I'm Not A Master, I'm A Director
Chapter 397: They're Offering Simply Too Much
The night had grown deep.
The study lights had remained on without rest, shining stubbornly against the darkness as the end of night quietly approached.
Sherry Lansing, CEO of Paramount, sat stiffly in her chair, anxiety written plainly across her face as she stared out the window. The eastern horizon had already begun to pale with the faint white of dawn. The sun would soon climb above the skyline. A new day was coming.
But for her, it felt more like a verdict.
She withdrew her gaze and let out a heavy sigh, her brows tightly knit. Picking up the phone, she dialed a number, asked a few brief questions, then slowly set it back down.
The final numbers were not out yet.
But she already knew.
This time, Paramount's situation would not be optimistic. It might even be worse than last year's Godzilla.
After all, Paramount had only handled distribution for Godzilla. Under Hollywood's meticulous cost accounting system, they had at least managed to squeeze out some profit—the losses were largely borne by Toho.
But this time, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was entirely Paramount's responsibility—from production to distribution. The pressure was on their shoulders alone.
Truth be told, the moment the decision was made to pit Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles directly against Fate/Apocrypha, Sherry Lansing had already felt a premonition of defeat.
No, perhaps even earlier than that.
Last night's midnight box office had only confirmed her fears.
A mere $2.5 million in North American midnight screenings.
No matter how one tried to spin it, that was not a success.
For the past two years, Sherry Lansing had been harboring a fire in her chest.
Anyone with clear eyes could see that the film market had entered a golden age thanks to the explosive popularity of the Fate series. The prospects were dazzling, the opportunities enormous.
Paramount, sitting atop North America—the world's largest box office market—should have ridden that tailwind and made a fortune.
And yet, North American audiences seemed strangely indifferent to films produced by this homegrown studio. Instead, they chased after the works of an outsider.
A Japanese outsider.
How was she supposed to accept that?
North America was the territory of North American film companies.
How could it be monopolized for so long by a single eastern creator?
With that conviction, Sherry Lansing had always stood firmly in the "Anti-Type-Moon" camp.
In her eyes, the conflict between Paramount and Type-Moon over Godzilla and Super 8 was simply a manifestation of that deeper struggle.
Of course, Shinji had no idea he was personally resented by the woman. He had always assumed Paramount disliked him because of the Godzilla dispute.
If he had known the truth, however, he would not have been surprised.
In his previous timeline, Paramount had been the most domineering and exclusionary among the Big Six studios. Even Steven Spielberg's DreamWorks had once been encircled and ultimately swallowed by Paramount.
Newcomers and outsiders were never allowed to touch the North American market—never allowed to shake Paramount's position. That had always been the company's core philosophy.
To put it bluntly, they were tyrants.
Of course, from Paramount's own standpoint, such thinking was understandable.
Whether company or consumer, no one truly wishes to see their domestic market flooded entirely by foreign products. If a nation could tolerate even that without protest, its cohesion and pride would be in serious trouble.
Understanding it, however, did not mean accepting it.
Shinji had no intention of relinquishing North America—the largest consumer market in the world.
Without it, even Type-Moon's comparatively low-cost, high-quality production model could not reliably guarantee profits.
And as his rival—and a North American studio at that—Paramount was even less willing to surrender its ground.
Sherry Lansing was no clueless executive. She had climbed from actress to the helm of the company through sheer ability.
Yet as the world repeatedly credited Shinji and his Fate franchise for shattering box office records, few acknowledged the foundational role of the North American market in enabling those milestones.
That, more than anything, gnawed at her.
She wanted a true, head-on confrontation with Shinji Matou.
She wanted that young man to taste what it felt like—
To lose North America.
To experience the frustration.
The regret.
And the bitter helplessness of watching his empire crack where it mattered most.
When the Hollywood studios unanimously decided to send Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles into a head-on collision with Fate/Apocrypha, Sherry Lansing had not opposed the idea.
On the contrary, she had wanted this duel.
A clean, direct confrontation. Her studio's film versus his.
But reality was cruel.
How could a hastily assembled Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles possibly stand against a meticulously prepared blockbuster crafted by Shinji Matou?
Even with a few minutes left before the official first-day box office numbers were released, Sherry Lansing already knew the outcome.
They had lost.
The only small comfort she clung to was this: under the sniping of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the crucial early-day numbers of Fate/Apocrypha would surely be affected.
Every dollar less Shinji earned in North America mattered to Paramount.
Every single dollar.
The sun rose higher.
When the first ray of sunlight slipped into the study, the desk phone rang.
She picked up the receiver, listened in silence for several seconds, then slowly placed it back down.
Her wrinkled face flickered with unwillingness—then with a weary sense of release.
The numbers were in.
And Paramount's ambitions had shattered completely.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had earned $8.32 million on its first day in North America.
Fate/Apocrypha?
$20.43 million.
More than double.
If this was the result in North America—the IP's strongest territory and Paramount's home turf—there was no need to even ask about the rest of the world.
One could only say that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Fate/Apocrypha truly were a "wonderfully matched" pair. (And yes, that was sarcasm.)
Now that the verdict was out, Sherry Lansing actually felt lighter.
The burden she had carried for so long eased noticeably.
Her task was finished.
The rest… could be left to Disney to continue sniping that damned eastern brat.
Paramount had only committed one film to this battle.
Disney, however, had prepared two.
"And besides… this film isn't entirely a loss."
She picked up two project proposals from her desk and rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
Although Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had been rushed into production, its commercial performance wasn't exactly disastrous.
Which led her to a new speculation:
If a film were thoroughly prepared… finely produced… and adapted from a well-known IP of the previous century, could it achieve unprecedented success?
