"What?"
Himeko's eyes instantly cleared.
Even the usually composed Kafka struggled to maintain her expression.
"You really have such a script?"
Su Chen's gaze was sharp. "The world Himeko envisioned isn't impossible to realize. It's just that people nowadays are too impatient, unwilling to put in the effort for something that seems thankless."
"I know you might be wary of me since we've just met, but don't worry. I brought the script with me."
With that, Su Chen reached behind his back.
In the blink of an eye, a script nearly as thick as a dictionary appeared in his hand.
"Huh?" Firefly, sitting to Su Chen's left, quickly rubbed her eyes, her face full of confusion. "Where did that come from?"
The others, however, didn't notice this detail.
Their eyes were fixed on the script's cover, and they spoke in unison: "Honkai: Star Rail 1.0?"
Himeko took a few deep breaths. She had waited too long for a script like this.
Before this, she and Kafka had used their connections to seek help from many screenwriters.
Most were powerless to assist, and even those willing to try fell far short of her expectations.
But this script seemed to possess a magical allure, drawing her in completely.
She slowly turned to the first page.
March 7th, Kafka, and Silver Wolf pressed close to Himeko, equally engrossed.
Soon, the four of them were immersed in the world of the script, silent and absorbed.
...
Before long, Himeko closed the script, having read it from start to finish in one go.
Her palms were damp with sweat.
Scripts were usually complex in format, composed of elements like characters, dialogue, camera movements, and scenes.
They were often dry and required actors to fill in the gaps with their imagination.
Moreover, without some level of professional knowledge, they could be hard to follow.
Yet, Kafka and the others were completely captivated by the story.
Himeko exhaled excitedly. "This story, this world—it perfectly matches the utopia in my heart!"
Kafka, too, wore a rare smile of fascination, though her interest in Su Chen had grown even stronger.
His sudden appearance, the script he produced out of nowhere, and one critical question:
"Why are our names directly used in the script?"
"Fate works in mysterious ways!" Su Chen replied. "Just as you were searching for a script that met your expectations, I was searching for actors who fit mine. It's mutual, as if destined."
Though Su Chen had obtained the script from the system less than three hours ago, his words carried genuine sincerity.
Because he knew—no one in this world was more suited to these roles than them.
They were the essential pieces of Honkai: Star Rail's grand tale. Without any one of them, it would be incomplete.
No one could replace them.
Himeko met Su Chen's gaze and suddenly laughed. "Fine! I'll join your company."
"I'm determined to film Star Rail. But there's one big problem left—the contract with Tenghua."
"Explain it to me."
"The agreement is roughly this: Tenghua provides the script and secures the license, while we deliver the finished episode."
"If the pilot performs well, Tenghua will invest in our series. But until you showed up, we hadn't even received a script. If we fail to deliver on time, we'll face massive penalties."
"Tsk..." Su Chen's brow furrowed.
Wasn't this an obvious trap?
On the surface, it seemed fair—Tenghua handled the license, while Himeko's group produced the pilot. The costs didn't seem high.
But the reality was far more complicated.
As one of Demon City's top film companies, securing a license should have been as easy as drinking water for Tenghua.
Yet Tenghua must have also known that realizing Himeko's vision required massive investment.
So they left it entirely to Himeko's group to figure out.
In truth, the two sides' commitments were wildly unbalanced.
In other words, Tenghua was testing the waters.
Their only risk was the license, which cost them nothing.
If the series took off, they could swoop in.
As for the script—why hadn't they provided one yet?
With so many top-tier screenwriters at their disposal, was there really no one who could write it?
It just proved that, in their eyes, this was a throwaway deal.
And there were penalties on top of that?
Su Chen couldn't help but think, "Ugh, why does this shady tactic feel so familiar?"
"If they didn't deliver the script, do you still have to submit the episode on time?"
Himeko nodded silently in confirmation.
Su Chen pieced together the rest.
Himeko's group likely had no way to secure a license on their own.
As for why they didn't approach other companies—smaller studios would demand something in return for the license.
And that "something" would undoubtedly come at a cost.
Which lined up with what March 7th mentioned earlier—Dan Heng's near-disastrous audition.
There was a price to pay.
So they settled for this lopsided contract. At least Tenghua was a reputable company.
"Since the contract's already signed, I won't dwell on it. Our priority now is to deliver the pilot within three days."
Silver Wolf flipped through the script again. "But even with the script, the first scene is set on a space station, complete with the Antimatter Legion."
"A single shot like that requires top-tier special effects. Just buying enough green screen for the space station would cost a fortune."
Su Chen didn't respond immediately.
The system had provided the setting, but there was still a problem—where to place it?
After obtaining the "Herta Space Station's Stellaron Storage Room" from the system, Su Chen had done some testing.
It worked like a simulation game—he could select an empty plot of land and "construct" the setting with a click.
But that meant he needed a lot of land.
For him right now, that was a pipe dream.
And then there was the Antimatter Legion. Were they supposed to rely entirely on CGI?
With just a few thousand dollars, how many seconds could they even film? Would it last until Kafka retrieves the Stellaron?
Once again, silence fell over the café.
After a long pause, Firefly handed Su Chen a cup of tea—clearly noticing he wasn't fond of coffee.
Su Chen's heart warmed. "My wife Firefly is so good to me!"
Knock knock knock!
Suddenly, someone rapped on the door.
"Come in," Kafka called softly.
A gray-haired boy pushed the door open, a dog at his side.
"Apologies, everyone. I've been sent by the young lady to inform you that this area will be demolished and rebuilt in about two days."
"It's Arlan! Thank you for the trouble. Don't worry, we'll be out by then," Himeko replied with a nod.
A lightbulb went off in Su Chen's head.
If this was Arlan, then the "young lady" he mentioned had to be Asta.
The landlord?
How fitting—just like in the game!
Just as Arlan was about to leave, Su Chen grabbed his arm.
"Little brother Arlan, hello! I'm Su Chen. Quick question—is the landlord here Asta?"
"Huh?" Arlan took a cautious step back, but then reconsidered.
Though Su Chen was a stranger, since he was with Himeko, it wasn't odd for him to know about the young lady.
"To be precise, the young lady did purchase this entire area, but the deed is under Madam Herta's name."