Chapter 42: Movie Premiere: Shengzai

Of course, though it was a romance film, Yūko had researched it thoroughly before bringing Shengzai to watch—there were no explicit scenes in this movie.

Otherwise, she would never have brought Shengzai to see it.

Even though she herself was a hentai artist, she paid close attention to Shengzai’s mental and physical well-being.

Usually, when she created, she forbade Shengzai from entering her room, lest he see something inappropriate and be corrupted by it.

But Yūko didn’t know that Shengzai was merely a child in appearance—his soul was far more mature than hers.

Whatever Yūko understood, Shengzai understood too; whatever Yūko didn’t understand, Shengzai understood just as well.

Moreover, the hentai she tried so hard to hide—he’d seen far more than she realized.

As for the impression? Shengzai could only say it was average.

Yūko’s art style was flawless, but as a hentai artist, her thinking was still too narrow.

Or simply put—she wasn’t perverted enough to satisfy the old pervs.

But that wasn’t her fault; despite her beauty and figure, Yūko was still a teenage girl, a lifelong virgin, so lacking inspiration was normal.

As a veteran from his past life, Shengzai had plenty of ideas and themes to offer—but his current age and status made it utterly inappropriate to suggest them; otherwise, he’d truly be labeled a perverted brat.

As the lights around them dimmed, the movie began.

As a romance anime adaptation, the film’s early portion was unremarkable—neither a betrayal of the source nor particularly impressive.

Soon, when the plot reached the scene where the young female lead was chased into the deep mountains and attacked by wolves, the film hit its first minor climax.

In the original anime, the sword boy was incredibly skilled, since anime could rely on artwork to depict any scene.

Even wildly fantastical and unscientific moments could be realized in anime.

But in reality, fighting a starving wolf to a standstill—let alone a child under age—was beyond most adults.

The sword boy’s battle with the wolf, though a climax in the anime, was widely known among fans to be nearly impossible to replicate in live-action.

According to the usual pattern of anime adaptations, this scene would likely be cut or rewritten.

Yet when the giant screen showed the boy gripping a bamboo sword, lifting his head with unwavering resolve and those unyielding eyes, every audience member was stunned.

“Is this a movie or an anime? What’s with this kid—is this really Noriya himself?!”

“Someone tell me this kid is CGI and not real.”

“Seeing this kid, I feel like all my years have been wasted—I’d probably lose even to a child if I fought him.”

“Damn, this kid’s amazing! Which sword family did he come from? How’d he end up guest-starring in this production?”

“…”

Silence in the theater during a movie was a societal norm.

Yet when viewers saw Shengzai battling the wolf—especially the moment he blocked its fangs with his bamboo sword and saliva dripped onto his face—many couldn’t help but gasp.

Most anime fans were otakus; seeing Shengzai’s clean strikes and relentless rises, they instantly felt as if they were living it themselves, their inner otaku souls exploding as they shouted that the boy onscreen was Noriya himself.

“Noriya” was the sword boy’s name—the childhood protagonist of the film.

Suddenly, the once-silent theater erupted like a den of demons; only when theater staff arrived did calm return.

For a two-hour film, a five-minute battle scene was neither too long nor too short.

When the boy Shengzai portrayed was knocked off the cliff, the audience sighed deeply.

Especially Yūko, who’d been sitting beside Shengzai—since the wolf fight began, she’d been gripping his wrist tightly.

Her grip was so strong that if Shengzai hadn’t gained enhanced physicality through ability sharing, a five-year-old child couldn’t have withstood such treatment.

When Shengzai finally fell helplessly from the cliff, Yūko, clearly too immersed in the scene, yanked him over and clutched his head tightly against her chest.

His head suddenly plunged into the East African Rift, a sweet fragrance flooding his nose—but soon, he felt intense suffocation…

“Yūko, I can’t breathe… that was just acting, but if you don’t let go, I’m really going to… die…”

Hearing Shengzai’s fragmented voice, Yūko snapped back to reality and realized she’d gotten carried away.

Seeing Shengzai’s face, nearly blue from suffocation, she quickly loosened her grip: “Sorry, sorry—I thought the boy onscreen looked exactly like you.”

“And I never imagined little Shengzai could act so well—I truly thought you were in danger.”

Though Shengzai’s scenes had ended, Yūko clearly hadn’t recovered from her shock.

Her praise moments ago wasn’t encouragement or comfort—she genuinely believed Shengzai’s acting was exceptional.

Whether in movement or expression, she couldn’t believe a five-year-old could achieve such depth.

At that moment, she finally understood why Lady Ma had said Shengzai would earn Director Ōkawa’s favor.

Looking at Shengzai still sitting on her lap, Yūko stroked his head and couldn’t help laughing: “I never imagined our little Shengzai had such talent.”

Though Shengzai’s scenes were over, Yūko and Shengzai patiently watched the entire film to the end.

Shengzai tried to return to his own seat, but Yūko treated him like a doll, keeping him firmly on her lap.

When Shengzai gave her a questioning look, she said: “I’m afraid you’ll suddenly be in danger like in the movie. My sister’s still unconscious in the hospital—I only have you, little Shengzai, as family now…”

“And you’re just a five-year-old. It’s fine to be a little clingy sometimes.”

(End of Chapter)