Four days after 'To the Moon' wrapped up, its average paid view count on SakuraNet officially surpassed ten million.
The media's reviews of the show were overwhelmingly positive.
Meanwhile, Su Yan, lounging in his office and pretending to read the newspaper, was getting bombarded with calls from all directions.
Zhongxia TV, Hudu TV, and five other major networks that were severely lacking in talent were all coming for him.
A young, accomplished, and good-looking screenwriting genius with no non-compete clause or long-term contract with Sakura TV? Absolutely insane.
Although Su Yan kept saying over the phone that he "had no plans to switch jobs at the moment"...
Come on. Who was he fooling?
Of course, he was just holding out for the best price.
They all understood. Everyone was an adult. Everyone was realistic.
Given the success of Su Yan's last three dramas, all seven TV stations offered top-tier contracts.
The five major networks proposed higher base salaries, while Zhongxia and Hudu TV sweetened their deals with career development perks and additional benefits.
Back at Sakura TV, however, Su Yan still showed no intention of renewing his contract. Ogata Aya had asked him several times, but Su Yan always gave the same calm answer:
He just wanted to rest after 'To the Moon', and would think about his future slowly.
That only made her more anxious.
Is Su Yan really planning to jump ship...?
Ogata Aya even had Shinozaki Ikumi talk to him twice to try to change his mind, but Su Yan just brushed her off each time.
"Alright. That's enough," Su Yan murmured as he glanced at his system's emotional value.
He could keep waiting and probably gain more points—but that would be a waste of time.
Time to draw.
Su Yan immediately used 16 million emotional points for a large draw.
There was always a risk with the lottery system. If he drew a restricted or unadaptable work, that would be a disaster. That's why he left 6 million points in reserve, just in case.
The interface in his system space flashed wildly, streams of data rushing into his mind.
[You have drawn: 'Your Lie in April']
[You have received: Piano and Violin Mastery Skill Package]
A massive flood of knowledge surged into his mind.
It took Su Yan a while to regain clarity.
"'Your Lie in April', huh?" Su Yan's eyes lit up with delight.
Spending 16 million points to get that? Huge win.
If he had tried to directly exchange for it, this project would've cost over 30 million emotional points.
Better yet, the show didn't involve fantasy elements or elaborate CGI. Most scenes took place in schools. No wars, no big-budget action sequences.
Which meant…
Low production costs.
That was key.
Even after the profits from 'To the Moon' came in, Su Yan's net worth would only be just over ten million. There was no way he could afford to shoot a fantasy-heavy series.
But even so, ten million was still a tight budget for 'Your Lie in April'.
Unless… he cast entirely unknown actors.
Su Yan considered the idea, but soon turned his attention to the skills he had just received.
"Violin and piano, huh… so more new skills."
He was starting to get the pattern.
The skills awarded in the lottery were always grounded—practical, daily-life type stuff. Always tied to the core skills of the major characters.
For example, in 'To the Moon', the key characters Cheng Li and Shen Yi only had knowledge related to memory manipulation machines.
Clearly, the system wouldn't give him sci-fi tech, and if he ever drew a fantasy work in the future, he wouldn't be receiving any superpowers either.
"Well, I guess that's fair. It's not like I'm gonna be cultivating immortality in the Xia Nation," Su Yan chuckled to himself.
With everything settled, Su Yan exited the system space and returned to his leisurely newspaper browsing.
But then…
From that very morning, a surprising piece of news began circulating within the screenwriting department—and even Su Yan couldn't avoid hearing about it.
"Did you hear? Minister Yoshizaki Shigeyoshi from the production department is officially retiring."
"For real? I thought he just had some dementia."
"Dementia? Come on, he's not that far gone. It's just health issues from years of overwork. He's in his seventies, always handling social events and overseeing the production team—must've taken a toll. He's been in the hospital for a month and still hasn't bounced back. Guess he figured it's time to stop pushing himself."
"If Yoshizaki's retiring, then who's taking over?"
"Is that even a question? Akasaka Yoshitoki, of course."
"Holy crap… the entire production department's about to change."
"No doubt. New boss, new priorities. Producers who used to have all the resources might lose their edge, while those under Akasaka's wing are about to hit the jackpot."
Standing near the edge of the screenwriting department, Su Yan quietly listened to the chatter, his expression stunned.
"So soon?" he murmured.
For someone like Yoshizaki, even a six-month medical leave wouldn't raise eyebrows.
Akasaka could've just kept acting as interim head.
But a full retirement?
Guess his health really is worse than expected.
Still, it had nothing to do with Su Yan.
In fact, he was glad he had already decided to leave Sakura TV.
If he had signed a five- or ten-year contract, wouldn't that mean he'd be stuck under Akasaka's thumb?
Su Yan's expression turned a little more serious.
Meanwhile, his coworkers in the screenwriting department cast complicated glances his way.
Everyone knew about the rivalry between Su Yan and Kiyota Sanji.
