Arwin lay sprawled across his couch, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time since arriving in this world, he was allowing himself to just do nothing.
Ever since he came here, it felt like he had been working nonstop. First, there was the movie, then the Doraemon series, and on top of that, handling all the sudden attention and responsibilities that came with it. It was like an invisible sword was hanging over his neck, constantly pushing him to keep going.
But today, he just wanted to take a break.
He lazily reached for his tablet and began scrolling through the internet, checking reactions to the Doraemon series. His decision to release five episodes at once had paid off. The response was overwhelmingly positive—people loved it.
Some were discussing their favorite gadgets, others were debating which character they liked best, and a few were even making fan theories about what kind of world Nobita lived in.
Seeing so much engagement, Arwin realized something—there wasn't a central place for fans to discuss the series. Right now, the conversations were scattered across multiple small forums.
He made a mental note to fix that.
Creating an official discussion portal for his work could be beneficial. It would allow direct communication with his audience, making it easier to see what they liked, what they wanted more of, and even get ideas for future projects.
But for now, that was a problem for later.
His thoughts drifted back to his workload, and reality settled in—he wasn't going to be able to do anything else outside of Doraemon for the foreseeable future.
When he first announced the weekly release schedule, it seemed manageable. Each episode was only seven to eight minutes long, but even with his cheat system, the process still required a lot of work and attention.
And if he ever wanted to expand into other series, there was no way he could handle everything alone.
The more he thought about it, the more it became obvious—he needed to hire people.
"Leah," he called out, still lying on the couch.
His AI assistant materialized before him in a soft blue glow. "Yes, Arwin?"
"I'm thinking of hiring animators and editors to help with Doraemon. What do you think?"
Leah paused for a moment before responding, "That is a wise decision. You have been overworking yourself."
Arwin raised an eyebrow. "Overworking?"
"Yes," Leah confirmed. "The standard work schedule is four days a week with reasonable breaks. Meanwhile, you have been working nonstop for months."
Hearing that, Arwin sat up slightly. "Wait… four days a week? Looks like people finally stopped overworking themselves after a million years, those guys from my time must be jealous."
"You have not taken a proper break since you started Doraemon" Leah added.
Arwin let out a small chuckle. "I guess you're right. It's about time I start delegating work."
Just as he was about to discuss the hiring process further, Leah suddenly spoke again.
"Arwin, you have received a new message."
He groaned, leaning his head back. "Let me guess… another offer from Tenflix or Comazon?"
Ever since Doraemon: Stand by Me took off, every major OTT platform had been bombarding him with requests to buy the rights to the movie. They wanted exclusive streaming deals, hoping to get a slice of the success.
He had been ignoring them for days.
"Just archive it," he said dismissively.
But Leah's next words caught him off guard.
"It is not from Tenflix or Comazon," she said. "It is from FAMD."
Arwin blinked.
"The who now?"
"FAMD," Leah repeated. "The Federal Arts and Media Directorate—the governing body that oversees all entertainment and media in the Nebeska Galaxy."
That made him pause. A government organization? Why would they be contacting him?
"Show me the message," he said.
A holographic screen appeared in front of him, and he quickly skimmed through the contents.
The message was an invitation—a formal request for him to participate in a new stage of the Nebeska Film Fest.
Frowning slightly, he asked, "Leah, I thought the film fest was over. Is this some kind of extension?"
"No," Leah replied. "This is a newly introduced directive that was not publicly disclosed before. Only 50 studios are being selected for it."
Arwin's gaze returned to the screen as he continued reading.
The message explained that this next stage was entirely different from the previous competition.
This time, he wasn't being asked to submit an animation. Instead, he was required to create a live-action movie—one that was original, not an adaptation.
That part made him pause.
A live-action movie?
That was far beyond anything he had done before. He had spent his entire time here working with animation. Even in his past life, he had never attempted anything close to filmmaking.
Doubt crept in for a moment.
Was he really qualified for this?
Then, his eyes landed on a particular line in the message:
"All participants will receive full sponsorship, covering budget, marketing, and resources."
That was a huge relief—funding was always a challenge in the film industry. But what really surprised him was the next part:
"Additionally, you have been granted access to an A-Level Film Directing Course."
Arwin's eyes widened slightly.
An A-Level Course? He had looked into directing courses before out of curiosity, and he knew that this level of training was nearly impossible to obtain without being part of a major studio or institution.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And yet… it also meant taking on an entirely new challenge—one that he wasn't sure he was ready for.
He let out a slow breath and leaned back against the couch, deep in thought.
He had one week to respond.
But in truth, he had already made his decision.
Still, before he could fully commit, there was something he needed to do first.
If he was going to step into live-action filmmaking, he couldn't afford to let Doraemon suffer.
Which meant…
He needed to hire people immediately.
"Leah," he said, sitting up. "Make a job listing. Vault Studios is hiring."
As Leah began processing his request, Arwin glanced at the invitation once more, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
A new path had opened before him—and this time, he was stepping into uncharted territory.