The sigh that escaped the executive director was not born of fatigue alone. It carried an uncomfortable blend of frustration, anxiety, and a resentment he would never openly admit-not even to himself. The office remained brightly lit despite the late hour, as if turning off the lights would mean conceding defeat before the battle had even begun. The ashtray on the desk overflowed, and the stale smell of tobacco mingled with the poorly regulated air-conditioning, creating an oppressive atmosphere.
On his phone screen, the post from Aurora Entertainment felt almost provocative.
JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Phantom Blood, premiere confirmed for the winter holiday season.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment.
The issue had never been simple competition. The market was always brutal; survival meant accepting risk as a given. The real problem was Alex. His name alone carried an unsettling weight. The previous summer, Bleach hadn't merely won-it had annihilated everything around it. Series, films, carefully planned productions… all had been shoved into irrelevance by a phenomenon no one had predicted, let alone contained.
And now, here it was again.
Bronze Pavilion was ready. The schedule was locked. The investment was heavy. The marketing campaign was perfectly aligned with the winter holidays. Backing out now would mean admitting fear-and in this industry, that was never an acceptable option.
- He really does like choosing the same stage, doesn't he? - he muttered, more to himself than to his assistant.
The young man beside him sensed the tension and spoke carefully, as though weighing every word.
- Director… maybe we're overestimating things. JoJo is a series. We're cinema. Different tracks, different audiences, different experiences.
For a few seconds, the argument seemed reasonable. The executive nodded slowly, as if convincing himself. Yet something still gnawed at him. He opened the cast list again, scrolling with more attention than before.
Alex as Dio.
Mark as Jonathan.
Melissa as Erina.
An entire cast portraying Western characters, in a story set in England. Risky. Extremely risky. Even renowned directors stumbled when they strayed too far beyond their cultural comfort zones. It could easily feel artificial, misplaced… if it weren't Alex.
That thought made his jaw tighten.
- We keep the release date, - he decided, his voice hardening. - If he fails, we capitalize. If he doesn't… - he paused briefly. - Then we deal with it afterward.
It was a calculated gamble.
And a dangerous one.
…
The doubt wasn't limited to competitors. Even among Alex's most loyal fans, there was an unease that couldn't be ignored. Posters for Phantom Blood were everywhere: Alex with blond hair, a cold, nearly cruel gaze, holding the Stone Mask directly toward the camera. There was none of Sosuke Aizen's calculated charm-this was a more direct, primal, almost feral kind of evil.
The British setting, the foreign names, the exaggerated visual style… all of it created a strange sensation, as if something familiar had been deliberately displaced.
And yet, the attention JoJo drew was overwhelming.
Bleach was still airing overseas. The shockwaves of the multi-billion-dollar investment continued to dominate discussions, analyses, and rumors. Even those who claimed not to care ended up talking about Alex. It was unavoidable. His name had become synonymous with an "event."
…
Winter break arrived almost without warning.
Students dropped their backpacks in the corners of their rooms. Workers returned home exhausted, minds empty, looking for something-anything-to pull them out of routine. In thousands of households, the gesture was the same: turn on the television, open a streaming platform, search for something new.
This time, JoJo carried the banner of Penguin Video, which had paid a steep price for exclusivity. Inside the company, executives celebrated the projected viewership, while analysts monitored every metric with near-paranoid focus.
Alex himself showed no excitement. To him, platforms were merely channels. What mattered was that the work reached its audience.
Meanwhile, far from boardrooms and conference tables, people across the industry waited in quiet anticipation. Veteran directors, seasoned screenwriters, established actors-everyone wanted to know whether Alex could truly repeat the impossible.
In a small apartment in Kyoto, Emily sat cross-legged on the sofa, the remote forgotten in her hand. The screen displayed the countdown to the premiere. Beside her, her agent tried to appear calm, but the question slipped out before she could stop herself.
- Your contract's ending soon. Have you decided what you'll do?
- I'll think about it later, - Emily replied, never taking her eyes off the screen.
The answer sounded vague, almost automatic. Anyone who truly knew her understood the truth: she had already decided. The forty-four-billion incident hadn't been just a financial scandal-it was a reality check. When her contract expired, she wouldn't stay where she was. Not like that.
…
Elsewhere in the city, Rebeca Verne gripped her tablet tightly, the glow of the screen reflecting in her eyes. She understood the game. Technically speaking, Alex was her direct rival. Part of her should have been hoping Phantom Blood would crash and burn.
But old feelings didn't obey market strategies.
There was curiosity. There was unease. And, buried somewhere she preferred not to examine, there was a quiet anticipation.
…
At exactly eight o'clock in the evening, the countdown reached zero.
After countless frantic refreshes, the first two episodes of Phantom Blood went live. Within seconds, screens were flooded with comments-jokes, taunts, exaggerated praise, and open skepticism.
Some viewers immediately turned the comments off, seeking silence. Others let them roll, treating the chaos as part of the shared experience.
The opening theme exploded onto the screen-intense, almost aggressive. When it faded, a deep, deliberate narration took its place:
"Two prisoners of fate look out from the cell of their own awareness.
One sees only the dirt beneath his feet.
The other lifts his eyes to the stars.
And you… which one are you?"
The impact was instant.
Perhaps many didn't fully grasp the meaning. Perhaps they didn't need to. The words carried weight. They provoked. They challenged.
Among Aizen's fans, a shiver ran through bodies almost by instinct.
Something here was different.
No one yet knew where this story would lead. Who would prevail, who would fall, who would lose themselves along the way.
But one thing was already clear-before the first episode had even ended.
Alex wasn't simply telling another story.
Once again, he was opening a new door-and inviting everyone to choose where to look.