled with her body heat, wafted toward him.
"Miss Mari."
He opened his eyes again and stared straight at her.
"Why do you need me?"
"I liked your drawings."
"That's not enough."
"Then what is? Money?"
Kyung-ho shook his head at the proud young woman's words.
"I want to make the animation I want to make."
"What does that mean? You don't want to make Toei animations?"
Mari's voice sharpened, but Kyung-ho answered calmly.
"I don't want to make what others tell me to."
At those words, Mari fell silent. Toei right now was a place where you did exactly what you were told from above.
Seeing her clench her fists without a word, Kyung-ho spoke again.
"Miss Mari. What ways are there for me to make the animation I want?"
"What kind of animation?"
"I don't know yet."
A brief silence. Mari thought for a long time before speaking.
"Usually, there are two ways. Become a successful mangaka and adapt your own manga into animation..."
She hesitated, then looked at Kyung-ho and finished.
"...Or become an animation director."
Kyung-ho replied without hesitation.
"Then make me a director."
Mari's eyes widened.
"......"
It was a demand beyond her authority, something she couldn't handle—essentially a proposal tantamount to rejection.
Mari gazed endlessly into Kyung-ho's calm eyes before letting out a sigh. She turned and walked to the black luxury sedan parked by the roadside.
Kyung-ho assumed the negotiations had broken down. But she opened the back door, pulled out a thick cashmere scarf, and returned.
"You'll catch a cold dressed like that."
The soft, warm fabric wrapped around Kyung-ho's neck. The unexpected warmth made his chest flush hot, his heart pounding.
He looked at Mari in surprise.
"That—"
"It's fine."
Mari cut him off and got into the car.
"I'll come again next time."
The heavy door closed with a thud, and the luxury sedan glided smoothly into the darkness amid a low engine hum.
Kyung-ho stared blankly at the car's retreating taillights. The image of Mari's eyes as she wrapped the scarf around him lingered in his mind.
"Mari..."
As he gently touched the scarf still warm with her heat—
Ding-a-ling—crash!
"Don't push, Kubo!"
"I didn't push!"
The employees who had been pressing their ears to the door tumbled forward in a heap. What were these grown men doing?
"What are you all doing?"
The staff, tangled on the floor, exchanged awkward glances.
"......"
"......"
Finally, the man called Kubo, buried at the bottom, spoke first.
"...We were in a meeting."
Kyung-ho narrowed his eyes.
"With your ears to the door?"
"Call it... field research..."
Then, a cough came from behind.
"Ahem."
It was Director Tomizawa. He had been standing there arms crossed behind the eavesdroppers, unnoticed until now.
The director spoke slowly.
"We had to check if she was a Toei spy or not."
Kyung-ho blinked several times.
"What spy in the world works as hard as I do?"
Yamada chimed in from the side.
"That's true."
Yasuhiro nodded too.
"At Teacher Kyogo's level, we'd hire him even if he were a spy."
Director Tomizawa waved his hand dismissively.
"Ah, whatever, you punks. Why are you all taking Kyogo's side?"
Laughter erupted here and there.
The director pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and casually asked,
"By the way."
As he inhaled,
"What's your relationship with Miss Tokita?"
All eyes turned to Kyung-ho. Yamada scrutinized his face and spoke.
"His looks aren't bad, at least."
Kenji, who had tattled to the director about Yamada's escape earlier, agreed.
"Yeah."
"So what kind of relationship is it?"
As the staff looked on expectantly, Kyung-ho pondered.
"What relationship...?"
He tilted his head.
"...Miss Mari likes my drawings and is trying to scout me?"
"You idiot!!"
The next day. Moonrise Production's second-floor studio.
The office air was tense from the morning. Thick stacks of planning documents covered the desks, and some staff scratched their heads as they flipped through pages.
"No matter what, this won't work."
Yasuhiro set down his pen.
"I agreed yesterday in the heat of the moment, but looking at it coldly, if we finalize the joints like this, the action scenes will explode. We can't handle the workload."
Another animator nodded.
"Even if they give us more time... Honestly, I don't think we can draw it like this."
"We have to cut this part boldly."
A few sketches slid across the conference table. A massive robot spinning at high speed, shooting down enemy fighters. The camera followed, backgrounds blurred by, armor reflecting light as it moved. An undeniably cool scene—but one that would grind the key animation team to dust.
A moment of silence.
Then Kyung-ho spoke.
"Then just draw it simplified."
Heads turned.
Director Tomizawa asked again.
"...You're okay with simplifying?"
Kyung-ho shook his head.
"If the joints are the problem, leave the joints blank."
He said casually.
"I'll draw all the joint parts."
The room went quiet.
Okawa narrowed his eyes.
"You'll do them all?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how much that is?"
"I do. About 1,000 cuts per episode on average."
"You know that and—!"
Director Tomizawa, who had been watching quietly, shouted, but Kyung-ho flipped a page in the planning document unfazed.
"I already shortened it a lot in the planning, right?"
He tapped the document with his pen.
"I want to spend that saved time here."
He flipped more pages to the action section and tapped again.
"And honestly..."
The staff shifted uncomfortably.
"I don't think anyone else can complete this properly besides me."
Okawa showed his irritation.
"What do you think, Director?"
Another staffer couldn't hold back and yelled.
"You crazy bastard! Even if you do it! You think you can meet the deadline?"
Kyung-ho replied calmly.
"I can."
At that moment.
"Hey."
Director Tomizawa, who had been observing silently, stubbed out his cigarette.
"You think we're a joke? The seniors are indulging you, so you think you're hot stuff? You got the speed of four mid-level animators or what?"
Kyung-ho answered shortly.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then thwack—the director slammed the table.
"Yasuhiro."
