Chapter 73.5: Two Many Dimensions

Chapter 73.5: Two Many Dimensions

Trigger Sound Studio, Tokyo. May 2012.

Crisis? Phooey! Dread? Patooey! My sense of existentialism had been grounded since my very first interdimensional steps. Immersed into my current life to the extent that I often willfully failed to acknowledge a past never to happen. 

“Bas, the director has requested you moan at a higher pitch when you deliver that last line.”

Sometimes, mercifully, I’m starkly reminded of how surreal my situation is—even if only once in a blue moon.

“You got it, boss!” Such as getting near buck-arse naked behind display glass for an enraptured audience. “Nuuudddiisst Beeeeeaach!” In a single climactic motion, I increased an octave and dropped my trousers.

Every twinge in my tone was being minutely recorded by mics, and every twitch of my exposed flesh was being meticulously goggled. 

The Japanese fascination with voyeurism was a well-established trend; my personal porno proclivities had provided quite the peek into the phenomenon. But this was taking the notion beyond even the pale of my tanned tush. 

“Bas, I swear to every shrine in this country, if you don’t pull your jeans up this instant, I’m gonna unbuckle that belt of yours and lash your fuckin’ heinie redder than those hot spring macaques!” Monkey see, monkey do, this monkey belongs in a zoo. Anita somehow howled from behind the soundproof glass she was also peeping at me through—clearly corrupted by local influence.

Or maybe the scandal was the other way around? 

Only one onlooker had the decency to cover their eyes at my shamelessness. The rest were in alternating states of hands shielding ears and palms clasped over shocked mouths, gawping at me as if I were apeshit.

Don’t let the padded walls fool you, though. Although Anita seemed raring to strap me inside a straitjacket—or any jacket, for that matter—it wasn’t an asylum I was standing in, but a recording booth. 

In an effort to ensure that Studio Trigger’s (brought to you by BASNIZ) first feature length foray went off with a bang, I’d opted to lend my voice to the project for a minor credit, that they could later blast during promotion for the anime. With my backing, Kill La Kill would be anything but dead on arrival. Among many others, mind. Crunchyroll can cry about it.

“Okay, people! No more interruptions. We’re on a tight schedule.” Slipping my clothes back on and flipping to the starting page of the script, I addressed my scene partner as I redressed. “Let’s take it from the top, yeah?” 

“Was that a shirt pun—?”

The sharp buzz of the comms system clicked on. “Hello, Bas. This is Ted Sarandos. Can you hear me?” What did I just say!?

The pipeline for my animation aspirations was simple: I brought the dosh, Trigger drew, and Netflix disseminated our combined efforts to the international masses after paying us through the nose to license the final product. Therefore, by domestic hierarchical standards, Ted should very well know where his nose ought to be on the totem pole—and certainly not disturb me in the middle of a take.

“Yes, Clem Fandango, I can fucking hear you!” 

Ted furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and turned to the lead sound tech. “I don’t think the speaker’s working properly.” The Japanese sound tech looked equally confused; probably not understanding a lick out of the foreigner’s mouth. 

Thankfully, Shinpachi was present to translate, as well as lead the proceedings; allowing me to play to my heart’s content. “No. All of the equipment is running fine, it is Bas that is broken. A quick word, if you please?” But I was suddenly reconsidering making him the boss of me. 

Leave it to suits to disrupt the naked vulnerability of the creative process. “D’you have any bloody idea how long it takes me to button up my shirt? I am an ac-tor! I must be free from any confines. You agree with me, don’t you, Erica?” 

I’m a lot of things: mischievous, narcissistic, objectively the most beautiful being to tread upon this earth, or any other. What I’m not, however, is stupid.

Voice acting was a new medium for me. Which meant I believed that merely hollering at a mic doesn’t make me worth listening to. There were tons of experts in this field who could impart their skills in the art of voiceover unto me. 

Erica Mendez was someone who exuded the appropriate main character energy. 

Shouldn’t be surprising. Between being hired as the heroine for Kill La Kill in Ryuko Matoi; her voice had, and will, lend itself to several legendary leads. From Gon Freecss in JUMP’s acclaimed HunterxHunter remake, to the iconic Megumin in chaotic Konosuba, Erica was in a realm apart. “Actually, a tight five sounds good. Needa centre myself. Kinda hard being indignant in-character when I’m struggling not to fumble over my dialogue.” She lifted and pointed both of her index fingers at my pecs. “Gotta say, though, never took you for a method actor.” 

“No method, all madness, I’m afraid. The character just coincides with my actual personality, in all likelihood.” 

“Seriously?” Erica seemed impressed by my impression. “Then you’ve got a real knack for this business, in my opinion.”

“I know. I’m good at everything.” I mentioned narcissism, didn’t I? “It’s why I’m constantly pulled every which way to solve problems. So, if you’ll excuse me.” With that said, I strutted away, allowing Erica to mend in peace.

There was a slight pop in my ears as I stepped out of the booth. The sound dampening inside versus the deluge decibels outside made a world of difference. 

Shinpachi, Ted, and Hiroyuki Imaishi—one of the two co-founders of Trigger—accosted me upon my exit. “Bas, we wish to discuss your dubbing.” Shinpachi, as the bridge between the two sides, acted as spokesperson.

“Why? What’s wrong? I have it on good authority I’m doing a stellar job.”

“It is not the quality of your performance, but the necessity of the dub under question.” Shinpachi’s professional mask broke every so slightly as he brought it up with a sigh. Clearly, this was a topic that’d already been beaten dead, but they wanted it heard from the horse’s mouth, anyway. 

