By the end of March, news of Su Yan officially leaving Sakura TV had completely gone viral, dominating industry headlines.
Major media outlets rolled out nonstop coverage:
📰'To the Moon' screenwriter Su Yan confirms departure from Sakura TV — where will his future lead?]
📰Some people confuse platforms with talent — Su Yan may fade into obscurity without Sakura TV.
📰Youthful arrogance leads to downfall — a few successful works, and he thinks he can go solo? Typical ingrate behavior!
📰'Your Lie in April' trends online — fans of 'Rurouni Kenshin', 'To the Moon', and 'An Ancient Love Song' rally behind Su Yan.
📰Sakura TV production head Akasaka Yoshitoki denies suppressing Su Yan, claims he had poor interpersonal skills and would've been pushed out anyway.
📰Anonymous writers from Sakura TV claim Su Yan disrespected mentors, had low emotional intelligence, and was generally disliked.
📰Rumor: Su Yan's departure was due to his collaborator, Best New Producer award-winner Shinozaki Ikumi, being unfairly reassigned.
Su Yan's exit became one of the biggest entertainment stories of the quarter. For more than a week, rumors, gossip, and misinformation flew fast and furious—some true, many not.
Some even came from media outlets that Akasaka Yoshitoki had allegedly paid off, attempting to shift the narrative and smear Su Yan's character.
Painting him as someone who lacked professionalism and basic ethics.
But Su Yan's fans weren't buying it.
All the so-called "sources" were anonymous. Who would fall for that?
And truthfully, Su Yan himself had gone quiet after a few media interviews the previous week.
He wasn't looking to wage war against Sakura TV.
In fact, he held no ill will toward the station itself.
He owed his fame to Sakura TV. His issue was only with Akasaka Yoshitoki.
He had no interest in dragging the entire network through the mud.
Soon, the end of March arrived.
"Running your own company is no joke. No matter how many successful works you've made, just one flop—one critical failure—and it could ruin everything," advised Sawai Teruhiro.
"Understood. Thanks for the warning, Master Sawai," Su Yan replied respectfully.
"And if you ever change your mind, Su Yan, and want to come back to Sakura TV, my door's always open."
"Thank you, Director Miyagi."
"Have you decided where your new drama will air?"
"Not yet. I'm hoping one of the Big Three—Sakura TV, Zhongxia TV, or Hudu TV—will pick it up."
"You've burned bridges with Akasaka. So Sakura TV's off the table. Zhongxia TV and Hudu TV do buy content from independent studios sometimes, but only from seasoned writers they already trust. You're new to them. Selling your show might be tough."
"Well, we'll see," Su Yan said with a calm smile.
He looked around the screenwriting department at the familiar faces—his mentor Sawai Teruhiro, a few peers from his cohort, and Director Miyagi Terukichi, who still hoped he'd reconsider.
"No need to be sentimental," Su Yan said, waving.
"I'm just leaving Sakura TV—not disappearing. I'll still be here in Hudu. If you ever need me, just call."
And with that, he picked up his packed belongings and walked out of the screenwriting department.
—
In a high-level office at Sakura TV…
Akasaka Yoshitoki stood behind one-way glass, watching Su Yan's back disappear down the hallway.
His face was dark and stormy.
Su Yan had resigned without even meeting with him once. Not a word.
That quiet, cutting contempt—it was the first time Akasaka had truly felt it from someone.
"Fine. Let's see what you, this so-called genius, can really accomplish without Sakura TV."
"Don't want to work under me? Then I'll treat you as an enemy."
With a cold sneer, he pulled the blinds shut, erasing Su Yan's silhouette from his sight.
—
Outside Sakura TV...
A red car was waiting at the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Shinozaki Ikumi's smiling face.
"Hop in!"
As they drove along the ring road, Ikumi gave him a quick update:
"While you were dragging out your final days at the station, I used my mom's connections and finally got our company registered. I've also arranged an office space and contacted most of the staff we'll need. They're ready to start anytime."
"But…"
"But what?" Su Yan asked.
