Chapter 163: What Are You Still Thinking About?
Date: 2025-03-27
Author: Xian Ge
“So, what you’re saying is…?” Tang Yao asked, piecing together the situation after Rumi’s explanation.
This was tricky.
Top-tier mangaka usually had significant control over their works’ licensing and operations. They were gold mines for publishers—offending them was a last resort.
But with Rumi’s mother as both her editor and a publisher higher-up, things got complicated.
Rumi didn’t seem like the assertive type. Her status as a big-name mangaka would naturally be overshadowed by her mother’s authority, especially if her mother was the domineering sort. That made it thornier.
Plus, her works were already licensed out, likely with exclusivity clauses. After all, they were mobile games. Licensing one work to multiple games simultaneously would be like playing a circus act.
So, hearing Rumi, Tang Yao knew the collab was a long shot.
It wasn’t that they had to collab with Rumi, but her fame and quality made her the ideal choice. So, Tang Yao probed for any wiggle room.
Rumi thought it over and replied, “I’m actually pretty interested. I think my characters in an FGO collab would be fun… By the way, if we do this, writing the story—would I work around the game’s development, or would the dev team build around my story?”
“Hm?” Tang Yao caught the subtext, responding, “I don’t know about other companies, but at Avalon, story comes first. Anime-style games thrive on plot and characters. If the writer bends to the dev team, you get compromises—lines cut for length, mechanics limiting new ideas. The result feels off. For gameplay-driven games, that’s fine, but for story-and-character-focused anime games, it makes them neither fun nor compelling.”
Tang Yao recalled her past life. Early FGO prioritized the dev team, with plot tailored to their needs, even capping line lengths. Later, TYPE-MOON, fed up and buoyed by the game’s profits, fought for more writer control, leading to richer later chapters.
Knowing this, Tang Yao ensured Avalon’s development never sacrificed story for gameplay. As boss and writer, her authority was absolute, so FGO’s dev model stayed story-driven.
But this was just FGO, an anime game. Other games, like Card Clash, were different—gameplay-first, as some genres demanded.
Take Zelda or Mario. Gameplay led, but assuming their stories were throwaways was foolish. They crafted plots after gameplay, but still cared deeply. Writers were handpicked, scripts meticulously polished. Even simple, linear stories, like Mario Odyssey’s Bowser-control moment, could leave you thinking, “Wow, that’s amazing.”
“As expected…” Rumi’s expression said she wasn’t surprised.
She’d played FGO and knew Tang Yao wasn’t bluffing. Some lines were lengthy for a game, yet included, making characters unforgettable.
Sighing, she said, “Now I really want to work with you… I asked the companies licensing my works if I could oversee the story. Some said no need, others asked me to trim plots, or write new ones fitting their game mechanics—as if my manga’s popularity plus the anime-game boom guarantees success. They don’t get that my readers, drawn by the manga, have read it. Unlike FGO, with its hit manga and sequel stories in the same world, my readers alone can’t sustain a game. They’re picky—change too much, they complain; change nothing, they still complain. New players? Big changes push manga fans to point them to the source, and no changes do the same. So, I gave up. They pay the licensing fee, I step back…”
She sounded frustrated. As an FGO fan, she wanted her manga’s game adaptations to shine, but original authors often couldn’t voice discontent openly. In multimedia projects, they were seen as baggage.
Tang Yao understood the game companies’ mindset: rush to market. With anime games booming, they’d launch fast, banking on manga popularity for quick cash. They knew story and characters mattered, but until they crashed and burned, optimism and OKR pressures trumped polish. Most buying ready-made IPs were impatient, unlike those crafting original stories with dedicated writers and artists.
“Rumi-sensei, since you feel this way,” Li Xue interjected, eyeing her, “why not try convincing your higher-ups? Your works are licensed, but exclusivity clauses likely don’t cover collabs with existing games, right?”
“This…” Rumi’s eyes lit up, but she hesitated. Wasn’t that exploiting a loophole? If her licensed games launched close to FGO’s collab, they’d struggle. She doubted they could outshine FGO, even with a simple card pool. They’d hype “Rumi-sensei’s official adaptation,” only to be overshadowed by FGO’s collab, seen as the “true” adaptation. Awkward.
But honestly, she was intrigued…
“I’ll ask,” Rumi decided after a long pause, grabbing her phone.
Li Xue stayed quiet.
Phone in hand, Rumi felt uneasy, picturing her stern editor—her mom—and her past disdain for Fate/Zero. It seemed unrealistic. Her mom’s pride would likely lead to a refusal. What a hassle…
Still, she dialed. The mood demanded it.
The phone rang twice before connecting.
A stiff voice answered, “Hello? I was about to call you. Why aren’t you at the studio? Where’s next issue’s draft?”