Ted I get. If he wasn’t squirrelly, I’d have never received the timely tip off I eventually took advantage of with the Netflix stock; relying on the unreliable information I could very out-datedly research would’ve been a crapshoot. Hiro had my attention first. “What’s our esteemed director’s glitch?” 

“Hiroyuki-san fears that you do too much. Hiroyuki-san is concerned that your current overwork will prevent you from assisting them later. Your purchase of the studio has allowed them to begin, you are participating in production; and on top of that, you are also spending more time and money on acquiring other properties for them to animate, as well.” Shinpachi relayed.

“Speaking of: how’s the IP acquisition been?” Brushing off the pointless paranoia, I instead shifted focus onto a more pertinent matter.

Shinpachi, thankful for an excuse to sidestep the current conversation, happily answered my inquiry. “As we had estimated, all the giant publishers in Japan were reluctant to release any of their major properties to an unknown studio like ours. Shueisha and JUMP, Square Enix and Gangan, Kadokawa, Kodansha, none of them wanted to accept our anime offers for anything. No manga, no light novels, no games, nothing from their traditional verticals.”

“Told you!”

“Yes, indeed. But I must always do my due diligence. And, as you also said, I expanded our options further afield, to much greater success. Negotiations with independent authors are easier. Many self-publish online, and often have their work’s adaptation rights purchased by the big publishers. I have done the same according to your parameters, and have secured contracts for three series between two authors. A web novel by the name of ‘Re:Zero’, and the library of works from an author called ONE. If I recall, he has two running web comics; Mob Psycho 100, and One Punch Man. That last property I almost could not get because JUMP became involved. One of their legacy mangaka, Murata Yusuke, was insistent on drawing the art of the story in a remake. However, JUMP had no faith in the IP, and only wanted publication on their digital comic website. So, I negotiated for the anime license, at least.”

The Disney superhero craze was even something those stodgy prunes at JUMP understood—to the point they’d have kids going to academies for heroes. I was vibrating fast enough for even my shorn hairs to risk falling off my scalp. Under Malekith’s wig, I was almost a caped baldy myself, after all. 

Neither did my sense of fictional kinship stop there. 

As for Re:Zero? Sword Art Online, and the ‘another world’ concept, as a whole, would soon take over this one. I was determined to conquer part of that fertile land for myself. And—I repeat—among many others. 

“Belive you me, this ain’t the end of it, either. There’s so many untapped markets globally—Korea’s next on my docket, coincidentally.” Given a few more years, I’d have soap operas and solo levelling, in equal measure. “And, in due time, parts of Europe may experience another renaissance. I’ve never been to Poland before—wait, have I, Anita?”

“Once or twice on the Potter junkets. Short premieres, no tourism.” 

“Well then, might pay to pay a proper visit soonish.” The second Witcher game was out with the third in production. Furthermore, this month saw the announcement of the Cyberpunk game. I wanted them all! “Catch that, Hiro? You’re gonna be far too busy to worry about me, in a bit!” No animation studio would ever be jobless working on reincarnation stories for the foreseeable future. 

Hiroyuki Imaishi dipped into a few sharp, shallow bows. Patting his chest right above his heart comfortingly, he then gestured that same hand towards me. “I just smiling to be here. I hope make you smile also.” What a determined declaration, and what an absolute sweetheart!

I dramatically seized both his shoulders and shot him the most serious facade I could muster. “You want more money? Shinpachi, blow up their budget to blank cheque levels!”

“Hey! That better not impact the cost of our deal, Bas!” Ted’s words projected false bravado, but his warbly delivery betrayed his anxiety. “Netflix analysts told me that compared to current industry standard, you’re already paying them double what they’re used to…” 

Seems Erica wasn’t the only person I’d flustered today. 

Ted’s tone became progressively unsure as I stared him down harder with each soft word. I didn’t bother responding immediately, forcing the silence to widen as my eyes narrowed. Ted gulped and tugged at the collar of his shirt; his finger accidentally hooked around a thin strap of something shiny. “Fairly late to clutch at your pearls, eh, Teddy bear? I pay my team what they’re worth, and the end result’s worth it.” 

“Brass at Netflix appreciate how much traffic Little Witch Academia by Trigger here brought to the platform. But there ain’t no pretending how expensive just that thirty-minute spot was. I’m just worried that by insisting that we simul-release multi-lingual options, our overheads increase more when we lease off your company, Bas. I mean, I wouldn’t even know where to calculate the price of translations, typesetting, and whatever other editing is required. Plus, the known piracy for english anime is pretty dang massive, too.” 

Before I could recommend he shop around for a better deal—maybe Family Guy or a contemporary could sell Netflix a single episode of their slideshow animation for the price of an entire season of spectacle—Shinpachi judiciously stepped in to stop Ted’s worried waffling. “A hurdle we had foreseen and overcome. By contacting and contracting the site-runners of these illicit websites, we have turned fan translations into the official.”

“Subs, dubs, or raw. It’ll all be options, regardless of region. Best part, these people are dedicated weebs who spend their free time doing this—who’ll only be grateful to earn a living wage for their passion. My translations will have the best cultural copy-pastes anywhere.” 

No 4kidz fuck-ups under my purview. Trust!

Erica, now collected, knocked on the glass to block me continuing to knock sense into Ted Sarandos. “Break’s over, grasshopper!”

“Then let’s spit out some dialogue!” Stripping bare was preferable to tearing somebody into strips. I shucked off the shackles chaffing at my fantasy made mundane. To once again make believe whatever I could hallucinate within the cushioned chamber I’d locked myself in. 

Mine was a tale of two realities–of dichotomies and dualities. Sometimes, it required plunging myself into a fresh new world, and reaping it for everything it was worth, to remind me of something supremely liberating. 

I was, in fact, an isekai protagonist.