In the heart of Tokushima, where shopping arcades spill into one another and the streets always feel too narrow for the number of bodies determined to squeeze through, there's a district that lives and breathes otaku culture. Figure shops, specialty bookstores, Blu-ray shelves stacked to the ceiling, themed cafés, capsule-toy corners, display windows drowned in posters and acrylic stands - everything clustered together as if that stretch of the city were a small sanctuary for anyone who survives on anime.
The cost of living there was brutal even by Japanese standards. Rent was high, coffee was overpriced, and parking was practically extortion. Still, the foot traffic was unreal. On ordinary days, you'd see lines curling around corners simply because something was always happening: a small cosplay gathering almost every week, and, when the calendar lined up, larger conventions one or two times a month. Voice actors, directors, guest animators… every now and then a recognizable face would show up, and a single rumor was enough to turn the street into a human tide.
But that day, Tokushima felt like it had been swallowed whole by an anthill.
It wasn't only because a major cosplay event was happening nearby. The real reason - the thing that made the line look like a living serpent glued to the storefronts - was simple: it was release day for Volume 1 of the second season Blu-ray of Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds, one of the most talked-about anime of the winter cour.
The series had become TV recent crown jewel. The network had poured something in the range of tens of millions of yen into production the previous quarter, and the results showed in the numbers: near-simultaneous broadcasts through regional affiliates, wide coverage, and a national average rating brushing up against 4% - 3.96%, for anyone who liked arguing over decimals as if it were a matter of pride.
Of course, it wasn't the kind of figure you compared to the rare, once-a-year - or once-every-few-years - phenomena that swallowed the entire country. But calling Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds "above average" was underselling it. It was a sturdy, glossy, well-built production - competent enough to silence the people who waited for a second season to collapse under its own weight. More importantly, it kept the first season's fanbase loyal, without the bitter sense of betrayal that lingered around so many sequels.
Outside the sales and rental stores, the lines advanced at the pace of a crawling insect. Blu-rays weren't cheap - never had been. People with money bought them, collected them, displayed them proudly on their shelves. People without money, or people who'd missed the TV broadcast, went the rental route without shame. And when otaku lines didn't move, they talked.
"How many copies do you think this volume sells?" someone asked, casual as if discussing the weather. "With this hype and those ratings… ten thousand per volume nationwide, minimum, right?"
"Ten thousand? If it hits that, it's already doing great." The person behind them let out a short laugh. "Last autumn there was that show that debuted strong on Seiryū TV and cleared 4%, and it still didn't reach that on Blu-ray."
"But that was a different kind of show," another voice cut in, impatient. "Fanservice. It sold moments and memes. People watch it on TV for a laugh, but paying real money to keep it on your shelf? Not me - and I spend. On Natsuyume it didn't even crack a seven. Blu-rays like that aren't for showing off; they're for hiding."
"Speaking of scores…" someone tugged the thread everyone wanted to pull. "Voices of a Distant Star is also dropping Volume 1 today. And the novel, same title. It's at a 9.3 on Natsuyume."
The comment sparked a ripple through the line, like someone had tossed a glowing ember into the crowd.
"9.3? I could've sworn it was 9.2."
"It was. Until last month. After it ended, people here and across Shikoku kept pushing it up. And it's not just Tokushima - Kagawa, Ehime, Kōchi… anyone who watched it is talking like it punched them right in the chest."
"You serious?" A skeptical giggle. "Shikoku people really are intense."
"Doesn't it make you want to buy it? Blu-ray and the novel together."
"Eh, I'll pass. Shorts aren't my thing. Twenty-something minutes can be perfect, sure, but it's not worth the price of a full volume. I'm here for Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds, end of story."
The conversation repeated in variations along the line, like waves rising and falling. The name Voices of a Distant Star kept surfacing and sinking again, always paired with numbers and comparisons - the silent rivalry that appears whenever a work no one expected starts earning too much respect.
Near the front, a masked woman in a meticulous cosplay of a well-known character from Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds listened without turning her head. Her posture was controlled, almost too elegant for the crush of bodies. Even so, her attention was obvious: ears tuned, gaze narrowed, the kind of curiosity that felt more like resentment than interest.
Voices of a Distant Star…
Behind the mask, her expression twisted into a contempt that was almost amused.
The Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds Blu-ray was her main target. That wasn't even up for discussion. She was a real fan - the kind who spent on costumes, accessories, limited editions. The outfit she was wearing at that very moment was the heroine's look from the first season. Not a last-minute costume, not something cheap: it was custom, chosen with obsession.
