Chapter 4: Light in the Sky
The sky outside Cal's window was a muted grey, draped in quiet stillness. Rain tapped gently on the glass, rhythmic and slow. A perfect background for a day with no obligations—and no expectations.
Cal sat at his desk, scrolling through the system's interface. Even now, with over 40,000 subscribers and a viral video still circulating across 2010-A's fragmented web forums, the room around him remained the same. Empty. Still. His reflection in the monitor was unchanged: a young man in a worn hoodie, eyes tired, but more alert than they'd been in years.
He hadn't streamed in two days. The system hadn't punished him—there was no ticking timer, no pressure. But he'd been watching. Watching the ripple effect of his streams grow slowly in forums, imageboards, and random blogs on that other timeline.
And now, it was time to drop another stone in the water.
He opened the content vault. The system offered him a near-endless catalog of unreleased anime, films, sports events, and other cultural moments. But today, he wanted something different.
Something quiet. Something beautiful.
He typed: Your Name.
[Film Located: "Kimi no Na wa." (2016)]
[Director: Makoto Shinkai | Runtime: 1hr 47min | Resolution: 4K Available]
[Estimated Impact Level: Moderate]
[System Note: Artistic Anomaly – Visual Culture Spike Risk (Japan - 2010-A)]
[Stream Cost: 60 Points]
[Points Available: 535]
Cal exhaled, almost reverently. "Let's do it."
He clicked the button.
[Content Licensed – Now Preparing Stream File]
[Opening Private Stream Room – Invite Only]
[Viewers: 0]
He set it to a limited test stream—something quieter, just a whisper into the past rather than a shout. The viral growth had been good, but he didn't want to explode again. Not yet.
Not until he understood what he wanted out of this.
By the fifteen-minute mark, a few names trickled into the private room. Regulars. Familiar faces.
[Retro_Neko]: private stream? what's this?
[jin2002]: new movie? never heard of it
[OGanimefan]: did you make this??
[SilentSky]: is this an AMV or an actual film??
Cal didn't say much. Just a soft, "Nah. This is something special. Just watch."
The movie began. Soft piano chords and a watercolor palette filled the screen. The chat quieted, drawn in by the quiet power of it. Shinkai's world unfolded scene by scene: Tokyo and Itomori, dreams crossing through time, lives entangled across distance and memory.
Cal sat back and watched with them.
He remembered seeing it for the first time in 2017. It had wrecked him. Not because of the romance, though that had been beautifully done. But because of the feeling—the aching beauty of connection, of being seen, even across years. A movie about two people searching for each other had made him feel like someone out there might be searching for him, too.
That feeling had stayed. Even in the darkest times.
Now, in another world, others were feeling it for the first time.
An hour in, the chat was nearly silent—unusual, but telling.
Then came a message:
[SilentSky]: this is… incredible. it's like a painting.
[jin2002]: not gonna lie i teared up
[Retro_Neko]: who made this? why doesn't anyone know this film?
[OGanimefan]: cal? is this… future again?
He hesitated, then typed:
[RetroCal]: yeah. it's from 2016. You're watching it six years early.
A beat of silence.
Then:
[SilentSky]: whoever made this is going to change anime
[AkibaWolf]: we NEED to know the creator
[jin2002]: this is on another level from anything in 2010
[Retro_Neko]: pls stream it again for more ppl later
Cal nodded. "Maybe I will. For now, just… keep it between us."
The film ended on its quiet, powerful note: two strangers meeting again, a comet in the sky, and the question that lingered with everyone watching—
"What's your name?"
Even Cal felt the weight of it. He ended the stream with no fanfare.
[Private Stream Ended]
[Viewers: 19]
[Clip Archived: Not Publicly Shared]
[Social Reach: Minimal]
No headlines. No virality.
Just nineteen people sitting in silence, their hearts full.
Later that night, in a quiet Tokyo animation studio, a young assistant animator named Kenji Oura browsed an obscure forum.
A friend had sent him a link earlier: "You have to see this. Don't ask, just watch."
Kenji clicked. A low-resolution capture of a mysterious 4K stream. The film was already halfway through.
But within seconds, he stopped what he was doing. The frame composition. The colors. The cityscapes. The comet—
He rewound and started from the beginning.
Two hours later, he sat in the dark, stunned.
He didn't know who "RetroCal" was. He didn't know how the film existed. But what he did know was this:
He had just witnessed something that would change the direction of his career forever.
And tomorrow, he would talk to his art director.
End of Chapter 4