When Su Yan blocked Kiyota's rise, he also landed himself on Akasaka's blacklist.
Not to mention, both 'An Ancient Love Song' and 'To the Moon' had outperformed Akasaka-backed productions for two consecutive quarters.
'The Gilded Ones' and 'The Gate.'—both A-tier dramas—had been overshadowed by Su Yan's scripts.
And the producer Su Yan worked with? Shinozaki Ikumi—Ogata Aya's protégé and Akasaka's long-time rival.
Now that Akasaka Yoshitoki was officially taking over as department head, what would happen to Su Yan?
Sure, he was talented—but he wasn't part of Akasaka's camp.
Would he be marginalized now that Akasaka was in charge?
Maybe not. Akasaka was a strategist. In an industry where shows could cost tens of millions, he might just choose to recruit Su Yan.
All Su Yan had to do was apologize and show willingness to work under Akasaka—and from a profit standpoint, it would make sense for Akasaka to accept.
Many coworkers silently debated all this in their minds.
But Su Yan couldn't care less.
His contract ended in two weeks.
Let Akasaka enjoy being department head—Su Yan was already planning his next move.
Even the usually calm screenwriting department was stirred up by the news.
And within the production department itself?
It was a full-on storm.
New boss, new rules. Who would Akasaka choose as his first example?
Everyone kind of already knew.
If anyone was going to get hit first, it would be Shinozaki Ikumi.
And she knew it, too.
If there were rankings for Akasaka's hit list, she'd be top three—no question.
Not only had she and Su Yan repeatedly embarrassed him with two seasons of hits, but even before her mother retired, she and Akasaka were notorious enemies.
She'd heard stories of them screaming at each other in meetings more than ten times.
"That freaking old man… you're doing this just to spite me!"
Ikumi was fuming in her office, blood pressure rising.
He must've done this on purpose—offered her a job last week, knowing she'd never accept it, then used her rejection as an excuse to crush her once he got promoted.
That old troll really knew how to play dirty.
You want me to regret not joining your team? Dream on.
Worst-case, I'll leave Sakura TV. I won't starve going back to Sakura Island to find a new job.
And she was right.
On Akasaka's third day as department head—
At 6 p.m., her direct superior and her mother's close friend, Ogata Ayaka, came to see her, looking guilty.
"At this morning's department meeting, Akasaka Yoshitoki announced staffing changes. Eleven employees with underwhelming performance were reassigned, demoted, or let go. You were on that list."
Ikumi clenched her fists.
Ogata took a deep breath and continued:
"According to Akasaka, your variety show and drama 'Sakura Island Love Song' caused millions in losses. Under normal circumstances, you would've been fired. But considering you discovered the screenwriter Su Yan…"
"Just get to the point," Ikumi cut her off.
Her voice was calm, but her eyes burned with frustration and disbelief.
"He says you're not fit to be a producer. That your achievements were solely thanks to Su Yan's talent. If any of Su Yan's three dramas had been produced by someone more competent, the TV station would've made even more money."
"Based on that logic, he's removing you from your role as producer and assigning you to a back-end support position," Kogane finished.
What?
Ikumi nearly laughed from sheer disbelief.
If Akasaka hadn't slashed budgets and dumped her projects into trash time slots, Su Yan's shows would've done even better.
Now he was blaming her for the station's missed profits?
What a manipulative piece of work.
Ogata looked guilty. Back when Yoshizaki was in charge, she'd merely been on the losing side. But now?
Forget protecting Ikumi—she might not even be able to protect herself.
"I understand." Ikumi exhaled deeply.
She was furious, but she didn't blame Kogane.
After a few moments, Ogata left her office.
"You old scumbag, Akasaka. Why don't you just drop dead?"
"What kind of lunatic are you?"
Ikumi spent the next half-hour yelling into the air, cursing Akasaka with every insult she could think of.
But when she ran out of breath, she understood—
This was just rage from powerlessness.
No matter how much she swore at him, Akasaka wouldn't lose a single hair.
"A back-end support position?" she scoffed coldly.
"You old troll, you should've just fired me. At least I'd get two months' severance! But no, you had to pull this disgusting stunt instead."
Ikumi slammed her fingers on the keyboard, starting to draft her resignation letter.
But halfway through, her hands paused, and a single tear hit the keys.
Two years.
She'd finally made a name for herself as a producer—even won the Best New Producer award.
And now, it was all ending like this.
"Don't cry. That's exactly what they want," she whispered to herself, quickly dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
Knock knock.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," Ikumi called, forcing a smile onto her pretty face.
No matter how she felt inside, she wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her break.
"Yo."
Su Yan walked in.
Her forced smile froze. Her eyes immediately reddened.
Taking a deep breath, Ikumi said:
"What brings you here, Su Yan?"
Su Yan paused, then spoke:
"I heard some rumors about the production department... and about you. So I came to ask you—"
"Would you be interested in leaving Sakura TV with me? The two of us… can start our own production company."