Chapter 291: Cu Chulainn: Don't Send Me to Tokyo!
Filming The Garden of Sinners was supposed to be easy. With Nasu's original script and the sheer aesthetic power of the one and only Ryougi Shiki, as long as the director didn't pull a stunt straight out of Sharknado, the project was guaranteed to break even—turning a profit was practically a given.
What Shinji was wrestling with wasn't how to film it, but how big this project should go. Should The Garden of Sinners only take Japan by storm, or should it aim for global domination?
The first goal was "so easy you could do it with your feet."
The second goal? Also "so hard you'd need your feet."
(Same phrase, completely opposite meaning—Shinji logic.)
Making The Garden of Sinners a global hit wouldn't be a walk in the park. The best way to adapt its eerie, metaphysical story was as a Japanese-style horror film.
But here's the problem: that genre just doesn't click with Western audiences.
Western horror fans didn't care about subtle atmospheres or ghostly silence—they wanted buckets of blood and jump scares that punched you in the face.
The cultural gap was obvious if you compared the Japanese and Hollywood versions of The Ring and The Grudge.
So if they stuck to a pure J-horror style, it was bound to tank overseas.
The "obvious" solution? Go blockbuster.
Focus on flashy effects. Ramp up the action.
But Shinji didn't like that one bit.
As a hardcore Type-Moon purist, he couldn't bear the thought of The Garden of Sinners turning into just another popcorn flick. If it lost that unique Type-Moon flavor, what was even the point?
"I need to plan this carefully… especially which story to start with for the first movie…"
Shinji muttered to himself while cruising through the vast Fuyuki City studio grounds on a self-balancing scooter.
The Einzbern studio complex was huge. Like, "rich landlord's backyard" huge. And walking it all on foot? Way too exhausting.
Especially for a pampered young master like Shinji, whose athleticism couldn't compare to the inhuman stamina of the Servants under his employ.
Or in his own words:
"Running? My dear fellow, that's simply not in my skill set."
Of course, using a car or a bicycle wasn't exactly practical on a movie set.
So gliding around on a flashy little scooter became the most efficient—and stylish—solution.
One hand on the handlebars, the other pretending to puff on a cigar (well, a toothpick, but it's the vibe that counts), Shinji looked like a tiny mafia boss out on a stroll.
A cosplay of a young Godfather, if you will.
By the time he reached the office building, he hopped off the scooter and flicked the toothpick into a trash can with a casual snap of his fingers.
Thunk
"Heh, still got the aim of a top Archer~"
Right on cue, his secretary Ophelia stepped out of the building, clearly unimpressed.
"Boss, you do know that in New Zealand that little stunt would get you arrested, right? They just passed a law banning all tobacco sales."
Shinji shrugged like it didn't concern him in the slightest.
"Relax. I'm not planning to shoot any movies in New Zealand anyway."
Ophelia squinted at him with her one good eye, deadpan as ever.
"I thought you were going to say you'd quit smoking forever."
"That's a bit premature. Who knows? Maybe I'll follow in Waver's footsteps and turn cigars into Mystic Codes someday. Better not jinx it."
He passed her a chilled water bottle, casually asking, "So, how'd the meeting with Time Group go?"
She took a sip before replying.
"They're onboard. They accepted the The Garden of Sinners proposal and approved a total production budget of 50 million USD."
"Your producer contract's also finalized: five million base salary, a 15% cap on box office revenue share, and a 3.5% cut from merch sales."
Honestly, that wasn't a bad deal.
Sure, it wasn't extravagant, but Shinji was only acting as producer and screenwriter for The Garden of Sinners. That kind of compensation was more than fair.
Not to mention, Type-Moon's own corporate revenue from the project would be handled separately.
Shinji was very pleased with the outcome.
Even if he never managed to save any of the money—thanks in no small part to a certain pair of pint-sized Counter Force lolis always draining his funds…
Still, just because he couldn't save money didn't mean it wasn't his.