Her gaze fell on the titles printed across the documents:
G.I. Joe.
Transformers.
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
"Let's give it a try. It shouldn't lose too badly."
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With the stark gap in first-day box office numbers now public, Paramount gradually eased back on the overwhelming promotional blitz for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
The film's reputation had clearly consolidated around its existing fanbase. Continuing to advertise heavily to general audiences would no longer yield meaningful returns.
Moreover, their ally Disney had begun ramping up promotion for Cinderella. Hogging media resources now would only strain the alliance.
On the exhibition side, major commercial theater chains also shifted their stance once the first-day results came in.
The word-of-mouth for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles showed no signs of a miraculous comeback. Pouring more screens into it would only cut into theaters' own profits.
Thus, starting Saturday, major chains reduced the film's screening share by six percentage points.
Bound by its distribution agreement with Paramount, theater chains didn't dare slash Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' screening share too aggressively in a single day. They could only trim it as much as the contract allowed.
And the screens they freed up?
Almost all of them went straight to Fate/Apocrypha.
After all, the more tickets sold, the higher the theaters' revenue. It was simple math.
Throughout the weekend, in every major global box office market, mainstream commercial chains ensured that a new showing of Fate/Apocrypha began roughly every twenty minutes. Every IMAX screen was packed, show after show.
With ample auditoriums and high screening density, audiences worldwide could walk in at almost any time and catch a showing immediately. That accessibility became the foundation of its soaring box office.
At the same time, the explosive word-of-mouth surrounding Fate/Apocrypha turned it into the first choice for casual moviegoers stepping into theaters.
Like it or not, first impressions mattered.
When completely uninformed passersby saw two posters side by side—one featuring four oddly adorable mutant turtles, the other showing a blonde saintly maiden and a pink-haired cutie—the vast majority chose the latter.
With all these factors combined, Fate/Apocrypha's Saturday box office leapt upward. Global single-day revenue climbed from Friday's $37.08 million to $44.03 million.
Meanwhile, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles actually earned less on Saturday than it had on Friday. Not only did it fail to grow worldwide, even in North America it didn't break $6 million.
At this point, the contest between the two films had been decisively settled.
And not just a narrow win.
It was a landslide.
Still, despite Fate/Apocrypha's overwhelming strength across global markets, Shinji and Times Group had no intention of relaxing.
Next week, Fate/Apocrypha would face a new challenger: Cinderella.
If they wanted to prevent a steep second-week drop, promotional efforts had to continue exactly as planned.
To stir up more discussion and momentum in the European market, Times Group secured a prime-time entertainment program in France and invited renowned French director Luc Besson to comment on Fate/Apocrypha.
Yes, that Luc Besson.
The director of the 1999 Joan of Arc.
Before Shinji's transmigration, Besson had long been dubbed "the European director who understands Hollywood best."
In European film circles, that wasn't praise. It was a subtle jab—suggesting he reeked of commercial ambition and was far too skilled at making crowd-pleasing blockbusters.
In this parallel world, however, where art cinema flourished more vigorously, Luc Besson had not fully unleashed that hyper-commercial instinct.
To put it more precisely, compared to the films he made in Shinji's previous timeline, this world's Luc Besson leaned less toward pure commerce and more toward personal style.
At his core, after all, he was still a French director—an artist.
But if Luc Besson had eventually chosen to follow the money in one world, there was no reason to believe this world would turn out very differently.
Thus, when Times Group presented an offer that was simply impossible to refuse, Luc Besson agreed to wave the flag for Fate/Apocrypha.
"Director Besson," the host began smoothly, "as everyone knows, you directed Joan of Arc in 1999. Given that both your film and Mr. Matou's new work portray the same historical figure, how do you view Apocrypha?"
Luc Besson's response was unmistakably guided in one direction:
Praise.
Of course, praising someone required finesse. Blindly flattering Shinji Matou would only make him lose face among his peers in the European film circle.
After all, Luc Besson was a quintessential European director, capable of both posturing and pragmatism. The way he navigated his compliments was so roundabout it might as well have been British.
"Before this film," he began calmly, "there were already two Fate films released in theaters."
"The first, Fate/Stay Night, told a love story between a modern urban boy and a knight from ancient times. Then came Fate/Zero, where Shinji Matou shifted the theme and delivered a chaotic ensemble drama set within the modern Holy Grail War."
"As things stand, the two most plausible narrative trajectories for a modern-day Holy Grail War have already been explored by him. Continuing to reuse the same template might remain profitable, but it would inevitably drive the Fate series into a narrative dead end."
"And once that happens, failure—both in box office and reputation—would only be a matter of time. Because the quality would decline."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"After a period of silence, Shinji Matou returned with Fate/Apocrypha. Frankly, this was a tremendous challenge. To introduce major change within an already successful franchise is like adding a new structure atop a completed skyscraper."
"We all know the result."
"He succeeded."
"The method he chose may seem somewhat clever, perhaps even opportunistic, but it was undeniably effective. Instead of stacking another floor on the same building, he constructed an entirely new one beside it."
The audience chuckled softly.
"As for his portrayal of Joan of Arc…"
Luc Besson paused again, his tone softening with a hint of mutual recognition.
"I can only say that he filmed the Joan of Arc in his heart, while I filmed the Joan of Arc in mine. Our interpretations of that historical saint are completely different. There is no absolute comparison to be made."
"However," he concluded, "Shinji Matou's interpretation of Joan of Arc is very interesting. I believe Fate/Apocrypha is a film well worth watching."
'Forgive me, my fans. Forgive me, my colleagues.'
After delivering this lengthy commentary, Luc Besson felt a tiny prick of conscience.
'I would have loved to criticize this nutritionally empty popcorn flick… but they paid too damn much.'
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