The opportunity Alex had perceived was quiet, almost discreet-yet colossal.
Merchandising.
In that parallel world, the concept of otaku culture simply did not exist. The term itself wasn't even part of the popular vocabulary. And yet, the logic was universal: when a story truly captures people's hearts, they want to carry it beyond the screen.
Collectible figures, scale models, posters. And for everyday life-keychains, phone accessories, school supplies.
In his previous life, Alex had heard producers repeat the same complaint countless times, almost always accompanied by a bitter smile.
Broadcast rights and licensing barely kept a project afloat. The real pillar of the industry came afterward-from objects that turned emotion into ownership.
The most classic example was Yu-Gi-Oh!: cards produced at negligible cost, sold at nearly absurd prices. A commercial miracle that only seemed simple after it had already happened.
Not to mention even more extreme cases-brands that went public with valuations in the hundreds of billions, like Pokémon.
Alex closed his eyes for a moment, sinking into thought.
His plan had never been just to sell products. He wanted to create a complete cycle-a mechanism where the work itself fueled desire, and that desire, in turn, sustained the work.
Even though Bleach hadn't reached half of its broadcast run, the signs were already undeniable. Comments poured in by the thousands. Fans asked where they could buy swords like those in the series, where to find the black uniforms, the pristine white haori.
Especially because, in that world, anime simply didn't exist.
Alex remembered his school days clearly-being mocked for reading manga. Years later, those same people had begun asking him for recommendations, as if nothing had ever happened.
At the thought, a faint smile curved his lips.
The world really does come full circle.
Meanwhile, some online shops had already moved ahead, releasing crude, unauthorized knockoffs.
A tightness gripped his chest immediately.
He was broke. Literally. He had sold his house and his car to keep the project alive. He could not-and would not-hand over that piece of the future to others.
…
So while Alex negotiated with prop sword manufacturers and costume workshops, working to turn Zanpakutō and shihakushō into official products, a new week began.
And with it, two new episodes of Bleach aired.
The clash between Ichigo Kurosaki and Byakuya Kuchiki elevated the series to another level-not just in ratings, but in emotional impact.
In recent years, audiences had grown accustomed to well-written dramas and refined suspense. Physical action, however, seemed to have fallen behind. Many fans believed that an old production starring Alex himself had been the genre's last gasp. Few things were truly trending anymore, and the action films the industry invested in mostly resembled Transformers-lots of explosions, and little sense of what was actually happening.
Until those blades appeared.
Swords that collided with real weight. Precise movements. Eyes heavy with intent.
For longtime fans, it was like rediscovering something they thought had been lost. Some couldn't even remember the last time they'd held their breath during a duel so raw-especially one featuring abilities so visually distinct, almost poetic.
…
In a mansion in the capital of Ishtar, Rebecca Verne finished another long day of filming. The silence of the room contrasted sharply with the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders.
Almost unconsciously, she picked up her tablet.
"The main villain is already down…" she murmured, scrolling across the screen. "So the story must be nearing its end."
She had never planned to follow Bleach. She had turned down the project early on and now lived with the series' overwhelming success as a small wound to her pride.
And yet, every time a notification appeared, Rebecca tapped it.
Against her own will, she had to admit it-the work was far too well constructed to ignore. No longer able to hide it from herself, despite all her pride, she acknowledged the truth: she wanted to be there, to portray one of the dazzling characters she saw on screen.
…
The opening theme began to play.
Music filled the room as comments flooded the screen.
[Finally, I was almost selling my soul to the devil waiting for this!]
[Seven days of waiting felt like an eternity!]
[Byakuya's already defeated, right? Final stretch now-I wanna see Ichigo cutting heads!]
[Calm down, there are still too many unanswered questions.]
[And Sōsuke Aizen's death?]
[Wait… what do you mean… is that true…]
Rebecca's thoughts mirrored those of many viewers. At first glance, Byakuya's fall seemed like a natural conclusion-he was exactly the kind of villain she was used to.
But there was a lingering shadow.
The death of Sōsuke Aizen, portrayed by Alex himself, had never been fully explained.
For a time, part of the audience suspected Byakuya. His cold demeanor fueled countless theories. But after his sincere confrontation with Ichigo, that possibility faded away.
Only one name remained
Gin Ichimaru...
always whispered with caution. After all, his fanbase was notoriously unhinged, mostly made up of teenage girls with far too much free time and even more energy to harass anyone online. In other words, the moment someone voiced suspicion, the fan club descended like a storm.
And the episode began without warning.
In the very first scenes, Tōshirō Hitsugaya, played by Peter, appeared leading Rangiku Matsumoto through the corridors of the Soul Society. His steps were quick, his gaze sharp. Something was wrong-and he felt it deep in his chest.
When they reached the Central 46 Chamber, the world seemed to freeze.
Bodies everywhere.
Absolute silence.
The ultimate symbol of authority had been erased in a single stroke.
The audience's excitement evaporated in seconds, replaced by a discomfort that felt almost physical.
The conspiracy hadn't ended-it had deepened.
Then Izuru Kira appeared… and fled.
Hitsugaya reacted instantly. Rangiku followed close behind.
He was Gin's lieutenant. He knew too much to be ignored.
"Instead of chasing me," Kira said calmly, without changing his tone, "perhaps you should go back and protect Hinamori, Captain Hitsugaya."
Hitsugaya's face went pale.
"What did you say?"
"Hinamori has already been taken there. If you don't act quickly… it may be too late."
For a brief moment, Hitsugaya hesitated. Then he clenched his teeth.
"Rangiku, stay here."
And he was gone, without looking back.
…
The scene shifted.
Soft footsteps echoed through the grand hall.
"Welcome, Hinamori," Gin Ichimaru said, his smile far too calm to be trusted. "Come. There's someone who wishes to see you."
Momo Hinamori felt her heart falter as a strange premonition spread through her chest.
"Captain… Ichimaru…?"
Trembling, she followed.
She walked slowly, each step heavier than the last. On the other side of the screen, the audience barely breathed.
"We've arrived."
Gin stepped aside.
The figure revealed ahead made time itself stand still.
Lightly wavy brown hair. Dark-framed glasses. A serene, almost gentle smile-terrifyingly familiar, and the one person she wished to see more than anyone else in the world at that moment.
The man everyone believed to be dead.
Sōsuke Aizen.