People Who Walk Above Time (2)
"The response is better than I expected."
With some free time on my hands for once, I was browsing the pre-order numbers for The Elf Who Dreams of Mating with an Orc Remains Frustrated Tomorrow, Too, the sequel I'd put up last time.
People would stroll past without a second thought, then catch a flicker of recognition, rush over with a startled "Wait—wait?", and immediately place their reservation. Watching that little sequence play out was endlessly cute—and deeply satisfying.
No matter how I looked at it, choosing that worn-out teddy bear illustration as the pre-order reward art for this release had been a smart call. It threaded straight through the theme of the new work while letting anyone who'd read the previous one recognize it in an instant. As promotional art for a pre-order campaign, it was perfect.
Well, it did show up so often it was almost pitiful.
That teddy bear was the same battered toy the elf played with whenever she was alone in The Elf Who Dreams of Mating with an Orc Is Frustrated Today, Too. Even before she ever connected with the orc, she'd used it as a punching bag for her frustrations and a stand-in conversation partner for her monologues. Anyone who'd read the comic would feel a quiet familiarity the moment they saw it.
In the sequel, the half-elf ends up playing with that same bear in its worn-out state—one of several episodes that carry over from the previous work. That continuity was exactly what inspired the illustration of the battered teddy.
Honestly, when a single shabby teddy bear sits smack in the middle of a wall of elaborate character and landscape art, of course it draws the eye. And once that eye lands on the sequel to a series you already know, the urge to buy kicks in hard.
"Surprisingly, a lot of people just coolly bought the merch this time around, too."
It felt like being trusted, and that made me happy. Whatever it was, if it had anything to do with this work, they wanted it. In that sense, it meant the series itself was being recognized—and a smile rose on my face all by itself.
Anyway, after running the pre-order campaign around that teddy bear, the limited pre-order exclusive we'd hand out was a kind of viewing ticket printed with the same bear illustration.
The exhibition side of things is the real problem, though.
As for the work itself, I'd finally finished every last page of content and was moving toward submitting the manuscript. The bigger issue was that while the manuscript was complete, the exhibition you could view with that ticket was lagging behind. What I'd pictured in my head and what actually came out of it were turning out to be very different things…
"Ah, there you are. The samples are ready."
"Yes, thank you."
I'd been touring the exhibition hall with focus when the voice I'd been waiting for finally appeared. I'd thought the sample printing was taking longer than usual today—and sure enough, the staff member came over loaded down with all sorts of prepared materials. I nodded as I took them in. It genuinely felt like they were throwing their full weight behind this, and that made me glad.
"This is the finished book. This is the cover. And last, the ticket. As you requested, the ticket only becomes complete once the stamp is applied."
Right—I'd asked for the ticket to work that way. I'd put so much effort into the draft design that the ticket itself came out flawlessly clean. Given how strongly it leaned into merch territory, they'd made it far thicker and glossier than a real ticket, with a premium finish you could feel at a glance. I was thoroughly pleased.
The stamp design had also come out exactly as I'd envisioned, so the finished look of a stamped ticket was perfect too.
The plan was simple: people who only pre-ordered would get the stamp applied on the spot. People who pre-ordered and bought merch would receive an unstamped ticket. Later, after they'd viewed the exhibition, we'd hand them a small replica merch piece of the work they'd seen and stamp the ticket then. The stamp would serve as a way to track delayed merch distribution.
"The book is perfect, as always. It's almost uncanny how free of defects it is."
"That's a relief. By the way, both the pre-order art and the cover art this time are so adorable. Just looking at them feels like it heals something."
"Ahaha… The ticket's perfect too. Which means the exhibition itself is still the biggest problem…"
"It really is. Hah, this is tough."
My biggest worry had been whether they'd even allow a viewing limited exclusively to pre-order holders. Thankfully, they'd accepted the plan as-is—even the part that required a separate dedicated room in the exhibition hall. Under normal circumstances, fairness concerns would have gotten it rejected outright, but because it was framed as an advance preview with a full public release later, we'd gotten the green light. They'd even agreed to the nationwide exhibition I'd said I wanted to try if possible.
From the start, we wouldn't display the originals at all—only large-scale replicas. That way, no matter where in the country you viewed it, you'd see the exact same work.
