“A new broadcast program, huh...”
The story turns back to an earlier scene in Parnam Castle. Ivan’s father, Moltov Juniro, had come to visit shortly after I discovered how to make mini-jewels from curse ore, just as Mao had instructed me. These jewels would allow us to increase the number of broadcast programs, but we faced a shortage of both ideas and staff to produce them.
“The mini-jewel has no recording function,” Moltov explained. “We’ll have to stick with live shows, as we’ve done before. That limits what we can put on air. We’re managing short dramas for now, but if the number of programs increases, we won’t have enough theater companies or staff to produce something new every time.”
When he finished, Roroa, who was attending the meeting as a sponsor, nodded.
“Well, I’m thinkin’ a program like Silvan would be the easiest to mass-produce. The formula’s more or less set.”
She was right. Hero shows like Silvan followed a familiar template. By swapping out the scenario or enemies, you could create something new without much difficulty. Because the format was established, there was no need to worry about continuity. Each episode could be enjoyed on its own. That was crucial for live broadcasts.
After all, there were no home televisions or video recorders yet; people had to gather in fountain plazas to watch. If viewers couldn’t understand an episode without knowing what had happened before, they’d quickly lose interest. On the other hand, rebroadcasting the same episode for a week straight would bore the audience. That was why hero shows, with their flexible formula, were so popular. You could miss one without issue. There was even a project underway to launch a heroine show aimed at girls.
Listening to them, I thought back to the kinds of programs that existed in my old world. I remembered shows that often re-aired out of order without any problem...
“If we want something like an episodic hero show, with a set format so that each installment stands alone, then period dramas or police shows fit the bill.”
I recalled the kinds of programs I’d seen back then—a period drama in which a retired nobleman brandished his inro, a buddy-cop drama pairing a veteran with a hothead, and even one about a forensic scientist teamed with a female researcher.
They’d aired in the afternoons or evenings, sometimes from different seasons and out of order, but because the format was so well established, no one had minded.
“Oh, but mystery shows that rely on tricks aren’t so easy to whip up on short notice. In that case, I guess a period drama’s the more realistic option. You know, something about rewarding the good and punishing the wicked.”
“Darlin’, what’s that supposed to mean?”
I pulled out a pen and began jotting notes as I explained.
“Uh, to give you the short version... Someone important from the past, like a king...goes around incognito and delivers justice to those who make the common folk suffer. That sort of thing.”
“Hmm? If he’s the king, wouldn’t usin’ his authority be easier? And if villains are runnin’ wild in the castle town, isn’t that the king’s fault in the first place?”
“Uh... When you put it like that, I kind of have to agree...”
Roroa’s blunt logic left me momentarily speechless.
“A-Anyway, the idea is that by going incognito, he notices crimes he’d miss if he just stayed in the castle. And rather than gathering testimony and evidence to build a case, catching the criminals in the act and punishing them on the spot is faster, I guess?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Oh, and there’s also the appeal of discovering that someone who seemed unremarkable because they were hiding their identity is actually amazing. With a hero show like Silvan, the bigger the gap between the hero’s normal self and transformed self, the cooler the transformation feels, right?”
“Ooh, now that explanation makes sense.”
Roroa seemed to get it now.
Though, technically, the forerunners to early hero shows like Gekkou Kamen had been period dramas such as Kaiketsu Kurozukin and Kurama Tengu. Half hero show, half period piece. I was kind of introducing the concept backwards here.
Moltov, who had been listening silently, slapped his knee.
“A period drama! Excellent! We have older buildings on the outskirts of Van we can use as sets. And without the need for elaborate villains like in a hero show, we can just swap out the actors each time. If we simply choose an important figure as the lead, we can start production right away.”
“Hmm... Can’t Darlin’ do it? We often go into town incognito, don’t we?”
Moltov looked about ready to agree, so I hastily cut them off.
“No, no, no! If you put the actual king in a show like this, it’ll look like propaganda from some tin-pot dictatorship! Besides, I’m not some fighter who can beat up baddies. If we broadcast scenes of me doing that, people will get all sorts of weird misconceptions.”
“Hmm, and I was thinkin’ it’d be a good idea.”
Roroa smirked at me... Darn her.
“Well then, why don’t we make you the protagonist? We could call it Adventures of the Little Tanuki Queen or something.”
“Nah, we can’t go broadcastin’ a drama with a current queen as the star.”
“That’s the opposite of what you were saying a moment ago!”
Apparently, she didn’t like it when she was the one being put on the spot. For the same reasons, though they had the martial ability, Liscia and Aisha were out of the question too.
Who else was there? Ludwin, the commander in chief of the National Defense Force, and Excel, who had once held that position? Ludwin was still in active service, so he was off the table. As for Excel...she’d probably get too into the role, which worried me.
“Hmm. Then what about the former king?” Moltov suggested, making me tilt my head.
“My father-in-law? True, he’s a retired king, so he fits the ‘important person’ criteria... But I’m not sure the people really think of him as a fighter.”
“I suppose not... Oh! Then what about the former queen? I hear that in her youth she looked a lot like Her Highness Liscia, and was quite the... Ahem. Let’s just say she was quite active.”
...Did he just stop short of calling her a tomboy? Elisha, huh? Now that I thought about it, Liscia had inherited her tomboyishness from her mother. Since that was the case, then maybe my bewitching mother-in-law could actually pull off action scenes.
Roroa cackled at the idea.
“Now this is gettin’ interestin’. Sure, we’ll probably just end up borrowin’ her name and havin’ an actress play the role, but wouldn’t it be worth askin’ Lady Elisha herself?”
“Don’t say that so casually. Who knows what Liscia would say if she heard...”
“Oh, we’ll keep it a secret from Big Sis Cia, of course. If we tell her first, she’ll definitely object. But I can’t wait to see her face when the show airs and she realizes who it’s based on.”
“I’m just gonna say you put me up to it...”
“Ha ha ha. Let her yell at both of us, Darlin’.”
And so, after some more deliberation, the period drama starring Elisha, titled The Queen in the Shadows, went into production.
The story was loosely based on what I remembered of period dramas. I’d watched them with my grandfather, so I had some knowledge to draw upon.
But as the project moved forward, something unbelievable happened... It was decided that Elisha herself would play the lead role, at least for the first season. That was because when I went to her to request permission to use her name...
“That sounds entertaining. I’d love to appear in it, son-in-law.”
“Wha?!”
...she’d only agreed on the condition that she be allowed to appear in the show herself.
That was why, even though characters like Kagetora, Kagerou, and Paunchy Pancho were based on real people but portrayed by actors, Elisha alone appeared as herself.
When Liscia eventually found out, Roroa and I got an earful... But that’s a story for another time.