"Yes?"
"Go get Iwata."
Moments later, the door opened.
"You called?"
It was Iwata, the main key animator.
Director Tomizawa glared at Kyung-ho.
"From now, for one hour, do key animation work identical to Iwata's."
The office air grew still.
"We'll evaluate quality and speed comprehensively."
The director pointed at Kyung-ho.
"If you're judged more than twice as good as Iwata, we do it your way."
Twice as good.
"If you don't show the skill of two Iwatas, from now on, we won't ask your opinion on key animation."
A threat: prove it or submit.
It was exactly what he wanted.
"Fine."
He added,
"Shall Yasuhiro and Okawa do the judging?"
Everyone was surprised; they expected him to back down, but he pressed on calmly.
Iwata asked cautiously.
"Uh... Director, how do we—"
Tomizawa bellowed,
"What do you mean how!"
He waved his hand.
"Do it that way! Get ready to draw!"
Two light tables were set in the center of the studio, surrounded by temporary partitions to create workspaces.
The theme was, naturally, robot action.
Yasuhiro checked his watch.
"One hour."
It was nearly 10 a.m.
"We start at exactly 10."
Soon.
"Start!"
Iwata's pencil began to move.
Scratch—scratch—
Kyung-ho glanced at the partition in Iwata's direction.
Under the divider, Iwata's hand moved busily. Fast. Definitely fast. No hesitation.
A smile crept in. As expected of the "Demon of Direction," Iwata's skill.
Actually, from the moment Iwata entered, Kyung-ho had thought of one trump card.
Iwata Circus.
Missiles streaking across the screen, spinning around targets in pursuit, cameras flipping as mechs loomed large then shrank—packed with speed and tension...
It was the directing style created by the very "Iwata" drawing beside him.
In original history, its prototype would appear years later, refined over more years—but seeing Iwata sparked it in Kyung-ho's mind.
His eyes narrowed.
'Sorry, Mr. Iwata... but I have to win first.'
Soon, Kyung-ho's hand moved busily, sketching a vivid robot form.
Part of the robot enlarged massively, then fled into the distance, shrinking.
'Details in close-ups. Speed in distance shots.'
Recalling words from Natsume Shinji, his mentor in his past life, he drew vapor trails from missile thrusters.
Repeating zooms in and out reduced mecha detail work, and key sheets piled up at incredible speed.
Flip the sheet—pencil moves again.
Scratch—
'Something's missing... Ah! Reference objects!'
His hand, gaining the feel, sped up.
Scratch-scratch-scratch—
As the onlookers sensed something off about the pencil sounds from Kyung-ho's side.
"Done."
One hour passed.
Partitions removed, Yasuhiro flipped Iwata's sheets.
"...Iwata, five sheets."
Five action sheets in an hour—impressively fast. All nodded in admiration.
Next.
Okawa picked up Kyung-ho's sheets. Not many.
'As expected.'
"Okawa, that's fresh paper."
"Huh?"
He pointed to the thick stack.
"That's what I just drew."
"Th-that...?"
Even by eye, it far exceeded Iwata's output.
Okawa swallowed dryly and flipped through.
One. Two. Three. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
And.
"...Twenty-four sheets."
The studio fell silent.
'This isn't human.'
Feeling the massive wall, Okawa bit his lip and handed the stack to Yasuhiro.
Yasuhiro took Kyung-ho's sheets.
Even Okawa, doubting twenty-four, peered over.
They flipped silently.
One. Another.
As sheets turned, puzzlement turned to awe.
"......"
Yasuhiro's eyes widened.
"This..."
Okawa was speechless. The output was insane, but the quality was breathtaking.
The mech grew and shrank horizontally with dynamic speed, missiles crossing frames toward it.
Next, sharp turn, natural approach filling the screen, armor details popping.
"...Hold on."
Flip back to the start.
Radical, bold compositions connected perfectly. No roughs or guides anywhere. Comps and forms fully formed in his head.
"Huh...?"
Realizing suddenly, they examined from the beginning again.
In the extreme directing, mechs oversized or minimized screens, elegantly cutting detail work.
Yasuhiro was shocked.
First view: beautiful art.
Second: bold, daring angles.
Third: he couldn't comprehend it.
Where did this talent come from in this boy?
Then.
Iwata, watching beside, spoke quietly.
"...I lost."
Eyes turned.
Iwata glanced at Kyung-ho's sheets again.
And said calmly.
"...Kyogo wins."
The studio hushed.
Director Tomizawa, waiting without seeing, twitched an eyebrow.
"...What?"
Iwata repeated.
"No comparison."
He shook his head. The taciturn Iwata going this far meant the director knew something anomalous happened.
But determined to crush Kyung-ho this time, Tomizawa glared silently at Yasuhiro and Okawa.
'For real?'
Yasuhiro nodded slowly. Okawa too.
Finally, Tomizawa extended his hand.
"...Hand it over."
Yasuhiro quietly passed the stack.
The director lifted the first sheet. Next. Next.
His flipping slowed.
"......"
Pulled out a cigarette, lit it.
Another sheet. Another.
At the last, his hand stopped.
"Unbelievable."
He muttered quietly.
Back to the first. Flipped again.
One. Two. Three.
Even he couldn't deny it.
Thud—set the sheets down.
Stubbed the cigarette. Removed glasses, set on table.
Elbows on desk, hands covering face.
"...You hiding more?"
"Pardon?"
"Tell me everything you can do."
"Um..."
Kyung-ho pondered, puzzled.
What to say?
Finally.
"I can do it all, so I don't know what to say."
At Kyung-ho's confident reply, Director Tomizawa shot up.
"Hey, you punk! I don't wanna be embarrassed again, so spill everything you can do right now!"