Creating Anime In A Fantasy World

Chapter 239: The Premiere of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure! (Part 1)

The chimes of the New Year rang out across the Empire. One year faded into memory, and a new one quietly began.

For Edward, however, even New Year’s Eve was no holiday. The moment he finished preparing the imaging crystals for JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, he immediately met with Viscount Baniel and arranged for copies to be distributed to theaters across the land.

Not only that—he also sent duplicates to the Imperial Mage Academy and the Southern Frontier Garrison, and even went so far as to dispatch a set each to the royal capital and Grand Duke Viktor’s estate.

After all, considering the rigid etiquette of royalty and nobility, it was unthinkable for Emperor Hubbard or Grand Duke Viktor to personally stroll into a cinema on New Year’s Day. This was Edward’s way of showing them special courtesy.

Only after tying up all these loose ends did he finally allow himself to relax. Exhausted, he collapsed into a seat at the Durin Tavern, where Winry had been waiting for him. Under her care, he was at last able to enjoy a brief moment of rest.

But outside, a brand-new kind of “war” was just about to begin.

. . . .

On the first day of the New Year, theaters across the East, West, and South all unveiled their new posters.

This time, however, Durin Film Production Company’s films weren’t the only contenders. Standing beside them were a work produced by the coalition of southern nobles—their debut piece, Song of the Vampire.

As the name suggested, it was an adaptation of a well-known stage play: the tragic romance of a young girl who falls in love with a vampire, a love that can never stand beneath the light of day.

The play had been performed by troupes all across the Empire, especially in the South, and already had a natural audience. With eye-catching posters and carefully chosen leads—a handsome man and a beautiful woman—the film instantly drew attention, sparking eager discussion wherever the advertisements were seen.

In comparison, Edward’s new work, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, left many scratching their heads. The title alone gave no hint of its story. The poster merely showed two men locked in an intense standoff—hardly an image to entice the casual viewer.

Were it not for Edward’s reputation as a director, even the people of the South might not have spared the film a second glance.

As a result, in the East and West, where cinema had only just arrived, Song of the Vampire utterly dominated in popularity. A quick survey revealed that the vast majority of people were eager to see the vampire romance, while only a rare few expressed interest in Edward’s mysterious new project.

Hearing of this, the southern nobles were ecstatic.

Several went so far as to host early “victory banquets,” drinking themselves into a stupor as they dreamed of mountains of silver flowing endlessly into their coffers. Even the usually cautious Viscount Rainier began to grow giddy with success.

In his eyes, Edward had only profited from the novelty of being first to create films. Now that he faced a “true rival,” his weakness was laid bare for all to see.

So when some nobles approached him the day before the premiere, urging him to raise the ticket price for Song of the Vampire to five silver coins per seat, Viscount Rainier didn’t hesitate for a moment and agreed on the spot.

Viscount Rainier was not without a merchant’s instinct. He understood the nature of price wars better than anyone. And precisely because he understood, once he saw the glaring gap between Song of the Vampire and JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, he could not resist the lure of profit. He raised the ticket price.

Originally, a ticket had cost only five copper coins. Even if sales were strong, the earnings would always hit a ceiling. But if the price were multiplied tenfold, to five silver coins, the total profits could skyrocket. Even if some viewers were driven away, as long as enough people were willing to pay, the wealth would far outstrip what could ever be earned from low prices.

To a businessman, such basic economic logic was obvious.

But Rainier had made a fatal mistake: he saw film only as a commodity, forgetting that it was, at its core, entertainment.

No matter how finely he calculated, the true deciding factor in a film’s sales would always be just one thing—its ability to captivate. Only a story worth watching could ever command a worthy price.

On this point, Viscount Baniel was far more keenly aware.

He and Rainier had once been rivals in other industries. The moment he heard Rainier was stepping into film, Baniel paid very close attention. Long before Edward had even begun his next project, Baniel was quietly drawing up schemes, intent on crushing his old adversary.

But the instant he learned that Edward himself would be directing again, he scrapped those plans. His own reputation could suffer, and he wouldn’t care—but to drag Edward or the Durin Film Production Company through the mud? That was unthinkable.

In Baniel’s heart, Edward wasn’t just a director. He was the incarnation of cinema itself. And Baniel—Baniel was a zealot. A fanatic follower.

What kind of believer would dare profane their own god?

So he spent those weeks wound tight with anxiety, waiting. Until, at last, he saw both films with his own eyes—the raw cut of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure straight from Edward’s hands, and through his own channels, a copy of Song of the Vampire. He watched them both, start to finish.

And then all his fears evaporated.

If his mood could be summed up in a single phrase, it would be: This is in the bag.

. . . .

New Year’s Day.

The theaters of the East and West, in every major city, opened their doors.

Thanks to the relentless wave of publicity, the ordinary folk—who had never before set foot in a cinema—poured inside at once, eager to see for themselves. Before them stood two choices:

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure.

Song of the Vampire.

From the premise alone, the choice seemed obvious. Anyone could see which was more alluring.

But then they saw the prices.

Five copper coins.

Five silver coins.

And suddenly, the crowds faltered.

Five copper coins was nothing more than a mug of ale at a tavern. But five silver coins—that was enough to feed a family for several days.

No matter how novel the experience, money mattered more.

And so, those who were strapped for cash, or whose families weren’t wealthy, didn’t hesitate. They bought tickets to JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, filing into the side halls.

Meanwhile, the well-to-do—those with purses heavy enough to pay without worry—chose Song of the Vampire.

Thus began the very first “war” in the history of cinema.