"I didn't bother with Sakura TV. As for Zhongxia TV and Hudu TV… they're not very interested in buying the broadcast rights for your new drama."
Su Yan wasn't surprised.
If he'd joined their stations, they'd have welcomed him with open arms.
But just selling the rights to his drama?
That was a different story.
"They know our production company only has a total budget of 20 million," Ikumi explained.
"And that we're putting all of it into producing 'Your Lie in April'."
"I tried to negotiate for a secondary prime-time slot—something like 'To the Moon' had. But both stations flat-out refused."
"What did they offer?" Su Yan asked, still calm.
"If we only sell them the broadcast rights, they'll pay a max of 8.5 million. And they'll air it in a dead slot—Monday to Thursday at 9 p.m. No decent airtime at all. They're saving the good slots for their own in-house productions."
Su Yan nodded.
It made sense.
Networks only make money off ad revenue when a drama gets high ratings.
When they buy outside content, they're taking a gamble—so they offer lowball prices, often far below half the production cost.
"They did offer another option, though," Ikumi added.
"They haven't even read the script, but based on your reputation, they're willing to buy full rights to the show for 35 million and give it a prime-time slot."
"We'd break even or even profit. If it becomes a hit, your name gets out there even more."
"Hah. I knew it wouldn't be that easy," Su Yan chuckled.
"You're laughing?" Ikumi said, surprised.
"Why not? I left Sakura TV. Didn't join Zhongxia or Hudu. Of course, they won't waste prime airtime on an outside drama they don't fully own."
"But they think they can buy the entire rights to 'Your Lie in April' for just 35 million? That's laughable."
Sure, turning a 20-million investment into 35 million was great—an 80% profit.
But considering how 'To the Moon' and 'An Ancient Love Song' had performed on streaming, Su Yan had no interest in trading full rights for short-term gains.
He understood the tradeoff clearly.
Without prime-time exposure on a big network, a drama wouldn't gain enough visibility to drive online revenue.
But if he sold the full rights, even a breakout hit would make the network rich—not him.
These kinds of tradeoffs were hard to balance for independent studios.
Playing it safe meant guaranteed but limited profit.
Aiming higher meant bigger risks and bigger rewards.
"I'm rejecting the full rights buyout," Su Yan said.
"If I were going to do that, I might as well have stayed at Sakura TV and signed a lifetime contract. Less hassle, same money."
Ikumi had expected that answer.
"That leaves us with two options," she said.
"Option one: sell 'Your Lie in April' to Zhongxia TV or Hudu TV for 8.5 million and gamble on a weak weekday slot—hoping we can repeat the miracle of 'An Ancient Love Song'."
"Option two: pitch the show to one of the other five major networks in the Xia Nation. With your reputation, I think we have a solid chance of landing a prime-time weekend slot."
There were eight major TV networks in the Xia Nation.
Sakura TV, Zhongxia TV, and Hudu TV were the Big Three.
The other five were still major players—but a tier below in influence and viewership.
"Their average ratings aren't as high, but they still produce occasional hits that break 4%," Ikumi explained.
"And unlike the Big Three, only about a third of their shows are in-house productions. The rest are all acquisitions from independent studios."
"In fact, most independent dramas in the country air on those five networks."
"Honestly, Su Yan, between a weekday slot on a Big Three network and a weekend prime slot on one of the five, I'd choose the latter."
"Of course, you're the chairman of the company. I'm just giving you my recommendation."
"Let's talk to them," Su Yan said after a moment.
"See what they're offering."
"There's just one problem… I don't really know anyone in those networks," Ikumi admitted.
"We used to look down on them a bit. I'll have to ask around for contacts."
"Don't worry about that," Su Yan said with a grin.
"I don't know them personally either—but I've got their contact info. Lots of it."
"Huh?" Ikumi's eyes widened.
Su Yan started digging through the stack of documents he'd taken from Sakura TV.
Inside was a whole folder full of business cards.
Among them—
The heads of production and screenwriting from all five of the other major networks.
Even some top-level execs.
"A few months ago, they were all calling me non-stop, begging me to join them," Su Yan said, amused.
"Guess these business cards are finally about to come in handy."