Kurumizawa's scheme to sow discord between Sawako and Shouta wasn't flawless.
At the very least, Yano Ayane, Sawako's close friend, had already sensed something wasn't right.
And at the end of Episode 5, after realizing that Sawako was as slippery as a greased pig and immune to subtle manipulation, Kurumizawa finally changed her approach.
"Sawako… we're friends, right?"
The moment she said this line, viewers everywhere frowned.
"Actually, there's someone I like. But if I want to be with him, I need your help. Or rather… only you can help me."
At that point, countless viewers were already clenching their fists.
This Kurumizawa is unreal!
She was resorting to emotional blackmail—weaponizing friendship.
"When the time comes, I'll let you know what to do. So... will you help me?" Kurumizawa asked, gazing at Sawako.
"Um… I will! Of course! So, who's the lucky guy you like?" Sawako beamed. Helping others was her favorite thing to do.
"The one I like… is Kazehaya."
For the first time, Sawako's expression faltered slightly.
Meanwhile, Kurumizawa's "gentle" gaze held a sharp chill.
And just like that—Episode 5 ended.
In the fan group chat, a rare silence lasted half a minute.
"Kurumizawa... this character is something else."
"I've never disliked a female character this much."
"Is this what female friendship is like in real life? Because damn…"
"I swear, just fight her already! What the hell is Kurumizawa even doing? This kind of manipulation isn't exhausting for her?!"
"Exactly! If you like Shouta, then just confess yourself! Why go around pushing away every girl who might have a shot with him?"
"She probably already knows Shouta doesn't like her. So now she's stalling for time, hoping he'll fall for her eventually—but first, she has to make sure no one else gets close to him."
"Wow. Just... wow."
"And then this episode ends on such a wild note? I can't."
"This cliffhanger has me dying. Someone help me—my emotions are hanging by a thread!"
"Jing Yu-sensei, you're too good at this. I won't sleep tonight."
"What's Sawako going to do? Is she really going to back off because her 'friend' likes Shouta? Please don't let that happen!"
"Who said Episode 5 would be the confession episode?! WHO?!"
"I'm at my limit. This drama is emotionally exhausting."
"When's the confession coming, Teacher Jing Yu?!"
"This cliffhanger gave me a brain hemorrhage."
"And now we wait another week... sigh."
Episode 5 of 'Kimi ni Todoke' brought not only a spike in discussion but also a jump in viewership. The episode's average rating had officially broken 8.30%.
When this number came out, even Huanshi TV—who still held a sliver of hope for their seasonal hit 'That Year!'—finally gave up.
After all, 'That Year!' only hit 7.60% in Episode 5. The gap was widening, and at this point, it wasn't about doing better—it was about hoping 'Kimi ni Todoke' would make a mistake.
But in all of Great Zhou, no other screenwriter had consistently botched a drama's latter half less than Jing Yu.
In fact, his track record showed the opposite: his dramas usually grew stronger in the second half, and that's when viewership numbers soared the fastest.
Looking at the current trends, it already felt like the winter season was in its "garbage time."
In the past, the "Top Three TV Networks" could rely on their platform strength to suppress Jing Yu early in the season, at least for the first few episodes. But now?
That era was over. We were firmly in the "Jing Yu crushes everyone from Episode 1" phase.
The next day, as usual, the industry began evaluating the latest week of updates from the Big Three and Yunteng TV.
Last week, a few media outlets were still speculating whether 'That Year!' could stage a comeback. But this week?
Absolutely no chance.
All across the board, praise for 'Kimi ni Todoke' flooded in.
Ratings and audience engagement had it in first place by a huge margin. Even the three flagship dramas from the Top Three networks couldn't compete with its public traction.
Even critics on the payroll of the Big Three didn't dare push a counter-narrative. No point going against the entire market.
At Yunteng TV, people were already half-popping the champagne.
The head of production, Meng Yu, personally came to Jing Yu's office to chat for an entire morning. The main goal? Invite him to attend an official celebration event.
"Even though you left Yunteng TV, it'll always be your home."
"Come by more often. The staff from your old drama crews all miss you."
"The winter season's already halfway through. Xiao Jing, we've got to plan three steps."
While it was all friendly on the surface, Meng Yu was obviously probing for Jing Yu's plans.
'5 Centimeters per Second' was a film project and unrelated to Yunteng TV.
But once 'Kimi ni Todoke' finished filming—what was Jing Yu's next move?
Meanwhile, the Big Three networks were holding internal discussions by mid-November.
At Xingtong TV:
"Jing Yu's a free agent now. Just because Yunteng TV bought his shows doesn't mean we can't. We're all based in Modo—I walk past the '5 Centimeters per Second' set every week. If we scoop up his next project, we cut off a rival at the knees."
"Exactly! Even if we're just taking a gamble, buying what will probably be the top-rated drama next season is still a win."
At Huanshi TV:
"Let's be real. We've worked with freelance screenwriters before. But we've always held the rights to the shows."
"Come on. He's just a young guy. Sure, his stuff's good, but he hasn't even cracked 10% in ratings. Why should we worry?"
"He hasn't cracked 10% because his shows aired on Yunteng TV. Let's be honest—'Hikaru no Go' and 'Initial D', if they aired on any of the Big Three, would've easily broken 10%."
At Imperial Capital TV:
"Try contacting him again. See if he's willing to sell the rights outright. We can offer over 50 million."