Since the money was going to pass through his hands before being spent anyway, Shinji naturally hoped for as much money to pass through as possible. That way, whatever he did spend would feel that much more meaningful.
"They were also asking about the release date for The Garden of Sinners," his secretary added. "They want an estimate for when the project will be done."
Shinji thought for a moment.
"If everything goes smoothly, we should make it in time for next summer's box office season."
They didn't head back to the office, instead turning right and strolling toward one of the adjacent sound stages while continuing their conversation.
This particular set was being used for reshoots on Ultraseven X.
The movie itself was already mostly complete—they were just putting on the final touches.
Now, don't go thinking "reshoots = disaster."
In truth, any film striving for perfection needs reshoots.
Not all directors were like Shinji, who could envision every single frame of a movie before production even began.
During editing, it was common to find issues with shot transitions or underdeveloped details. Those blemishes? They had to be fixed with reshoots.
"Hello, Shinji."
A cool, detached voice suddenly cut in as a tall woman passed them.
Shinji responded with a nod, entirely unfazed by the icy tone.
"Hey there, Rider."
Medusa's eyes narrowed slightly behind her glasses, but she quickly walked past her Master without another word.
Recently, Rider had been giving Shinji the cold shoulder—ever since he summoned her older sisters just to mess with her. Understandably, she had a bit of a grudge.
Not that Shinji cared in the slightest.
After all, he'd seen things—like this supposedly cool, unshakable Rider getting her face squished and her hair ruffled by her "big sister" who looked three sizes smaller.
That whole scene of a smug old loli bullying a sulky onee-san? 100% worth it. He'd pay to watch it again.
So being ignored by the lead actress? Small price to pay.
Medusa was on set because she played Agent S, the film's second female lead.
With her figure and commanding presence, she was a natural fit for a sharp, capable action heroine.
By the time Shinji and Ophelia entered the studio, several of the lead actors were already there.
Compared to Medusa's chilly vibes, Cu Chulainn was a walking ray of sunshine.
"Yo, Master! Miss Secretary!"
Lancer waved casually with one hand in his pocket, exuding the usual cocky flair of a man who looked like he could charm both a camera and a dragon.
Shinji skipped the pleasantries and went straight to business.
"How's the shoot going?"
"Pretty smooth," Cu said, dropping the bravado for a more serious tone.
"The reshoots are just about wrapped up. We should have the final cut ready by the end of the month."
"That director really knows his stuff—everything's been scheduled cleanly and efficiently."
Shinji wasn't surprised to hear praise for Denis Villeneuve.
Aside from being a bit too fond of artsy cinematography, the man had no real flaws as a director.
Unlike some "artistic" types who burned money like kindling, Denis was meticulous with his budgets. He never spent a dime he didn't need to.
If only his sci-fi arthouse films didn't have such high production costs, he'd be one of the biggest names in the business by now.
After all, he pulled off Dune—a cinematic masterpiece—on a $160 million budget.
Compare that to Netflix's Red Notice, starring Dwayne Johnson, Gal Gadot, and Ryan Reynolds. That trainwreck cost 200 million.
With numbers like that, it was no wonder rumors swirled about Netflix using the movie to launder money.
Shinji didn't buy into the conspiracy, though.
In his opinion, Netflix probably wasn't that shady. Most of the bloated budget went into paying the three superstar actors, and the rest could be chalked up to pandemic-related delays.
Still, the contrast was pretty striking.
It just proved that budget management was a skill with its own ranking system.
Directors like Michael Bay or James Wan, who could make a dollar look like two, were the golden children of every production company.
Villeneuve might not be on that level yet, but he was still a solid return-on-investment director. You paid for quality—and you got it.
From Shinji's professional eye, Ultraseven X had all the makings of a cyberpunk classic.
Cu Chulainn seemed just as pleased with his performance.
He considered this his best role since being summoned to the modern world.
(Of course it was. Fate's commercial spinoffs weren't exactly Oscar bait material.)
