Late into the evening, Haruto Yamada was still refining his script for Rurouni Kenshin: Reminiscence Arc.
The story itself was concise, spanning just one to two hours of runtime, translating to a script of a few tens of thousands of words. For most writers, crafting a script of this length could take months. But Haruto, armed with the system's knowledge, became a relentless writing machine. By eight o'clock that night, he had completed drafts for the first two episodes, "The Man of the Slashing Sword" and "The Lost Cat."
As a first-time endeavor in this new world, and with his typing speed on the slower side, adapting the original story into a professional script format wasn't entirely effortless. It still required thought to shape the narrative effectively. But for now, this was enough.
In this world, the media industry favored a shoot-as-you-go model, influenced by the fast-paced production styles of the Blossom region. Scripts were often revised mid-production based on audience feedback. If a show flopped, networks would swiftly cut their losses, wrapping up stories prematurely. Submitting a partial script was standard practice—no need to finish the entire thing upfront.
With the office now empty, Haruto stepped to the window, gazing at the darkened sky and the city's vibrant neon glow. He exhaled deeply.
"Still hard to wrap my head around being here," he murmured. "But since I'm stuck in this world, I might as well make it a life worth living."
Leaving Blossom Media, Haruto took a bus and subway, a journey of over an hour, to his modest rental in the city's outer district. The tiny, single-room apartment barely spanned a hundred square feet.
Screenwriting sounded glamorous—working on projects with million-dollar budgets—but for a rookie like Haruto, freshly promoted from intern, the reality was far less dazzling. His monthly salary barely covered living expenses in this bustling metropolis.
Orphaned, single, and scraping by—Haruto's life had all the makings of a classic underdog story.
"Fits the whole 'reincarnated protagonist' vibe," he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
---
The next morning, Haruto woke at six, grabbed a couple of steamed buns on the way, and jogged to the subway, arriving at Blossom Media before eight.
This world's media landscape shared similarities with his old one but had its quirks. Most networks, including Blossom Media, were privately owned, unlike the state-run channel in the capital. Blossom Media, Metro Media, and Central Media formed the industry's big three, all headquartered in this urban hub. Smaller networks dotted other regions, but none matched the giants' reach or resources.
Despite the internet age, streaming platforms hadn't taken off as they had in Haruto's past life. Major networks controlled the digital space, cautiously investing in online ventures. The top streaming sites, including Blossom Media's own Blossom Stream, were subsidiaries of these networks. As a result, blockbuster shows still aired primarily on television, while lower-budget or riskier projects were relegated to online platforms.
Haruto had no illusions about Rurouni Kenshin: Reminiscence Arc. It wasn't destined for TV. Not because of its quality—he knew its emotional depth was unmatched—but because he lacked the clout. At Blossom Media, prime TV slots were fought over by veteran writers and established teams with decades of experience. A rookie like Haruto stood no chance.
Instead, he aimed for Blossom Stream, envisioning the four-episode arc as a short series, released weekly. That was the dream, at least, assuming everything went smoothly.
Entering the screenwriting department, Haruto exchanged morning greetings with colleagues.
"Morning, Haruto!"
"Morning, Aya-san, you're looking radiant today!"
"Morning, Kaori-san, congrats on Tears of Spring killing it in the ratings! At this rate, you'll be leading your own project next quarter."
"Morning, Kenji-senpai…"
"Haruto, you're looking sharper every day," one colleague teased. "You're wasting your face in the writers' room. You should be signing with a talent agency!"
As a newly promoted writer, Haruto kept his tone light and deferential. Being the office junior meant staying on everyone's good side to avoid trouble.
His gaze hardened slightly as he spotted a tall, handsome man with a cool expression. "Morning, Seiji-senpai," Haruto said politely.
Seiji Kiyota, who'd joined the department just six months ago, was older than Haruto and carried an air of privilege. Rumors swirled that he was connected—his uncle, a deputy director in the production department, pulled strings to fast-track his career. Haruto kept his guard up around him.
Truth be told, Haruto found the department's formalities grating. Blossom Media, steeped in the hierarchical culture of the Blossom region, was full of connected hires like Seiji. Half the staff were transplants from that area, and Haruto, as a newcomer, had to play the part of the respectful junior.
Seiji was a particular thorn. A graduate of a prestigious film school, wealthy, and backed by his uncle, Deputy Director Akasaka, Seiji coasted through projects, slapping his name on scripts to pad his resume. By all accounts—status, connections, even height—he outshone Haruto.
