It was the weekend, and with no urgent deadlines for the Ghost in the Shell project, Lin Zhiyan had some time off.
They were at a family restaurant not far from Lin Zhiyan's apartment.
"Mr. Hayashi, I've been practicing the drawing techniques you taught me. Please take a look," Sekiguchi Kanami said, her voice tinged with nervousness.
Her tone was like that of a student speaking to her teacher.
This was the weekend marking the start of Lin Zhiyan's second week at IG.
Initially, Sekiguchi Kanami had been wary, fearing that Lin Zhiyan might just be teasing her. She hesitated to ask for his help, instead observing his behavior.
But over time, Lin Zhiyan continued to be friendly and professional. His excellent reputation within the company, the absence of any rumors about him playing pranks, and his consistent distance from women who liked to flirt with men convinced her that he genuinely wanted to teach her.
Only then did she begin asking him for guidance.
Lin Zhiyan generously shared his expertise, teaching her various drawing techniques. This included how to create "PA-style" beautiful girls, how to depict gravity and speed, and how to make scenes visually more impactful.
He would occasionally assign Sekiguchi Kanami small tasks.
Although they hadn't formally established a master-apprentice relationship, the practical reality of their interactions made it inevitable that Sekiguchi Kanami would feel nervous in his presence.
This was Lin Zhiyan's first weekend meeting with Sekiguchi Kanami, but he wasn't nervous. After all, it wasn't a date.
He took Sekiguchi Kanami's drafts, gave them detailed critiques, then explained a new drawing technique and assigned her another task.
Seeing that they were nearly done, he stood up to leave, using the excuse that he "had other things to attend to."
This was, of course, a pretext to avoid getting too close to Sekiguchi Kanami and damaging their relationship.
Maintaining a balance between mentor and friend was ideal; romantic involvement was out of the question.
After leaving the family restaurant, Lin Zhiyan began to ponder a problem: funding.
While he couldn't yet guarantee he'd succeed in "luring away" Sekiguchi Kanami in the future, the current trend suggested it was likely.
In other words, the company's future "ace" was already secured.
If he could recruit a few more key people, he could establish a basic team for animation production.
Of course, poaching talent alone isn't enough. Some people are too difficult to poach, or simply can't be poached, but when I start my own animation studio in the future, I can ask them for help. This all comes down to building a strong network.
Since I didn't come from a production management background, building my network mainly relies on participating in a large number of animation projects. Through these shared experiences, I can connect with others, build rapport, and become friends with them.
Take Ghost in the Shell as an example.
Supervising Director Mamoru Oshii is out of the question. Even Nishikubo Tatsuhiro, hailed as a "god-tier director," is difficult to approach. However, many of the keyframe artists who worked on the film could potentially help in the future, including Shunjii Inoue, Tenpai Okamura, Kazuchika Kise, Toshiyuki Okiura, Isao Iso, Masayuki Yoshihara, and others. Art Director Hiroaki Ogura is also highly respected. All these individuals are potential allies.
They don't all belong to IG, so I won't see some of them on regular workdays. However, the production team holds regular meetings periodically, which key personnel attend. There are also art meetings during production and wrap-up parties afterward. There are always opportunities to run into them.
Although Lin Zhiyan lacked their experience, his artistic skill was on par with theirs. In such a situation, it wouldn't be difficult to build an equal friendship with them if he made a genuine effort to connect.
This was only the first animation he had participated in. As he continued to work at IG, he would contribute to more projects.
Each project would help him build his network. With a five-year timeframe, he should be able to accumulate a substantial network by then.
A solid in-house team combined with a strong external network could form a complete animation production group. In other words, if he developed this aspect steadily, he likely wouldn't have much to worry about.
The only remaining challenge was funding.
Animation was impossible without money. While he could form a Production Committee like Neon Genesis Evangelion and secure investment from other companies, he would first need to establish himself as an "Animation Supervising Director" and have a successful track record. Otherwise, no company would likely take the risk of investing in him.
Moreover, Lin Zhiyan didn't particularly care for the Production Committee model anyway.
Before 1995, the animation industry had not yet adopted the Production Committee model. It was Neon Genesis Evangelion that first pioneered this approach.
The irony is that while the animation became a massive hit, a super-IP that generated enormous profits, GAINAX, the animation studio responsible for its production, barely saw any of it.
The manga was serialized by Yoshiyuki Sadamoto, the character designer for the animation, so all its revenue naturally went to him. The music album sales went to the record company. For video tapes, LDs, and DVDs, the lion's share was taken by the animation distributors. The toy company claimed all the revenue from model kits, while GAINAX had no connection to the sales of printed merchandise like posters and postcards.
The only revenue GAINAX exclusively enjoyed was the pitifully small licensing fees for Neon Genesis Evangelion imagery used in Pachinko machines.
This isn't to say Production Committees are entirely detrimental. They can solve funding issues for animation projects, reduce production risks, and increase the market share of animation's peripheral products—the benefits are indeed substantial.
However, Lin Zhiyan had no intention of producing "original" animations. The projects he selected were all ones that had already proven successful in another timeline, making the risks minimal.
If he could secure the funding for animation production, he wouldn't need to form a full Production Committee. At most, he could establish a semi-Production Committee led by his own company. This would allow him to maintain tight control over the copyright and avoid being dictated to during the animation process.
In short, it would be best to find the money himself rather than relying on a Production Committee to raise funds.
Before the advent of high-definition animation technology, production costs weren't as high. However, it ultimately depended on the subject matter; even without HD, some themes could still be incredibly expensive to animate.
With a budget of ten million yen per episode, a thirteen-episode seasonal series would require 130 million yen in production costs.
Additionally, starting a company would involve renting office space and setting aside funds for unforeseen risks. He would need at least 150 million yen, preferably 200 million yen.
Two hundred million yen isn't a colossal sum, but it's still a significant amount, especially for someone like him who was currently broke.
Suppose he planned to leave IG in five years. How could he raise 200 million yen before then?
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