When Reed heard from his subordinates that, over the past few weeks, the number of subscribers relentlessly demanding the purchase of Bleach had been growing almost out of control, he felt something rare for a man in his position: genuine curiosity. This wasn't just statistical noise or an artificial spike in engagement. There was persistence, repetition-real pressure coming directly from users.
And the strangest part of all was the object of that desire.
A series produced in Ishtar.
Driven by this unease-and by the sharp business instinct that had never abandoned him-Reed decided to watch it himself. He didn't delegate it to analysts or ask for summarized reports. He wanted to see it with his own eyes.
In the past, he had considered acquiring productions from that market more than once. Each time, the result had been frustrating. Even when watching the most popular dramas, the feeling was always the same: cultural distance. It wasn't that they were bad… he simply couldn't connect.
In recent years, truly exceptional works had been rare. And when he looked even further back, to the classics held in reverence, the problem only grew worse. Stories steeped in martial arts, ancestral honor, sects, cultivators, and unspoken cultural codes worked perfectly within their own context-but for a foreign audience, they felt too opaque. Not even the best translation could convey that elusive "something extra."
For a while, Reed had taken interest in a modern romantic series from Korea called Goblin: The Lonely and Great God. Contemporary romance, urban fantasy-that kind of story was universal. Easy to digest.
Then he pressed play on Bleach.
From the very first episode, the way concepts like Shinigami, Hollows, and the ritual of soul purification were introduced made him frown-not in confusion, but in surprise. It was fantasy, yes, but clearly explained. There were rules. Structure. A system that stood firmly on its own.
Without realizing it, Reed leaned forward.
Then came the fights.
They didn't require deep context or cultural baggage. They were direct, intense, brutal when necessary. Even as a man approaching sixty, Reed felt his heart race in a way it hadn't in decades. This wasn't nostalgia. It was pure stimulation.
But the real blow came later.
When Momo Hinamori reunited with Sosuke Aizen-supposedly resurrected-the atmosphere turned almost warm. The music, the dialogue, the look of trust. Reed even relaxed back into his chair. It felt like a moment of emotional comfort, of reunion and hope.
Then Aizen spoke.
One sentence. A tone far too calm. A gaze that didn't match the situation.
Reed froze.
The old magnate felt a chill run up his spine, followed by a silent, deeply undignified panic. He forced himself to keep watching, episode after episode, ignoring the physical discomfort, completely captured by the story. Only when the final credits rolled did he abruptly stand up-and go change his pants.
Sitting down again, now in absolute silence, Reed took several minutes to organize his thoughts. He wasn't a man prone to exaggeration, but he had to admit it: not even the superhero films that dominated the global market had managed to create an antagonist with that level of presence.
Sosuke Aizen wasn't just a villain.
He was a phenomenon.
At that moment, two words echoed in Reed's mind, clear and inescapable:
Buy it.
"How much is Mr. Reed willing to invest to acquire the broadcasting rights to Bleach?" Alex asked, his tone almost cold in its calm. He didn't look impressed-and he wasn't. Praise didn't pay the bills.
"One hundred million dollars," Reed replied without hesitation.
If that figure ever became public, it would trigger an immediate earthquake. Netfi's first acquisition of a production from that country… and at such a staggering price.
Alex remained silent for a few seconds, as if calculating something invisible.
"At that price," he finally said with a faint smile, "you'd only be able to negotiate for the Soul Society arc."
Reed frowned.
Ever since he had decided to seriously invest in Bleach, he had followed Alex's every move. He knew the director wasn't filming the continuation at the moment. The studio intended for the next season was still under construction.
The next arc… Arrancar, if he remembered correctly.
After a brief silence, Reed asked, "Mr. Alex, how many seasons does Bleach still have left?"
"Arrancar and the Battle of Karakura," Alex replied in an almost casual tone. "At least fifty more episodes."
Reed felt an inexplicable chill.
For a brief moment, he had the strange impression that he wasn't negotiating with a director at all, but staring straight at Aizen himself-calm, confident, always one step ahead.
The silence stretched on.
Then Reed slowly raised four fingers.
Sitting beside Alex, Yasmim Banner-present only as an "improvised assistant"-was stunned. She had been brought along more for company than function. Alex had no intention of returning to New York that night, and staying alone in another city sounded far too boring.
But that gesture…
Even Alex himself took a second to react. He had always heard that foreigners made easy money when entering that market. But now, as the "foreigner" himself, it seemed that money flowed just as effortlessly.
"I have one condition, Mr. Alex," Reed said firmly. "We want to invest directly in the next two seasons of Bleach and obtain exclusive broadcasting rights."
That country's domestic market was a massive cake. Reed had eyed it for years, unable to find a real entry point. The major local platforms controlled everything.
To break through that blockade, there was only one solution.
A work with absolute dominance.
And in Reed's eyes, Bleach was exactly that work.
Want to watch the next seasons?
Then subscribe to Netfi.
That was the plan.
But when Alex heard the word "exclusive," the glint of excitement in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by cold caution. He knew the weight of that decision.
In his previous life, when platforms stopped acquiring certain titles, audiences simply gave up… or found other ways.
No matter how confident he was in Bleach, forcing millions of viewers to migrate to a foreign, unfamiliar platform was an enormous risk.
The room fell silent again.
Dense. Tense.
Neither of them spoke.
The negotiation had reached the point where a single sentence could completely change the game.
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