But knowing a short - a compact, bite-sized work - had managed to edge past Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds Season 2 on Natsuyume's ratings… it stung.
Not because she'd watched it. She hadn't. And that was exactly the problem. Without seeing it, she had no ammunition. She couldn't point to a scene and say, There. That's what you're calling a masterpiece? The frustration was dry and irritating, like an itch you couldn't reach.
So she decided the simplest route: she'd buy the Voices of a Distant Star Blu-ray, watch it that same day, and then write a massive post on Natsuyume dissecting everything she considered a flaw. A long piece - the kind that became reference material, or became a war.
Let the "overexcited Shikoku crowd" learn, once and for all, that high-level animation wasn't something any teenage director from the countryside could "brush up against" just because he landed one short story.
Her smile was already there, hidden beneath the mask.
When she finally made it inside the store, she pulled a folded checklist from her pocket and began sweeping the shelves like she knew exactly what she wanted. In the center, under the brightest lights, placed high and impossible to ignore, stood a mountain of Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds – Season 2, Volume 1 Blu-rays. The stack rose from the floor to nearly waist height, and posters covered the walls so thoroughly the shop felt like a corridor of pure advertisement.
Customers didn't even pretend to hesitate: they walked in, grabbed the volume, and went straight to the register.
Voices of a Distant Star, meanwhile, was treated almost cruelly. Without a hefty promotional budget, without generous distributor agreements, without the kind of push that put a product in everyone's face, the Blu-ray had been left in a discreet corner with a small poster - like the shop was doing the bare minimum just to say it carried stock.
She took what she'd come for, but she didn't stop there.
One volume here, another there. A title she'd promised herself she'd collect, another that was "cheap enough to justify," another she grabbed simply because the cover was gorgeous. Before long, the cart became a piled-up mess of cases: Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds, Voices of a Distant Star, Mercury Pilot, The Rebellious Princess Could Never Love Her Dog… more than fifty volumes in total, mixing Blu-rays, special editions, and a few collector items.
Before she headed to the register, her eyes slid toward the stack of the Voices of a Distant Star tie-in novel. She picked one up, felt the weight, and calculated quickly. Money wasn't the issue. It was… hassle. She barely read light novels. She'd buy it, leave it somewhere, and eventually it would turn into dust - or trash.
In the end, she returned it to the pile with the same coolness she'd used to pick it up.
She lifted her chin, as if the decision itself were a gesture of refinement, and pushed the cart to the register.
The cashier - trained to keep smiling even when a customer brought what amounted to a small tsunami of merchandise - scanned the items one by one, the repetitive beep filling the air.
"All set… that'll be three hundred eighty-six thousand yen," the woman said softly.
"Card," the customer replied without hesitation.
It took two trips to load everything into the passenger seat of her sports car. In a two-seater, anything beyond a handbag became a problem. And this wasn't "anything"; it was an entire world wrapped in plastic and cardboard.
When she finished, she removed her mask. The face beneath was pale, well-cared-for, beautiful in a way that drew attention even without heavy makeup. Her eyes gleamed with the particular satisfaction of someone who had spent without looking at the price - and walked away pleased.
"Good thing no one recognized me…" she murmured, a small laugh tucked into her breath.
It wasn't paranoia. She wasn't "just" an enthusiastic buyer: on Natsuyume, she was a massive content creator with millions of followers. Plenty of people decided what to watch each cour only after reading her guides and analysis posts. If a fan had asked for a photo or an autograph - or worse, started a conversation - she would've lost too much time.
And time was the one thing she couldn't afford to waste.
Her plan was clear: get home, watch Voices of a Distant Star before the night was over, and start drafting a piece that broke down "every flaw." A long, poisonous article - sharp enough to sting - meant to slap down everyone who'd been mocking Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds for "losing" to a short from Shikoku.
Because in her mind, the verdict already existed long before she pressed play.
Chronicles of the Sea of Clouds was the strongest show of the winter cour. Everything else was noise.
She glanced sideways at the pile of cases crushing the passenger seat and let out an irritated sigh, as if the car itself had committed a personal offense.
Two seats… what a nuisance.
Next week, she'd buy a new one.
Maybe bigger. Maybe just because she could.
And without delay, she started the engine and drove home - carrying the weight of her purchases, and the unmistakable intention of turning that night into a fight no one had asked for, but she already considered inevitable.