Aftershocks
The summer movie-watching frenzy sparked by "Mewtwo Strikes Back" only started having available tickets on the fifth day.
Cinema managers are both pleased and worried about the persistently high attendance rates.
The good news is that my summer bonus is guaranteed, but the bad news is that the frontline staff have been working non-stop for almost a week. Almost everyone has to go to the cinema lobby to help out whenever they have a spare moment, maintaining order, selling, cleaning, and moving goods.
It wasn't until the first weekend of August that the daily box office of this phenomenal animated film began to show signs of fatigue.
Major cinema chains finally breathed a sigh of relief, as if they had completed a tough battle, and unanimously and quietly adjusted their screening rates back to the initial 35%.
However, just as the storm in the movie theater subsided, another storm was brewing at a higher level.
Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology.
"Section Chief, these are the petitions that arrived this morning, seven boxes in total." A young civil servant pointed to a small mountain of cardboard boxes in the corner of his office, his face showing a hint of despair, almost overwhelming by the sheer volume of documents. "The fax machine hasn't stopped either; it's full of joint letters from parents forwarded by education commissions from various regions."
The middle-aged man, referred to as the section chief, was rubbing his temples, a headache throbbing in his eyes. On his desk lay a commentary article from a mainstream media outlet, its title jarring. "A National Reflection Sparked by an Animated Film: What's Missing in Our Education?"
He glanced at the article; it was nothing more than the same old stuff. But this time, the reason given was an animated film, which he found somewhat absurd and frustrating. Public opinion had already risen, and if it wasn't handled properly, the Minister of Education's inquiry would be difficult.
"Call all the department heads here and have a meeting immediately." He put down his newspaper, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The atmosphere in the meeting room was serious.
"That's the situation." The section chief looked around. "The parents' demands are clear: they want 'bioethics' to be formally included in primary and secondary school education. What are your thoughts?"
An official with graying hair cleared his throat. "Section Chief, isn't this making a mountain out of a molehill? Revising the education syllabus because of an animated film—once a precedent is set, the consequences will be endless."
"But this time the momentum is different," the official in charge of social education countered. "This isn't the voice of a small group; it's nationwide. We can't ignore it. Moreover, the issues raised in the film are indeed worth pondering. In recent years, the juvenile delinquency rate has shown a slight upward trend. We have to do something, otherwise the public will accuse us of inaction."
"The problem is, how should the textbooks be compiled? How should the teachers teach? These are all problems!"
The argument continued, but the section chief didn't interrupt; he simply listened quietly. Only when the noise in the meeting room subsided did he tap on the table.
"Arguing about these things is pointless. What's most important now is to give society a clear and positive response." He stood up. "Inform the press department to prepare for a press conference. Tell them that we have received feedback from education commissions across the country and calls from all sectors of society, and that we will seriously consider petitions to include bioethics in the curriculum."
The next day, under a barrage of flashing lights, a spokesperson for the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology solemnly reiterated the tone set by the section chief in the conference room, each word conveying sincerity and strength.
As for how long the internal wrangling will last, that's another matter entirely.
The heated debates within the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology are ultimately a matter for adults.
The children didn't care about any of that; they were more concerned about whether they could spin a golden ball with Mewtwo's image on it from the lottery machine at the movie theater entrance.
With only fifty Electronic Pet available, spread across all forty-seven prefectures in Japan, it's roughly one pet per prefecture. The odds are ridiculously low, but there's always hope.
The lines outside the water extraction machines at each movie theater stretch from morning till night.
The clattering of the machine, mixed with the children's prayers and the sighs that followed the draw, created a unique symphony in the theater lobby. Fortunately, Sega's consolation prizes were quite generous: Pikachu keychains, Squirtle coins, Bulbasaur stickers. The audience members who received these small gifts weren't too disappointed and felt somewhat involved.
After all, there are only fifty spots available nationwide, and those who win are truly chosen ones.
This almost legendary rarity naturally attracted the attention of another group of people.
"Dad, I don't care, I want that Mewtwo!" A boy in a smart suit pointed at the picture of the Electronic Pet on the poster and gave the order to the well-to-do middle-aged man next to him.
As a result, spectacular scenes of privately booked venues for lucky draws began to unfold in major cities.
Some people bought all the tickets in the screening room just for the few dozen free raffle tickets.
However, the results were often disappointing. A bunch of consolation prizes were expressionlessly stuffed into designer handbags by the bodyguards and butlers, leaving the young master standing there, fuming.
The scene of spending a lot of money but only getting a bunch of trinkets became a source of amusement for ordinary viewers, adding a touch of "equality among all beings" to the lottery itself.
The turning point came the next day.
Like sharks smelling blood, the media quickly spotted the first lucky ones.
On television, a girl from Hokkaido shyly shows off her cool-looking Mewtwo Virtual Pet to the camera.
This completely ignited everyone's enthusiasm.
It turns out you really can win!
The number of people booking out entire venues has increased again, and scalpers have even started reselling ticket stubs.
The most outrageous social news story comes from the notorious Nishinari Ward in Osaka.
A young man who had just found a job used the money he earned to watch a movie. With a casual shake of his hand, he unexpectedly won the golden ball he had always dreamed of.
He was immediately surrounded by envious glances and excitedly planned to sell this good fortune for a good price to supplement his livelihood.
He didn't notice that a malevolent figure in the crowd had stuck to his back.
Late that night, the young man was counting his money in his dream when he was suddenly awakened by a slight creaking sound from the floor.
He held his breath and saw a dark figure rummaging through his room.
The thief's target was clear: the eye-catching Electronic Pet from earlier that day.
The young man, his blood boiling, grabbed the baseball bat from beside his pillow and charged forward.
The thief clearly hadn't expected the homeowner to be such a light sleeper, nor had he anticipated such a strong reaction.
After a chaotic struggle, the thief, whose skills were questionable, was pinned to the ground by the young man.
When the police arrived, they were both amused and exasperated to see the thief with a bruised and swollen face and the perfectly intact Mewtwo Virtual Pet beside him.
The news report, "Man breaks into home late at night to steal limited-edition toys but is subdued by the homeowner," immediately sparked a new round of nationwide controversy regarding the marketing of limited-edition products.
The discussion sparked by this absurd event is almost as heated as the serious debate currently underway at the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology.