Once Again at the Ryotei
Once again, a black sedan that had raced through Tokyo's tangled roads for a good while slowed to a stop in front of a quiet alley lined with stone walls. Low-slung tiled roofs and neatly trimmed pine trees stood sentinel along both sides of the path. As the car halted, an employee waiting at the entrance stepped forward promptly.
"Welcome."
Miyazawa pulled out the wheelchair, and two employees naturally approached to help Kyung-ho settle into it.
"We'll escort you."
The employee carefully pushed the wheelchair along the gravel garden path. Soon Mari emerged from the car as well, and the moment the employee spotted her, he straightened his posture.
"Miss Mari, we've been expecting you. This way."
A few steps into the garden under the employees' guidance, the sliding door opposite them opened, and several men emerged from within. Japanese men in suits. One of them froze mid-stride.
"Kyung-ho?"
Kyung-ho looked up at the same moment.
"...Huh?"
It was Shunsuke.
"Mr. Shunsuke?"
Shunsuke's face lit up with surprise in an instant.
"Kyung-ho, what are you doing here?"
Kyung-ho looked equally stunned.
"I'm here for dinner."
"That's not—I mean, I'm curious about that too, but why with Toei..."
Shunsuke trailed off as he realized mid-sentence that this wasn't the place for such talk and clamped his mouth shut. At that moment, a middle-aged man standing beside him addressed Shunsuke. Gray hair, impeccably tailored suit, sharp gaze.
"Someone you know?"
Shunsuke nodded immediately.
"Yes. He's the Korean student I mentioned last time."
The man's eyes lingered on Kyung-ho for a moment before shifting to Mari beside him. His eyes narrowed subtly.
"......"
He then bowed with utmost politeness.
"You're from the Toei family, I presume."
Mari returned the greeting without a flicker in her expression.
"I didn't expect to run into Tatsumino's president here."
Her voice was calm. A brief silence hung between them. The Tatsumino president broke it first.
"It seems Toei is scouting young talent these days as well."
His mouth smiled, but his eyes did not.
Mari replied flatly.
"Yet Tatsumino's president speaks as if he's not seeking any."
Her aggressive tone shifted the relatively amicable mood among the Tatsumino executives into subtle hostility.
Sensing it, Mari scoffed and turned away.
"Kyung-ho."
"Yes?"
"Let's go in."
Mari said no more and strode inside. Kyung-ho gave Shunsuke a quick bow.
"See you next time. We'll head in now."
Shunsuke smiled awkwardly.
"Uh... yeah."
The wheelchair, pushed by the employee, resumed rolling along the garden path, and soon the two vanished behind the sliding door. The Tatsumino group watched them go before slowly making their way out along the stone path. At the garden's end, drivers waited beside a black sedan. Shunsuke trailed quietly behind. In the heavy silence, the president spoke first.
"Kimura."
Shunsuke looked up promptly.
"Yes."
"That Korean kid—the one who drew that picture back then?"
"Yes, that's right."
A brief silence. The president pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The lighter flame flashed in the darkness.
"Hoo......"
He exhaled slowly.
"What's his connection to the Toei girl?"
Shunsuke chose his words carefully before answering.
"I'm not entirely sure, but I did run into her when I went to Korea for subcontracting."
"Korea?"
"Yes. Shinwon Production."
The president's eyes narrowed subtly. A production department executive chimed in.
"But isn't it a bit odd?"
The president turned.
"What is?"
"No matter how good his drawings are, bringing a high schooler all the way to Tokyo for Kikunoi— isn't that overkill?"
Shunsuke had to admit it made sense. But the animation director countered.
"If he's the one who did that key animation last time, it might be justified."
"True. If we consider him top-tier genga, it doesn't sound so unreasonable."
Silence. The president took another drag.
"That good, huh..."
No one spoke for a while. Finally, he dropped the cigarette and ground it under his shoe.
"Kimura."
"Yes."
"Can you still bring him on board now?"
"...I'm not sure at this point."
Shunsuke shook his head, and the president eyed him. After a moment's thought, he spoke slowly.
"Kimura."
"Yes."
"Find a way. If needed..."
He paused, then added curtly.
"Offer him the main animator spot."
Shunsuke's eyes widened slightly.
"President!"
The executives erupted in protest at the bold proposal.
"He's unproven talent!"
"Main animator to a high schooler? That's too much!"
"Staff have been leaving nonstop since the late founder passed last year. Handing animation director to a newbie now will make the remaining ones discontent and bail too!"
But Yoshida Ippei, president of Tatsumino, had made up his mind.
"That's exactly why. Tatsumino is declining."
His heavy words silenced them.
"I've long pondered what set my late brother and me apart. Why do people keep leaving?"
Yoshida Kenta, Tatsumino's founder and Yoshida Ippei's brother.
"Brother had a knack for bold promotions. Remember? He saw a middle schooler visiting the studio, liked one drawing, and made him character designer on the spot."
Everyone remembered. Despite opposition, Yoshida had housed Amamiya Yoshikazu—a middle schooler from Shizuoka—for two years, taught him, and turned him into the character designer for countless Tatsumino hits.
"Lately, I've wondered if that's my shortfall."
"Not at all!"
"No. It is."
He pressed on despite the objection.