"That probably won't work. 'Kimi ni Todoke' has already broken even, and it's got tons of future licensing opportunities. Qingyun is talking to him. Advertisers are lining up. The actual projected revenue is far above 50 million. Our offer just doesn't cut it."
To outsiders, it was amusing to see the Big Three stumble. But inside those companies, alarm bells were ringing.
They were starting to realize something:
Jing Yu could no longer be contained.
If this continued, the long-standing Big Three might soon become the Big Four—with Yunteng TV now on equal footing.
But if the Big Three were to work with Jing Yu the way Yunteng TV did...
Well, that was a different story.
They held several meetings, but no consensus was reached.
The problem was clear: Jing Yu refused to give up his IP rights. That meant partnering with him was impossible under their current model.
Even if their sharpest producers saw the logic, the shareholders would never approve a deal that let them lose ownership.
It would spook the market and suggest none of the Big Three could rival Jing Yu—sending stock prices tumbling.
So Yunteng TV's worry—that the Big Three might swoop in again—never materialized.
But if the Big Three stayed out, Qingyun certainly didn't.
With 'Kimi ni Todoke' dominating the TV ratings, Qingyun—their video platform still in its expansion phase—was growing fast.
Their two main competitors weren't slouches either.
So now, all three of Great Zhou's top video platforms—Qingyun, Hongbing, and Jixun—were desperately trying to woo Jing Yu.
To be fair, they weren't just chasing him. They'd reached out to dozens of top screenwriters, directors, and producers to create exclusive web dramas.
But right now? Jing Yu was the hottest commodity on the market.
And while he wasn't in a rush, Jing Yu was willing to listen. He didn't leave everything to Cheng Lie—he took the time to meet these people face-to-face.
As for how those meetings went...
"Hongbing offered to sign me directly. Tempting number, one of the highest salaries in the industry. But it doesn't appeal to me," Jing Yu told Cheng Lie casually.
"Jixun was stingier. I heard they've been flirting with four or five top-tier screenwriters already. They did contact me—but their offer was just average."
"What about Qingyun?" Cheng Lie asked.
"Since their HQ is here in Modo City, a lot of the people in their company have worked with me before. They know my temperament. No unreasonable demands. Just asked me not to sell my next show to Yunteng TV. The price they offered? Same as before. They said raising it would be 'market disruption' and might even get them reported."
"I'm guessing Director Meng Yu at Yunteng TV already heard about Qingyun contacting us. He's been calling me constantly, trying to get us to ignore these new platforms," Cheng Lie nodded.
The more 'Kimi ni Todoke' aired, the more valuable Jing Yu became in Great Zhou's TV industry.
If we talk purely about licensing price, Qingyun's offer was slightly higher than Yunteng TV's.
Backed by a billion-dollar conglomerate, they weren't stingy.
They promised that if Jing Yu released his next show on their platform, he'd get a 60/40 revenue split, no cap. Even if the show didn't perform well, they'd match Yunteng TV's payout.
In short, the moment Jing Yu agreed, his next drama would earn at least 60 million yuan from Qingyun alone.
The question was whether Jing Yu was willing to take the deal.
In just the few weeks 'Kimi ni Todoke' had been airing, Qingyun's team—based in Modo City—had contacted Jing Yu six or seven times.
They couldn't buy the IP, so all they could do was raise the price. But if they set it too high, every other screenwriter would expect the same.
Yunteng TV had already paid a hefty sum for broadcast rights. Qingyun's verbal offer was even higher—but that was their limit.
Cheng Lie was starting to get a bit of a headache.
It was a classic dilemma:
New industry with high risk and high return,
vs.
Stable network exposure and proven popularity growth.
"Honestly... I never imagined we'd get to this point," Cheng Lie sighed. "'Kimi ni Todoke' isn't even halfway done, and several companies are already offering 50–60 million for the next show—even though you haven't even started writing it."
A few months ago, that would've been unthinkable.
"Let's wait and see," Jing Yu replied calmly.
To most, the idea that one show could bring in this much was mind-blowing.
But for Jing Yu, who'd lived through the chaotic gold rush of the entertainment industry in his past life, this was nothing.
Back then, B-list celebrities with no real talent could make hundreds of millions from a single hit show. Of course, it was all inflated—driven by market hype and reckless bidding. When the bubble burst, most of them were left jobless.
Mid-November.
The long-awaited premiere date for 'Love Letter' and 'Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal' on Qingyun had arrived.
Each film could be bought individually for 12 yuan, or as a bundle at 10% off.
Honestly, if this were Jing Yu's past life, no one would've bought it. Everyone was used to pirated content. People didn't want to pay one yuan—let alone twelve.
But in Great Zhou, going to the theater costs dozens. DVDs cost over a hundred dollars. Even standard-quality discs were 40–50 yuan.
Streaming a film online for just over ten?
It all depended on the market environment.
Back in his past life, even charging a few yuan per month for VIP access was too much—people would rather scour pirate sites.
But abroad, Netflix charged 70–100 yuan per month, and still had nearly 200 million paying users.
That's billions in monthly revenue, not even counting ads.
A user base like that? Impossible in a piracy-ridden environment.
Jing Yu thought Qingyun's pricing was a little high, but Qingyun actually considered it discounted.
If not for user growth goals, they'd have raised it further.
As it turned out, most fans were fine with the pricing.
If you were already paying to watch in theaters or buying DVDs, paying a little over ten yuan to stream on your phone or laptop was easy.
And when the films finally went live…
The viewership numbers for both movies—
Far exceeded Jing Yu's expectations.