But the big doggo didn't see it that way. He looked genuinely hopeful when he asked, "Hey, Master… you think we've got a shot at winning an award this time?"
Shinji didn't answer right away. He simply stared at him.
Cu Chulainn scratched the back of his head, trying to lighten the mood.
"Master, I really gave it my all this time, you know? That bitter, brooding face you wanted—I kept it on the whole time..."
Shinji raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Cu, I know you've worked hard. But I want you to stay focused, especially during these last few reshoots. For these next couple of days, I expect nothing less than your A-game."
"If you mess this up…"
A glint flashed in his eyes as he leaned in slightly.
"I'll send you to Tokyo Hot as the male lead."
Cu Chulainn's confident smirk twitched.
He definitely knew what Shinji was talking about.
But he still played it cool.
"Master, if you're seriously going to Tokyo to film, you'll have to let me leave Fuyuki City first."
Shinji met his eyes with a calm, unwavering stare.
The kind of look that made your instincts scream danger even when the words themselves were harmless.
"M-Master… don't tell me… you really figured out a way to get us out of this city?"
Shinji raised his brows and gave a devilish grin.
"It's still in testing. You'll be my first lab rat."
Instantly, all the smugness drained from Cu's face.
"Master! I swear I won't screw up this movie! You can count on me!"
"Relax, no need to get so worked up."
Shinji chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.
"Your Master's not that much of a demon~"
'That smile is EXACTLY what a demon would wear!'
Cu didn't dare risk it.
He'd heard Shinji joke more than once that the adult film industry was desperate for male actors—especially ones who were handsome, built, and ridiculously talented.
And unfortunately, he fit that description too well.
"Cu Chulainn, you really have the wrong idea about me."
Shinji narrowed his eyes with a smug grin.
"What I meant was—if the experiment works, I'll bring you to Venice with me. I plan to nominate you for Best Actor."
He wasn't joking.
If Cu could truly leave Fuyuki, Shinji would absolutely fight to get him the Venice Best Actor Award.
But if the day came and the blue dog was still bound to the city, then… well, tough luck.
Sure, there had been actors who won without attending the festival, but they were rare exceptions—only given to those who delivered incredible performances and had rock-solid reasons for their absence.
Missing the event because "you're a spirit stuck in Fuyuki" wasn't going to cut it.
Worse, just not showing up was often seen as a snub. Many juries would give you a goose egg out of spite.
And after what happened at Cannes with Fate/Stay Night? Shinji had developed a deep, visceral disgust for anything involving paying bribes to festivals. No way he was greasing palms for awards again.
So if Cu couldn't attend, Shinji wouldn't even bother with the PR campaign.
As for that Tokyo Hot comment—it was nothing but a slap on the wrist for a dog who got too full of himself.
Word on the set was that the "blue doggo" had gone wild yesterday and got blasted into the ceiling by Luvia.
Cu himself could tell why Shinji had brought it up.
He wisely kept quiet.
"Master, you know me. I'd never treat my work like a joke."
With Cu's repeated reassurances that he'd give Ultraseven X his all, Shinji finally let him off the hook.
He asked a few more questions about the reshoot schedule, then he and Ophelia left.
But they didn't leave the studio entirely.
Instead, they headed deeper inside—to check in on another crew working on a newly launched project that had just begun actor training.
They didn't enter the sound stage right away.
First, they visited the nearby gym, specially outfitted for the cast.
And just as expected—there she was.
Ryougi Shiki.
Dressed in a pale cherry blossom-colored kimono, she moved gracefully across the floor under the guidance of a professional trainer, swinging a traditional Japanese longsword with fluid precision.
The long sleeves of her kimono fluttered with every elegant step, like cherry blossoms dancing in the spring wind.
She was wielding a weapon—yet the atmosphere around her was serene and gentle, like a true Yamato Nadeshiko.
That quiet strength, that otherworldly grace…
This was the unique, irreplaceable charm of Ryougi Shiki.
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