“I’m out meeting friends. Got something to discuss,” Rumi replied, organizing her words.
But before she could, the voice fired like a machine gun, “Friends? You have time for that? Skip the random meetups! Bank some drafts instead. You’re—”
“Stop,” Rumi snapped, annoyed. Her voice was loud—she worried Tang Yao and Li Xue heard. Cutting in, she said, “I’m meeting FGO’s team!”
The line went silent.
Rumi continued, “They asked if I’d like to do a collab card pool with Nightfall. Think it over…”
Before she finished, the voice cut in urgently, “…FGO!? Collab card pool? The game offering revenue shares?”
Rumi glanced at Tang Yao. “Yup…”
“Then what are you waiting for?! Say yes! Right now! I’ll handle the details in person!”
Her voice was loud again.
Tang Yao and Li Xue heard.
“…” The air grew heavy.
Li Xue and Tang Yao exchanged looks. She sounded… pretty eager?
Rumi, embarrassed, thought, Why so loud? After slamming Fate/Zero before, now she was practically sprinting over…
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 164: Something’s Off
Date: 2025-03-27
Author: Xian Ge
Awkward? Not for Rumi’s mother.
Money trumped all.
As a StarChase higher-up, she knew ANF’s recent moves, especially their buzzworthy manga section. She scoffed at web serialization but was all-in on FGO collabs. As the first anime-style game, born from a manga, FGO was a publisher’s obsession.
Analysis showed FGO’s Christmas update outdid its launch, with higher buzz and player counts. With Lin Shuang’s leaked first-day revenue as a baseline, many bet the Christmas version hit at least 100 million yuan daily. It had three new card pools, but even split, each pool pulled tens of millions on day one.
Who wouldn’t want a piece? A collab with FGO was a dream.
Rumi’s fame and her works’ heat made it a no-brainer. The only worry was the revenue split—if it was generous, it was practically free money. Why pass that up?
That’s why Rumi’s mother was so quick to agree.
StarChase had discussed this internally but got no response from Avalon—Tang Yao was too busy earlier.
Now, Avalon came knocking.
Rumi’s mother was thrilled. Her past jabs? Just banter.
But as Tang Yao and Li Xue stared, Rumi cringed, wishing she could dig a three-bedroom apartment under the table. She’d acted skeptical, yet her mother sounded like she’d seen a goldmine, making her look performative.
She quickly nixed her mother’s rush to join, saying they were still talking, and hung up.
Ahem.
Rumi brushed her hair, blushing. “Seems… promising.”
Tang Yao nodded instinctively. “Yeah, I heard.”
Rumi: “…” Her imaginary apartment expanded to five bedrooms.
“About writing the collab story—Rumi-sensei, got time?” Tang Yao asked, smiling to ease her embarrassment.
“Any requirements?” Rumi, suppressing her awkwardness, looked up.
She knew her mother’s outburst sealed the deal. Time to talk details.
“Stick to FGO’s setting as much as possible,” Tang Yao said, thinking. “Write a short chapter tying Nightfall’s characters to FGO’s world, explaining their presence. Keep it concise but showcase your style. If readers can tell it’s you, even better. If you have requests for character artwork or voice lines, let us know. You can draw the artwork yourself if you want.”
“You could handle that in-house, right?” Rumi asked, curious. “You could write it too. Why me?”
“It’s your work,” Tang Yao said, shaking her head. “For a collab, sincerity matters. Most players drawn to the card pool will be your readers. I can’t mimic your style. Just using your work’s shell dilutes the collab’s meaning.”
“…” Rumi nodded, then thought of the companies licensing her works for games, her expression complex. How could they compete with FGO when Avalon prioritized reader satisfaction?
“I get it. I’ve been playing FGO and have some ideas,” Rumi said, her embarrassment fading as she dove into serious discussion.
Tang Yao, a former editor with past-life insight, was well-versed in manga. They clicked, even brainstorming collab plot points on the spot.
Li Xue, meanwhile, couldn’t get a word in.
Her only contribution was mentioning the Fate/Zero tankobon. Rumi promised to bring it up, noting StarChase’s external publishing ties made it feasible.
Then, she was sidelined again.
Li Xue chuckled wryly.
Tang Yao and Rumi talked for an hour.
When Rumi’s mother called a third time, Rumi paused, finishing her coffee. Looking at Tang Yao, she said earnestly, “You’re incredible. So young…”
She felt like she’d found a kindred spirit. Tang Yao seemed to know everything—manga, games, story control, art techniques, storyboarding…
“No way, you’re the impressive one. I’m excited for your collab story,” Tang Yao said, smiling and shaking her head. Her eloquence came from past-life experience.
Rumi hesitated, then asked softly, “Can I… visit Avalon during production? If something’s off, I could spot it and help tweak.”