"So I want to take a gamble too. Korean or not—what's the difference? Shizuoka or Korea, same commute to Tokyo."
Unable to refute, the staff fell silent. The president looked at Shunsuke.
"Bring that student to us before Toei does."
Shunsuke bowed deeply.
"Understood."
The sliding door closed smoothly. The corridor carried a subtle, low incense scent. Tatami absorbed footsteps; long walls of fusuma doors added weight to the space.
As the employee pushed the wheelchair, Kyung-ho glanced sideways. Beyond the window lay a meticulously manicured miniature garden: mossy stone lanterns, pines twisting in eerie curves, a silent pond.
...Just like on TV.
Even in his past life, he'd never set foot in a proper ryotei. His fanciest was chugging beer with greasy snacks at a place like Wadaya during a company dinner.
The employee gently helped Kyung-ho to his seat in the room. Mari sat opposite, eyes on the floor.
Servers deftly arranged tofu on silver plates, simmered fish, pickled vegetables in soy. Amid the faint clinks of dish on floor, Mari let out a short breath.
"Haa..."
"Something wrong?"
She looked up at Kyung-ho's question, faint crease between her brows.
"It's going to get annoying."
"Annoying how?"
Mari's gaze pierced him.
"Close with Tatsumino's Shunsuke?"
"Not bad terms."
She stared blankly into space, chopsticks untouched.
"What would it take for you to come to Toei?"
"I just want to make the anime I envision."
Mari sighed again. Her fingertips trembled faintly on her knee.
"Even so, Kyung-ho, with less than a year of experience—no track record in Japan—we can't give you director. Toei's system won't allow it. I don't have that authority."
"That's why I'll build experience elsewhere first, then join Toei."
She bit her lip, eyes aggrieved, anxious.
"Why not build it at Toei then?"
Kyung-ho shook his head slowly.
"Toei's a big company."
"And that's bad?"
"Not bad, just high barriers to opportunity."
He scratched the back of his head lightly.
"Too many entrenched veterans. Sure, financial stability and sponsor freedom are perks—but only after I become director."
"......"
"That's why a smaller place for my shot."
He clenched his right fist lightly, as if grasping something invisible.
"Give me the canvas, and I'll make it succeed. Guaranteed."
Conviction sparkled in his eyes like starlight—prophetic assurance born of overwhelming skill. Mari met that gaze and fell silent. She wanted to deny it, but his genga she'd seen whispered it might be true. Pouting, she snatched her chopsticks and grumbled.
"Fine. Let's eat."
Asakusabashi in the morning. The alley thrummed with harsh machinery. Screeching saws through sheet metal, dull thuds on steel. Air thick with acrid oil and cold metal shavings.
Kyung-ho wheeled into the workshop. Old man Sato stood at his bench.
"You're here."
"Yeah."
Sato nodded at the bench with his chin. Yesterday's clay prototype: torso, limbs, precisely divided joint lines intact.
Gazing down, he muttered low.
"Kid, busy or not, you can't just leave work like this."
"Oh, right."
To Kyung-ho's sheepish reply, the old man lit a cigarette.
"Never pegged you for someone who could craft a model like that."
Kyung-ho shrugged instead of answering at the grudging praise.
"So, what's today?"
"Time for molding."
Sato dragged out a heavy gypsum bag from under the shelf.
Thud.
"Figured, so I prepped."
Kyung-ho eyed the powdery bag. Gypsum won't do.
"Got silicone?"
Sato snorted.
"We do? Speak for yourself."
"Can't get any?"
"Too pricey."
He shook his head, exhaling smoke.
"Big workshops use that. Not hole-in-the-wall spots like ours. No small batches."
Silence returned. Kyung-ho scanned the shop thoughtfully: rusted tools, tangled wires on cluttered shelves. In the corner, dust-caked tubes caught his eye. He pointed.
"What's that?"
Sato followed his finger.
"...Oh, that?"
Casual shrug.
"Silicone sealant."
Silicone sealant—high-viscosity stuff for caulking windows and corners. An idea flashed.
"Mind if I use some?"
"Won't work."
"I'll make it work."
Sato chuckled dryly.
"Too viscous—traps bubbles."
"Bubbles okay?"
His eyebrow twitched at the dismissal.
"......Leftovers anyway. Was gonna toss 'em. Do what you want."
He fetched a tube and tossed it to Kyung-ho. As Kyung-ho set it on the bench, Sato tsked, still baffled.
"Gonna see all kinds of weird today. Suit yourself."
Staring a beat longer, the old man turned, clamped a metal part in the vise, and fired up the machine.
Rrrrr—
The shop filled with noise again. Sato ignored Kyung-ho.
Kyung-ho didn't mind. He grabbed a stray worn brush and squeezed out sealant. Thick gray silicone oozed.
Dip the bristles heavy—
Smooth—
A gray film coated the half-dam prototype along the brush's path.
For joints, panel lines, sharp corners where high viscosity struggled, he angled the tip to force it into every crevice. Minutes later, the whole form gleamed under perfect silicone skin. Kyung-ho paused, inspected.
...Good enough.
He set the brush down, grabbed paper, and fanned the surface. Simple work—just endless repetition and patience. Soon, confirming it dry, he started the second layer.