Animated

It had been two months since I woke up in this strange yet familiar world.

I say "woke up" because that's exactly how it happened. One moment, I was sipping lukewarm coffee, reviewing my latest fanfic draft on an old laptop in my cramped London apartment… and the next, I opened my eyes in a completely different body, staring up at a ceiling I didn't recognize.

At first, I thought it was a dream. A long, oddly vivid dream. But dreams don't come with this much consistency, this much detail, this strange sense of weight behind everything.

The body was younger—stronger, leaner. I had gone from a weary, slightly overweight 31-year-old British writer to a healthy 20-year-old man with a toned frame and a clean face I didn't recognize. The identity came quickly—Alex Walker. Apparently, I was now living in Los Angeles, i had room on top floor of my dad office building.

My new life was American on the surface, but generations of British roots ran deep. The accent had faded over time, but the family name and sensibilities still lingered. My grandfather was the last to speak with a full accent, and now I — the reincarnated version — carried that memory like a hidden badge.

But the world... this world… was missing something.

It wasn't the architecture, the politics, or even the people. It was the culture.

The entertainment industry in this version of Earth was still stuck somewhere in the golden age of slapstick and early cartoons. Studios obsessed over things like Tom & Jerry, Looney Tunes, and their derivatives. High-energy chases, goofy sound effects, and shallow characters dominated every screen. Anything resembling serious, serialized storytelling in animated form? Completely nonexistent.

There was no anime. No evolution toward the medium I had adored all my life.

And that's when it hit me.

I had reincarnated into a parallel version of Earth—same technology, same history up to a point—but diverged at one critical juncture: animation never grew up. There were no late-night emotional gut punches, no worlds built from scratch, no character arcs that changed lives. No Death Note, no Attack on Titan, no That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime—the very series I'd written hundreds of fanfics about in my previous life.

It was horrifying. And yet, somehow, it felt like fate.

I had been a nobody in my last life. An underpaid bookstore clerk and an anonymous fanfic writer with a few thousand followers online. Writing anime stories—continuations, rewrites, original arcs—was my escape from the daily grind. I poured my soul into those words, hoping someone out there might appreciate them.

Now… now I had a second chance.

This world was a blank canvas, and I remembered everything.

Every detail. Every theme. Every transformation sequence and teardrop moment.

And cherry on top, daddy has a studio.

Kinda? (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Walker Animation Studio, the very company my father ran, was collapsing. Two months in this world had been enough to discover just how bad the situation was. Poor viewership, aging staff, no innovation, and nearly all our projects were still built around that slapstick model. The studio was a dinosaur in a world that refused to evolve—and it was on the verge of extinction.

And then there was my father—Daniel Walker.

Daniel had been a passionate animator in his youth, a craftsman with big dreams, but the industry had worn him down. Decades of chasing relevance had left him bitter and tired. His eyes didn't shine anymore, and when he spoke of animation, it was with the weary cynicism of a man who had seen his artform rot from the inside.

---

The morning sun poured through the wide, dusty windows of our apartment above the studio. I sat at the kitchen table, a notebook filled with scribbled notes open before me. Character concepts, worldbuilding, transformation rules—all based on one of my favorite stories: That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime.

Of course, I couldn't use that title. Not here. Not in this world. I'd need to reframe it completely—to tweek some settings.

I mean I am a British guy living in USA.

Not a Japanese dude. Right.

I tapped the pen against the page, reviewing my notes again.

> "A man dies and is reborn as a blob of sentient slime in a magical world. He gains powers by absorbing things. Eventually, he creates a kingdom of monsters, built on peace and diplomacy. But the world is not so kind. Enemies rise. Friends fall. The slime king rises."

It sounded insane. But I knew it worked. I knew how to build this.

All I needed… was a studio.

And I had one. Technically.

I stood, cuz first I needed a talk with denial, so I headed downstairs.

---

The studio was quiet at this hour. Just a few staff still clinging to routine—cleaning out old rooms, tinkering with storyboards for our latest project (another cat-chases-dog short). The walls were lined with faded posters of past glories—none of which had brought lasting success.

I found my father in the editing room, sipping black coffee with bags under his eyes,looks like he didn't sleep well last night.He looked up, unsurprised to see me.

"You're up early," he said as he he leaned back on chair.

"Good morning" I said as I approached.

"Hmm" He humed as he gestured me to sit then added. "Have you eaten?"

"I will in couple of minutes" I said

"So what brings you here this early" he add.

"I've been thinking," I said carefully, sitting across from him, got straight to the topic I came here for. "About animation. And about what's wrong with the studio."

He arched a brow. "What isn't wrong with it?"

I froze and then smiled a little. "That's fair. But I think I have an idea that could change everything."

He scoffed teasingly. "You and every intern who's come through here."