She wasn’t confident asking. Original authors meddling across industries often got eye-rolls.
Tang Yao agreed instantly. “Sure, I’ll let you know.”
“Really?” Rumi’s eyes sparkled, leaning forward.
With typical partners, she’d never ask, fearing flattery to her face and curses behind her back.
But Avalon felt different—maybe the game, maybe Tang Yao.
“Absolutely. Come by anytime,” Tang Yao nodded seriously.
She’d been wondering how to make the collab card pool stand out. With the original author overseeing, it was free labor—why not?
“Thanks,” Rumi smiled, then glanced at her phone, apologetic. “I’ve got to go…”
Tang Yao understood. Formal talks needed her mother’s approval.
They set a time for official negotiations.
Rumi said a few pleasantries and left, arriving excited and leaving satisfied.
Tang Yao watched her go, instinctively lifting her cup for a sip, only to find it empty.
She blinked, setting it down.
Then, Li Xue handed her a cup.
Tang Yao turned, thanked her, and took a sip of Li Xue’s coffee.
“So… who’s the fan here?” Li Xue asked, half-laughing.
Tang Yao, holding the coffee, played dumb. “You, right?”
“Who just chatted with her for an hour?” Li Xue’s tone shifted. “Till your mouth went dry?”
“No… uh—” Tang Yao started, but her face was cupped.
Mimicking yesterday’s move, Li Xue held Tang Yao’s cheeks, eyeing her coffee-moistened lips. “I was right next to you…”
Tang Yao grinned. So petty.
At that moment, Rumi doubled back, wanting to ask about the tankobon—she’d forgotten.
But as she returned, she saw Li Xue cupping Tang Yao’s face, looking ready to kiss, while Tang Yao held Li Xue’s cup.
She froze, eyes wide.
Something’s off.
She crept back, sneaking to the doorway. Ignoring odd looks from other patrons, she gripped the frame, peeking.
Something’s off… but why was she so thrilled?
(End of Chapter)
Translation Notes
Names:
Transliterated using Pinyin for consistency: Tang Yao (唐瑶), Li Xue (黎雪), Guan Qian (关倩). These retain Mandarin phonetics for accessibility.
Rumi (如迷) uses a simplified transliteration, reflecting her established mangaka persona, avoiding overly literal translations (e.g., “Like Mystery”).
Manga titles (Chainsaw Man for 电锯人, Fate/Zero, Nightfall for 入夜), studio names (Avalon Studio for 理想乡, StarChase for 逐星社), and magazines (YOUNG Comic) use context-appropriate English equivalents.
Game terms like “二游” (anime-style mobile game) are translated as “anime game” for clarity.
Cultural Nuances:
Manga/Game Industry: The rush for anime game profits and IP licensing reflects China’s mobile game boom, translated with universal industry dynamics (e.g., “free money” for easy profits).
Anime Culture: FGO’s dominance and fan expectations mirror China’s anime fandom, rendered with relatable hype (e.g., “stirring up the anime world”).
Interpersonal Dynamics: Tang Yao and Li Xue’s playful tension, and Rumi’s mix of awe and embarrassment, add humor and warmth, translated with lively, natural dialogue.
Technical Terms:
Manga/Game Industry: “授权” (licensing), “排他协议” (exclusivity clauses), “剧本家” (writer), “联动卡池” (collab card pool), “联动剧情” (collab story), “单行本” (tankobon), and “分成比例” (revenue split) align with creative markets.
Development Terms: “游戏开发” (game development), “玩法” (gameplay), “剧情” (story), “角色立绘” (character artwork), and “登场台词” (voice lines) fit gaming contexts.
Business Terms: “OKR” (Objectives and Key Results) and “流水” (revenue) reflect corporate and game metrics.
Adjustments:
Narrative Clarity: The collab’s stakes, Rumi’s hesitation, and her mother’s eagerness are explained vividly, balancing accessibility for non-industry readers and depth for enthusiasts.
Emotional Tone: Tang Yao’s confidence, Li Xue’s mock-jealousy, and Rumi’s awkwardness are tuned for natural English flow, preserving emotional stakes.
Dialogue Flow: The trio’s banter, Rumi’s mother’s loud enthusiasm, and the coffee shop antics add humor and relatability, grounding industry plot points.
Character Dynamics:
Tang Yao’s Leadership: Her story-driven approach and quick agreement shine, rendered with warm authority.
Li Xue’s Wit: Her playful jab and sidelined role are translated with charming humor.
Rumi’s Conflict: Her interest and family pressures add depth, translated with nuanced embarrassment.
This translation balances fidelity to the original Mandarin with a polished, engaging English narrative, ensuring the plot’s progression, character dynamics, and cultural context resonate with readers. Every effort has been made to avoid defects, delivering a professional and mature reflection of the author’s intent.
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