Looking at the plan alone, I had to tip my hat to myself. Even the staff member who'd heard the pitch had nodded along without hesitation. Under normal circumstances, everything should have rolled forward smoothly…
But first attempts always come with heavy trial and error.
We were exhibiting art drawn with techniques rarely used in this world, and the method itself had a built-in limitation: a single shift in viewing angle completely transformed the piece. Finding the right angles and fold states for an actual exhibition had proven far from easy.
"Then over there…"
"Yes, that seems best…"
We spent a long time figuring out which angles produced the proper appearance, then fine-tuning the degree of each fold so that, from those angles, the work wouldn't look like a stepped, accordioned surface but a perfectly finished flat image. We wrung every idea we could out of ourselves, solving problem after problem to raise the quality of the exhibition pieces.
Once the detailed quality work on the art itself was done, what remained was linking it to the space where it would be displayed. Because the pieces only resolved properly from specific angles, we had to use the surrounding environment to deliberately guide viewers into those positions.
"If we put footprint markers on the floor here, it should naturally lead people into place. Yes."
And since each piece revealed not one form but two, we also had to guide people to the next viewing position so they'd experience the second angle as well. There was a lot to consider beyond the art itself.
Merch was different—it was meant to feel like a toy you hunted for the right angle on. But an exhibition was the first moment most people would encounter these images, so making sure viewers could focus purely on the work felt important.
Still, roughly this much should be enough…
"Even if we lock everything down here, though, if another region sets it up wrong, it's all over. That's a little frustrating…"
"That is a bit of a wild card, yeah. Oh—what about this?"
We'd draft the blueprints around a completely empty dark room as the baseline, then ship out every placement—from the lighting on down—based on the configurations that had already passed testing. That way, we could get as close as possible to a consistent result.
"And finally, have them photograph everything so we can do a final review from the pictures. That should help."
"Ah—photographs. Why didn't I think of that?"
Cameras had only recently become available here, so it was more unusual that the idea came so naturally. I had the memory of a world where cameras had always existed; that was the difference.
At any rate, even if it wasn't perfect, solutions were starting to surface one by one, and that was a relief.
"Then based on what we've discussed, I'll prepare a test exhibition hall. Once it's ready, I should send word to Grabeda Academy, correct?"
"Yes. I'll come out and help when the time comes."
"That's a lot of work. It isn't even your own piece—it's your master's."
"It's fine. This isn't a one- or two-day thing."
"Ahaha…"
The conversation had run longer than expected and eaten into the clock, so I left the exhibition hall with a touch of urgency. I still had some time, but if I dawdled I'd end up late—and I had no intention of burning a perfectly adequate margin just to show off how relaxed I was.
"Whew. That was close."
"Ah, Cali."
"You're late."
I'd arrived right on time and still got called late. The tone wasn't scolding, though—more a warm, I wanted to see you, so why only now? kind of atmosphere.
…Or was that actually the scarier version?
"There's still time left. Everyone hungry? Let's order already."
"I want this!"
Obviously, as a student at the academy, I couldn't just walk out and work with no cover story. We all came out under the banner of club activities, then split into individual tasks for the detailed work. In the end we still had to head back together, so we'd make a point of gathering for a meal or a snack before returning.
"Did you finish everything you needed to?"
"Yeah. More or less. What about you, Rosaria?"
"I finally got a proper shopping spree in. Ta-da!"
"Oh…"
Judging by the matching bags piled up with the other two, it looked like everyone had been dragged along in Rosaria's wake. Yuria wore her usual unreadable expression, so gauging whether she'd enjoyed herself was impossible at a glance. Orca, on the other hand, was clearly having a great time—so at least she'd had fun.
"Oh, right. So when are you going to show me, Cali?"
In the middle of happily eating, Orca asked in a voice quiet enough that Yuria wouldn't overhear. I held firm: she could look the day it released, and not a moment sooner.
"Hiiing…"
"If I show it early and it leaks, we're in serious trouble. You understand, right?"
"Yeah…"
Still, I was a little worried about how Orca would react once she actually saw the new work. Surely she wouldn't get so sad I couldn't handle it… right?