Chapter 270: Shinji – "I've Got a New Filmmaking Technique..."
"Master, you didn't tell that Ruler what you were planning, did you?"
Arturia approached quietly, her voice low with concern.
"If I did, it might shake him emotionally. And if that gets captured by the new technique, it could backfire."
Shinji shrugged, clearly irritated.
"Not just Amakusa—I didn't tell Jeanne either."
"Hiding it from both of them like this... won't that cause more trouble later?"
Arturia, who was already in on Shinji's plan, voiced her worries.
If they told the Rulers, at least they'd be mentally prepared. But filming them without any prior warning? What if something went wrong?
"Master, I understand you're aiming for immersion, but if you don't tell them anything and they accidentally get emotional during filming—like, what if that French saint ends up loving Ferrero chocolates too much—what then?"
'You're clearly talking about yourself. You're worried your own gluttony will get recorded during filming, right?'
"A little emotional deviation won't ruin the effect," Shinji replied, waving her off. "As long as they immerse themselves in the scene and express genuine emotions, we're golden."
He let out a sigh.
"If every little stray thought could get picked up and mess everything up, then forget movies—I should just use mind reading to get rich."
Arturia looked at him sternly. "Master, that would be illegal."
"Tch. There's no law that says you can't make money by reading minds."
"But Master," Arturia pressed on, "this isn't you reading minds—it's your mind being read."
Shinji tapped her lightly with the script. "Hey, this is top-secret tech from our film crew. Keep it to yourself."
"Heh, 'top-secret' huh."
Arturia wrinkled her nose, clearly skeptical, but said no more.
What they were discussing was a new technology Shinji planned to use in their upcoming Fate/Apocrypha shoot—a technique Arturia referred to as "emotional reading."
Developed by Touko Aozaki and Medea, this technique wasn't related to glasses-free 3D, but rather an extension of their previous "emotional resonance" project.
The inspiration had come to Shinji during post-production on Super 8. While working on the vibration-based enchantments embedded in the film reels, he had a thought:
If they could directly stir the audience's spirit through the movie's resonance spells, then what if those vibrations could be fine-tuned even further?
What if the emotions a character felt—joy, anger, sorrow—could also be transmitted through the screen, giving viewers a deeper, more immersive experience?
And once the idea took root, Shinji did what he did best: gave orders.
After all, it wasn't like he had to do the actual grunt work. Talking was easy.
Still, Shinji's wild ideas sometimes turned out to be genius.
Thanks to Touko and Medea's relentless work, they managed to bring his vision to life.
Originally, Shinji's plan was to encode specific emotional states as magical data, inserting them into key scenes of the film.
But they soon hit a wall.
Human emotions were far too complex to be captured and written like standard enchantments. Even with the simplicity of resonance spells—where strength and frequency could be controlled—trying to encapsulate something like "bittersweet nostalgia" or "quiet dread" was a coding nightmare.
After much discussion, Touko and Medea decided on a workaround: rather than manually writing the emotions, they would directly record the actor's feelings during their performance—and replay them for the audience during the screening.
To put it in modern terms, instead of writing code from scratch, they'd just "copy-paste" it from real-time data.
This solved one problem but introduced another.
Because it was the actor's real-time emotional state being recorded, they now needed the actor's actual feelings to match the character's mindset perfectly.
Any disconnect—say, if the actor cried on screen but was thinking about lunch—would completely ruin the effect. Rather than drawing the audience in, it would shatter immersion.
But if executed flawlessly, this technique would be revolutionary.
Actors would no longer just perform—they'd project. Their emotional range would reach the audience on a whole new level, enhancing realism and connection in unprecedented ways.
Originally, Shinji had intended to infuse emotional resonance throughout most of the film's scenes. Unfortunately, that plan hit a wall—not because of money, but because the cost in mana was simply too high.
A single film screening wasn't too bad.
But what about dozens, even hundreds, of theaters in a city playing the same movie on loop, several times a day?
And unlike the simple "vibration" technique—which worked like a single burst, a momentary pulse—this new emotional transmission was continuous. A stream rather than a point.
Mana-wise, it was a completely different beast.
Whether it was the city's leyline output or the money in the fans' pockets, Shinji had always maintained the same approach to resource extraction: sustainable exploitation. In other words, he liked to milk, not butcher the cow.
And for that, moderation was key.
After carefully analyzing the leylines, Shinji calculated that a single film could use emotional projection for no more than ten minutes total.
That meant, in most cases, only one scene per film could use the technique.
Which was fine. If you only had one bullet, you just had to aim for the heart.
Shinji knew exactly where to use it: the final confrontation between Amakusa and Jeanne—the ideological clash that defined their entire story.
"They both have to mean it," he explained to Arturia. "Amakusa needs to truly believe he's saving humanity. Jeanne must, from the bottom of her heart, deny that salvation. Only then will their emotional collision become the film's climax—and the audience's climax, too."
"…Master, that sounded dangerously lewd. I have very strong suspicions, and evidence to back them up."
It wasn't that Arturia disagreed with his point. What really worried her was the idea of Shinji applying this tech to... more intimate scenes in the future.
Knowing her Master and his utter lack of shame, she couldn't dismiss the possibility.
Of course, projecting that kind of emotion in a public theatrical release would be indecent. The city's mana wouldn't allow it either—too intensive, too scandalous.
But a private cut? One circulated among a very select group?
…Yeah. That sounded exactly like something Shinji would never admit to doing.
"Whatever," Arturia muttered, shaking off her thoughts. "As long as the movie turns out good, I won't complain."
She knew she was overthinking it. It was just her (slightly misplaced) knightly pride acting up again.
"Well, anyway, I'm leaving the Fate/Apocrypha crew tomorrow. Got another film project starting. So behave yourself while I'm gone, Master."
"…Another project?"
Shinji looked puzzled. "That's odd. I thought Alter was doing the cameo for Magical Illya, not you. You actually landed another role?"
Arturia snorted proudly. "Master, have you forgotten? You told my manager that I'd be completely free this season. So he went ahead and booked me something."
"…I thought you were just going to laze around at my place eating for free—OW! Did you just kick me!?"
Arturia calmly retracted her foot. "That was punishment for slandering me."
'Huh. This woman's finally making moves. Landed a gig, huh.'
Shinji rubbed his leg, quietly impressed.
Honestly, it was weird that Arturia hadn't been cast elsewhere earlier. She was the female lead in two smash-hit films—Fate/Stay Night and Fate/Zero. What director wouldn't want her?
But back when the Fuyuki City studio wasn't fully built and there were barely any crews around, Arturia couldn't accept outside projects. Unless it was something Shinji arranged, she had nothing to do.
Now that Fuyuki's film industry was up and running, it was only natural she'd be in high demand.
"So, what's your new movie called, Arturia?"
"I think it's Phantom of the Rogue! I'm playing the female lead!"
The knight's eyes gleamed with confidence.
"Master, shall we make it a race? See who finishes filming first—my movie or your Fate/Apocrypha?"
"…Are you serious? You're trying to compete with me?"
Shinji gave her a deadpan look. "Fate/Apocrypha will wrap by the end of this month. You planning to finish your film in a week?"
"…Tch. I forgot about that."
Arturia deflated slightly, and Shinji just shrugged.
Later that afternoon, she departed the Fate/Apocrypha set to start her next project.
Meanwhile, Shinji stayed behind to begin shooting the climactic final battle of Fate/Apocrypha—the grand collision of ideals that would shake the hearts of everyone who watched.
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