Chapter 16

Alright, listen up, here’s the deal—mecha anime, or as some call it, giant robot stuff.

So, let me break this down real quick: it’s a genre where these massive robots show up in the anime and basically just go all out, doing whatever they can to save the day or cause chaos. You get the gist.

To be honest, I seriously wrestled with whether we should even make our first TVA anime from this other world into a full-on mecha series. Like, really debated it hardcore.

Why? Well, even in 21st-century Earth, mecha anime is one of those genres that totally splits opinions. And if people on Earth—who are already familiar with anime culture—are divided, how could I expect folks in this fantasy world, who barely know what anime *is,* not to completely reject the idea?

If I wanted to play it safe and make something everyone would find palatable, I could’ve easily gone for a slice-of-life anime or maybe even a “superpowered battle” series that’d feel like a documentary to the fantasy-world residents.

But here’s why I ultimately decided to roll with mecha anyway—it’s simple: GIANT ROBOTS ARE JUST SO DAMN COOL.

Let’s face it, every guy who’s ever lived has probably fantasized at least once about piloting a huge robot or blasting lasers from a spaceship while waging epic space wars. So, here I was, given free rein to create any kind of anime I wanted, and you’re telling me I’d pass up making a mecha series?

What kind of man do you think I am?!

Now, people might assume mecha anime is all about flashy robot battles, but surprisingly, most of them carry deep social messages too.

Take the legendary “Gundam” series, for instance. Almost every entry preaches anti-war sentiments and emphasizes the goodness in humanity. Meanwhile, the “Macross” series delivers its own message of peace through music, showing how songs can resolve conflicts in the world.

So, I figured, even if I half-ass this anime production and rush through it, I could still throw out some BS afterward like, “Oh yeah, the ending was actually a commentary on the current issues within the Empire’s society.” Boom—deep thoughts, right there.

Anyway, with all that in mind, I dove headfirst into creating the anime.

First things first: character designs for the protagonist and main pilots. No need to spell it out, but designing appealing characters is absolutely crucial in anime. Even if the story is killer and the animation flawless, if the main cast doesn’t resonate visually, no one’s gonna care.

I poured everything I had into designing the four main pilots, especially the protagonist. Basically, I cherry-picked traits from characters I found attractive in my past life and mashed them together—a little bit of this, a dash of that. Call it the ultimate remix project.

And voila! It was done. The design for Kai, my anime’s hero, along with three female pilots.

When I proudly presented the character sheets to the staff, their reactions were nothing short of awe.

“Wow, so this is what the director envisioned for the protagonist.”

“He looks incredibly refined and handsome. Honestly, anyone—man, woman, young, old—would instantly take a liking to Kai.”

“But… he seems kinda frail compared to what I expected. Wasn’t Kai supposed to be a soldier piloting a Knight Shin? Based on the design alone, he looks more like an ordinary kid who hasn’t undergone any training.”

That’s when I confidently replied:

“That’s correct. Because, according to the setting, Kai isn’t a soldier—he’s just a regular high schooler… no, scratch that, a plain ol’ kid who gets recruited into the military by chance.”

“What?”

“I’m planning to use the setup where Kai starts off as an ordinary kid before joining the military.”

“So… why exactly did you choose this setup?”

Why? Simple. In mecha anime, it’s practically a golden rule that the protagonist encounters their mech for the first time in episode one. Kinda like how you don’t cross the street when the red light’s on—it’s just understood.

“And notice something else? All the Knight Shin pilots except Kai are girls.”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a specific reason you chose this gender ratio for the pilots?”

Reason? Nah, there isn’t one. If I gotta stretch it, I just figured the protagonist needs at least three love interests, y’know?

“And why aren’t there any other male pilots?”

Because I’m the kind of guy who flips out over NTR tropes. While I don’t mind side characters forming couples, the thought of a heroine falling for someone other than the protagonist makes me wanna gouge my eyes out.

Of course, the common folk in this fantasy world wouldn’t understand my deep reasoning. They have zero clue about dark abysses like NTR or BSS.

As I stood there silently, refusing to elaborate further, Kaylreya suddenly gasped, her eyes widening in realization.

“Aha! Of course, Director, I see your plan now!”

“Kaylreya, what’s got you so excited?”

“I think I understand why you designed the characters this way.”

With that, she gave me a look filled with admiration.

“Our society today discriminates against people based on countless factors—class, nationality, race, experience, ideology—you name it.”

“Yeah, true.”

“But it seems you, Director, wanted to break down those societal prejudices. More than that, you aimed to send a wake-up call to our society.”

“Huh?”

What am I trying to accomplish? What kind of wake-up call am I aiming for?!

But before I could respond, Kaylreya kept going.

“Let me prove it to you all. Look at the character designs of the female pilots.”

At her words, everyone turned their attention to the character sheets.

“Their hair colors are incredibly diverse—one has red hair, another blonde, and the last one black. Why do you think the Director designed them this way?”

Well, because in anime, having rainbow-colored hair is basically a golden rule for heroines. But I didn’t say that.

“She deliberately made the characters’ hair colors varied. And these characters with different hair colors all share the critical role of piloting Knight Shins.”

“It’s clear that the Director wants to convey a message: just as hair color has no bearing on someone’s ability to perform a task, discriminating against others based on experience, class, or ideology is wrong.”

“…”

“Isn’t that right, Director?”

Looking at Kaylreya’s bright smile, I nodded mutely.

“Yeah, sure.”

Avoiding her gaze, which felt like the last shred of conscience I had left.

Next, designing the Knight Shins themselves wasn’t even a worry. I’d already crafted what I considered the perfect Knight Shin designs by combining elements from all the mecha shows I’d seen in my past life.

“Oh wow, the Knight Shin designs are so sleek. Military-grade Knight Shins usually look clunky, but these ones are sharp and flashy beyond belief.”

“Holy crap, energy swords?! How on earth did the Director come up with such imagination? Showing advanced human technology while also enhancing action scenes with this perfect setup!”

“Beam rifles, laser cannons, anti-gravity weapons… As someone who prides myself as a skilled mage, I never imagined magic theory could be applied in such ways. Clearly, the Director is a once-in-a-century magical genius.”

“No one in human history has ever conceived of these ideas before, yet the Director created an entire world in just a few days. Truly remarkable!”

“Well, I always believed the Director’s brilliance could handle this level of creation easily. Right, Director?”

By the way, the last two comments were from Serika and Kaylreya.

“Thanks for the compliments.”

While hearing their praises, I couldn’t help but feel like I should kneel and apologize to Mr. Tomino, George Lucas, and every other pioneer of the SF genre and anime industry for what I’ve done.

“But wait… now that I think about it, maybe I don’t need to apologize after all.”

Why? Because this world doesn’t have copyright laws. Legally speaking, none of my actions qualify as plagiarism.

In fact, maybe my actions aren’t plagiarism at all. Maybe I’m just spreading Earth’s culture to this new world—a form of missionary work.

Thinking about it this way, I’m actually doing charity work by promoting Earth’s culture here without asking for a single coin in return.

Meanwhile, back on 21st-century Earth, creators are busting their asses trying to promote their works. Here I am, freely advertising their masterpieces to this world without charging a dime.

So logically speaking, shouldn’t they be thanking me instead?

Since I’m a polite and smart young man, I decided we’ll just call each other sensei and leave it at that.

Conclusion? Time to double down on plagiarism and copying. That’s my final verdict.