"I'm serious," I said annoyingly. "I want to pitch a full-length animated series. Serialized. With a strong lead character, emotional stakes, fantasy worldbuilding, and real consequences. Something the audience can grow with. Not just gags."

He looked at me like I had lost my mind.

"You mean like a drama? In animation?" he said slowly. "That's never been done. No one watches that sort of thing. Animation's for laughs, kid."

"Only because no one's tried anything else," I said. "People don't even know what they're missing."

He stared at me. I couldn't tell if he was amused, confused, or just tired.

"You want to do this... now? While we're running on fumes? We don't even have a writing team."

"I'll write it," I said.

His brow furrowed.

"You?"

" Just give me a few days. Let me show you a pilot script and basic episode outline."I Said.

There was a long pause.

Daniel sipped his coffee, watching me closely. Then he sighed.

"Alright," he said. "I'll humor you. Once. But don't expect miracles."

"Thank you"Said excited as I stood and walked off.

With A flicker in my eyes. A glimmer of something long buried.

Hope.

---

after have breakfast at nearby restaurant, I returned to my notes.

This was it. My chance to bring anime into a world that never had it.

I wasn't some chosen one. I wasn't backed by a god or given powers beyond memory.

But I had stories.

And that would have to be enough.

Three days.

That's all I had promised him. Three days to write a full pilot episode , lay out a visual guide, and explain an entire fictional world to people who had never seen anything like it. No pressure, right?

I didn't sleep much that first night. The adrenaline in my bloodstream refused to fade. I couldn't stop pacing in my room, flipping between notepads and reference sketches, reworking dialogue and outlining key moments I remembered from the original show.

By morning, I had half the pilot script finished, the main cast named and outlined, and a map of the world sketched on an old animation layout board. Not perfect. Not polished. But it was real.

And I felt it — that strange buzz I used to get in my old life when I was deep in the zone. When a scene finally clicked and the dialogue flowed on its own. I hadn't felt that in years.

This was more than just a passion project.

This was resurrection.

---

By the third day, I stood in front of a dry erase board in the conference room of Walker Animation Studio. The lights flickered slightly — this building really was ancient — and the plastic chairs around the room creaked as the old crew slowly trickled in.

My father was last to enter. He didn't say anything. Just gave me a look that said, "Go on then. Prove it."

I took a breath and nodded.

I clicked on the projector.

On screen appeared the first image: a blue, semi-transparent sphere floating in the darkness.

"This," I began, "is not your average hero."

---

I walked them through the concept slowly, deliberately.

> "Our main character dies unexpectedly and is reborn in a fantasy world — not as a knight, or a sorcerer, or even a human. He becomes a slime. A weak, almost worthless creature in every RPG ever made… except he isn't weak. He evolves. Learns. Adapts. He absorbs powers and beings alike and gradually builds a society of monsters who follow him—not out of fear, but out of respect. He becomes their leader."

Eyes started to lift.

Even the veteran storyboard guy, Marcus, who usually spent meetings doodling cats on napkins, had stopped drawing.

I continued.

> "The tone is balanced. There's humor, yes — our protagonist is a modern soul in a fantasy world — but there's also tension. Real character arcs. We watch him form friendships. Save lives. Lose allies. And eventually, change the world around him."

Daniel squinted at the board.

"You're pitching a monster as the main character?"

"Exactly," I said. "But one who carries the heart of a human."

---

I walked them through the first three episodes. The murder. The awakening as slime. The discovery of his new powers — Predator and Great Sage. The moment he meets the storm dragon sealed in a cave and gives him a name.

The room was silent. No interruptions. No sarcastic jokes.

Just silence.

And when I finally paused, it was Daniel who broke it.

"This… This is different."

He leaned forward, knuckles on the table.

"Hell, I don't know if anyone will even watch it. But it's… It's not stupid. It has bones. A structure."

"It has soul," said Maya, the layout artist who hadn't spoken all morning.

I blinked. "So… that's a yes?"

"No," my father said. "But it's a maybe. Which is more than this studio's had in a long time."

---

And that's how it began.

The pilot was greenlit — low budget, internal production, no marketing yet. Just a test. A gamble. I was given three junior animators, a composer who owed Daniel a favor, and a month to get it done.

I wasn't naive. Even with everything I remembered, this wasn't going to be easy. The animators had never drawn fantasy before. The editors didn't understand serialized pacing. And our lead voice actor didn't know how to perform grief.

But we had something none of them realized yet.

We had a damn good story.

And I was going to bring it to life — frame by frame.

Back at my desk, I opened the pilot script again.

Episode Title: "The Awakening."

> A soul lost in darkness finds light again… not as a man, but as something new. Something fluid. Something free.

---

This wasn't fanfiction anymore.

This was me pilgrizing.

<⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)>

And it was just beginning.

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I don't know guys it's my first try writing and I wanna try something easy. So I picked this genre I mean nobody has written plot based of animes before not that I am aware of. So? Should I keep going?