But Haruto sensed a subtle edge in Seiji's demeanor, a faint jealousy. Money and influence could be earned, but Haruto's natural charisma, amplified by the system's enhancements, was something Seiji couldn't buy.
"Focus on your work," Seiji said coolly, his tone carrying a hint of condescension. "This department values talent, not smooth talk."
Haruto's smile tightened, but he let it slide with a nod. Talent, huh? If I skipped greeting you, you'd probably find a way to make my life harder.
In his past life, Haruto had dealt with worse office politics. He brushed off the jab and moved on.
As a full-time writer without an approved project, Haruto spent his days assisting senior writers—tedious, unglamorous work every rookie endured.
Mid-morning, his mentor, Taro Tanaka, approached, a faint smile on his face. Taro's recent low-budget TV drama had done well in the ratings, putting him in a good mood.
"How's the script for the production team?" Taro asked.
Haruto handed him the printed, neatly bound draft of Rurouni Kenshin: Reminiscence Arc.
"Rurouni Kenshin?" Taro raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the title's evocative flair. "What kind of story is it?"
"Historical, action, with a touch of romance," Haruto replied. "A short series, three or four episodes, aimed at Blossom Stream, not TV."
Taro nodded thoughtfully. "Smart. As a rookie, you're not going to get a big TV budget. Blossom Stream's been around less than a decade, but it's got a growing audience. A good script can still make waves there."
He didn't say it aloud, but Taro doubted the script would get picked up. Still, he kept his tone encouraging. "I'll pass this to the department heads for review. That'll speed things up a few days. If they approve, it'll hit the production team by tomorrow."
Established writers could bypass this process, pitching directly to trusted producers. But for a nobody like Haruto, the formal route was the only option—and the odds were slim. Most rookie scripts were rejected, with maybe one in ten getting a greenlight.
Talent was crucial, but so was luck.
"Thanks, Taro-sensei," Haruto said sincerely.
"No need to thank me," Taro replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "If you make it big, it reflects well on me too. Keep at it, no matter what happens."
As Taro left for his own project's set, Haruto glanced around the near-empty office. Only the department's "fringe" stayed behind at this hour—junior writers like him, stuck with grunt work for senior colleagues.
"Kenshin," Haruto murmured, "my shot at breaking through depends on you."
The two million Emotion Points used to unlock Rurouni Kenshin came from his predecessor's intern work, piggybacking on projects over two years. If this script flopped, it'd take another years to gather enough points for a new draw.
Once submitted, Haruto couldn't help feeling a flicker of anxiety.
---
That afternoon, in Blossom Media's screenwriting department, a handful of senior reviewers skimmed through the latest script submissions. Reading raw scripts, without visuals or music, was often a dry task, even for seasoned professionals.
One reviewer, Jun Mori, lingered over a partial script for half an hour. Rurouni Kenshin: Reminiscence Arc.
"There's something special here," he muttered, closing his eyes as if picturing the story's vivid world—a turbulent era of clashing swords and shadowed loyalties.
The script painted a young assassin, shaped by loss and hunger, yearning for peace yet wielded as a political weapon. The first two episodes introduced Kenshin, a killer with a haunted heart, and Tomoe, a mysterious woman whose story intertwined with his. The narrative paused after a dramatic escape amid a city ablaze, leaving Jun eager for more.
In his twenty years reviewing scripts, few had sparked this kind of curiosity.
"Compelling," Jun said, "but it's just a short series."
He noted Haruto's pitch: a four-episode arc for Blossom Stream. "Haruto Yamada? Taro's apprentice, right?"
A rookie like Haruto couldn't dream of a big TV budget. A modest investment for an online release, maybe a million or two, was his best shot at shedding the "newbie" label.
Jun placed the script in the "approved" tray.
Soon after, another script joined it—a project co-credited to Yosuke Kanzaki, a promising young writer, and Seiji Kiyota, the connected rookie. Everyone knew Yosuke did the heavy lifting, with Seiji riding his coattails for a co-creator credit. Like Haruto's, their script targeted Blossom Stream, where approval standards were looser than for TV.
Seiji's uncle in the production department ensured his scripts sailed through reviews, securing funding with ease. It was a fast track to building his resume, maybe even landing a TV slot soon.
"Connections make all the difference," Jun sighed, glancing between the two scripts.
Seiji's project was almost guaranteed to get greenlit. But the network's resources were finite. If Seiji's script got priority, would there be room for Rurouni Kenshin?
Jun preferred Haruto's script, but the reality of office politics loomed large. Connections were as much a currency as talent.
It all came down to luck for Taro's young apprentice.