Culture in the future!

A large conference hall floated in the depths of space, orbiting one of the central planets of the Nebeska Galaxy. Inside, seven individuals sat around a grand table, engaged in a serious discussion.

This was the Federal Arts and Media Directorate (FAMD)—the governing body responsible for shaping the entertainment industry across the entire Nebeska Galaxy.

The festival had ended, but their work had not.

This year, a new directive had been introduced—one that the public was not yet aware of.

For centuries, entertainment had remained stagnant, following the same formulas over and over. Humanity had reached a point where daily life was effortless, free of struggle or hardship, and as a result, people needed something more to keep them engaged.

To combat this, the FAMD had created a new stage in the competition.

50 studios from the previous festival would be selected.

They would be tasked with creating a new, original film based on a set scenario.

Unlike before, this competition would be fully funded—budget, marketing, and distribution would be covered entirely by the FAMD.

The goal was simple: to push artistic storytelling to new heights.

And today, this committee was finalizing the list of selected studios.

"Alright," one of the members said, tapping on a holographic display. "We've locked in 49 studios. Now, we just need to confirm the final slot."

Another member, a man with silver-streaked hair, scrolled through his list. "If we're following the rankings, the next highest-performing studio should be—"

A voice interrupted him.

"I want to nominate this studio instead."

The conversation stopped.

The speaker was the seventh member, the man at the head of the table.

For a moment, the others simply looked at him. He rarely interfered in these discussions, usually allowing the committee to handle selections. But today, he had spoken up.

One of the members turned toward him. "Which studio are you referring to, sir?"

The man tilted his screen, revealing the name.

A logo appeared—

Vault Studios.

The room fell into a brief silence before someone spoke.

"Vault Studios?" a younger member repeated, typing quickly on her console. "That's… not on our list. Let me check their ranking."

A moment later, her screen pulled up the festival standings.

She frowned. "Sir, this studio didn't even break the top 1,500. There are plenty of higher-ranked options."

The man remained calm. "Have you seen the movie they submitted?"

The younger member hesitated. "No, sir."

"Then watch it."

A few silent taps on the console, and the title appeared on the screen.

Doraemon: Stand by Me

The woman skimmed the description.

Before she could react, another voice spoke up from across the table.

"Oh, that one!"

The speaker was a woman in her late 300s, one of the few members present who had been mostly silent until now.

"You know this movie?" someone asked.

She nodded. "Yes. I watched it with my daughter. It's… different from what we usually see."

The younger member turned to her. "Is it worth considering?"

A small smile formed on the woman's face. "It was well-made. I wouldn't have expected something like that to come from an unknown studio, but it was solid work."

Another member leaned back in his chair. "I heard about it too. My nephew recommended it to me, actually. Said it was the best movie he'd seen this year."

"I've seen it," another added. "It stood out because it wasn't about conquest or space travel. It was about people."

The table grew quieter as more of them realized that, despite its ranking, this film had reached a lot of people.

The head of the table finally spoke again.

"I'm not selecting this studio because of its ranking," he said, tapping his screen once more.

A new display appeared, this time showing a profile.

The name at the top read:

Arwin West.

The committee members leaned forward.

One of them frowned. "Who is this?"

The leader folded his hands together.

"He is the sole creator behind Doraemon: Stand by Me."

The table went silent again, but this time, there was a shift in the atmosphere.

"Wait," the younger member said. "You mean… he made that film alone?"

"From start to finish," the man confirmed.

There was a pause. Then, another member adjusted their seat slightly. "How old is he?"

"Twenty," the leader answered.

A moment passed before someone let out a small chuckle. "That's… young."

"Very," another agreed.

A few of them exchanged glances. It was rare to see someone so young enter the industry, let alone make a film that could compete on a galactic stage.

The woman who had watched Doraemon leaned forward slightly. "I'll admit, I'm curious. But sir, this competition requires more than just animation skills. He'll have to create an entirely new film from scratch, including script, directing, and cinematography. Even if he's talented, that's a different level of expertise."

The leader nodded. "I understand. That's why I'm proposing we sponsor him with an A-level Directing Course."

The reaction was immediate.

"A-level?"

One of the senior members exhaled slightly. "Sir, normally, only industry veterans qualify for those courses."

"He's already proven he has potential," the leader said. "With proper resources, I believe he can rise to the challenge."

A short silence followed as the group processed his words.

The woman who had spoken earlier eventually nodded. "If we're investing in new talent, we might as well take a risk. If he was able to create something like Doraemon alone, I'd like to see what he can do with real support."

Another member checked the stats on Vault Studios. "It's true that despite ranking in the 1,500s, the film's view count was still exceptionally high compared to other small studios."

A final discussion took place, but in the end, the decision was made.

Vault Studios would be given a spot in the competition, and Arwin West would receive official training—whether he knew it or not.

His life was about to become a lot more complicated.