Starting as a Manga Editor

Chapter 115: Investment

This world also had websites and communities similar to Bilibili—platforms rooted in anime culture.

But perhaps due to the absence of “Uncle” (a common term for major stakeholders or cultural figureheads), and the fact that copyright consciousness developed earlier here, these platforms didn’t fare all that well...

Although the anime-related industry was more prosperous here—manga magazines, for instance, were still doing fine—most animation content aired on mainstream video platforms. It resembled the "big license era" in Tang Yao’s previous world, where small, anime-focused video sites simply couldn’t compete with the giants in securing broadcast rights.

As a result, anime-focused sites and communities in this world were far less successful than what Tang Yao had known.

Though to be fair, Bilibili hadn’t exactly been thriving in her last life either.

But in terms of ecosystem positioning, the difference was significant.

Take AnimationFan—it wasn’t just “pushed out of the anime circle”… It didn’t even have streaming rights for new anime at all.

The site was stuck in a very early stage of development, still running on passion projects. It had no licensed new anime, not even pirated ones.

It wasn’t widely known.

But maybe because it remained so pure, it still had a solid base of hardcore anime fans. Tang Yao had looked into it casually before when she was bored. The platform had been trying to pivot for a while, but funding had been a consistent issue.

“Joint operation? With ANF? I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

Yuan Yanbo looked troubled and hesitated. “I know their team. I even know the founder personally… They’ve only got about ten people. No clue where their next round of funding is coming from. More importantly, they have zero experience in game operations. If we’re just talking about using their platform for promotion, that’s fine—they’ve been struggling to monetize and have been pushing into advertising lately. Their main pitch is cheap and abundant ad space.

And since their user base aligns well with our game, it’s a good fit for advertising.

But joint ops…”

“I was thinking this.”

Tang Yao nodded, then shared her thoughts. “You mentioned we don’t have enough exposure platforms. That’s mainly because we don’t have enough outward-facing windows. Sure, advertising on mainstream video sites has value—but the users we draw in from there will be hit or miss.

I’m not against advertising on those platforms.

But what if, in addition to those ads, we had a site dedicated to anime users—a place where players could gather and discuss? Wouldn’t that better showcase our game’s strengths in characters and story? Like for this next version release, even with so much content, player discussions will still be scattered across various forums and platforms.

Our official website was never designed to be a discussion hub.

But ANF is different. They already have a tight-knit community of core anime fans. With a little push—say, a Fate/Grand Order new-version video contest, some prize money, and heavy ad placements—wouldn’t that be way more effective?

Since their users are already core anime fans, most of them are already playing FGO, or at least are open to this kind of game. And if it scales up… players might start spontaneously sharing gacha games and FGO content. When that happens, we might not even need to advertise each version update anymore.”

Exactly.

Tang Yao couldn’t help thinking of how FGO in her last life helped boost Bilibili’s IPO…

She hadn’t been able to do anything like that earlier, because the game’s performance was still a mystery—it would’ve been a pie-in-the-sky move.

But now things were different. The game was already making money. That meant she could start thinking about ecosystem strategy.

It might not work. The environment was different.

But what did she have to lose by trying?

Worst case, she’d just lose a channel slot.

“……”

Yuan Yanbo’s eyes lit up after hearing all that. It really did make sense, especially for a game aimed at anime fans.

But then he frowned. “But… they don’t have any experience running a game…”

“We didn’t either—not at first. Heck, we still don’t have much.”

Tang Yao glanced around at the team, then shrugged. “And if it really doesn’t work out, or they’re not open to it, we can just invest in them. Didn’t you say they were strapped for cash? We can put money in. Heck, we could even bring in our own ops team—just ask them to cooperate and give us access to their core user data.”

Without a rev-share deal in place, that would be easy to manage.

And Tang Yao had money—tons of it.

Courtesy of the players who had just recharged…

“Investment, huh… That could work.”

Yuan Yanbo’s eyes lit up again.

Joint ops were too risky—those guys had no experience. Even if they agreed, they’d probably screw things up eventually with all kinds of messy issues.

But if they took an investment… the studio would have decision-making power.

“Okay, here’s what we can do.”

Yuan Yanbo quickly got into it. “Let’s first set up an official Avalon account on AnimationFan. Also, add a traffic funnel to ANF on our game’s official site. Include the ANF handle in all promo material. Then… let’s upload the new-version trailer there too and see how ANF’s users respond.”

“Alright.”

Tang Yao thought it over, then nodded. “That sounds good.”

“As for that new-version video contest idea you mentioned earlier…”

Yuan Yanbo looked thoughtful. “I don’t think we need to rush. Let’s first talk to the ANF team—see if they’re open to investment… no, wait. We should start by asking about investment. Otherwise, if the response is too good, they’ll realize our intentions and jack up the price.”

“You’re the one who said you knew their team, right?”

“Yep!”

Yuan Yanbo was clearly getting excited—totally different from how he used to be at Mingyu Tech. “I’ll reach out to them right now!”

He turned and left, full of enthusiasm.

Tang Yao watched him go, then let out a deep breath.

If they really did accept the investment… this could be big.

Worst case? Just lose a little money.

But if it succeeded—even if they didn’t manage to build a one-of-a-kind anime video platform and community—it would still be a central hub of anime users, making future game marketing so much easier.

Plus…

The mobile game gold rush was coming.

Tang Yao had managed to recreate Fate/Grand Order using her own distribution channel—one she’d painstakingly built from manga.

But what about all the other games? Aside from those tied to existing IPs, self-developed IP games likely didn’t have their own distribution platforms.

They’d run into the same problem—game’s done, but where do we market it?

It’s not like they’d all start making manga too, right?

This was a brand-new game category.

And when the time came… if ANF proved effective at promoting anime-style games, those companies might have to come crawling to Tang Yao for a share.

As long as FGO could prove this strategy worked.

Plus… this investment idea?

It had a little something to do with Li Xue.

Li Xue didn’t know much about game development. And she didn’t seem all that into games either. That’s why Tang Yao hadn’t figured out how to invite her into the studio.

She wasn’t even sure if Li Xue would want to come.

But Li Xue did understand animation and manga.

And if there was a platform like this, Tang Yao could officially start expanding into the ACG trifecta—Animation, Comics, and Games.

She’d have a legitimate reason to invite Li Xue over.

Maybe they’d even get to see each other every day.

Every single day...

As that thought drifted through her mind—

Tang Yao suddenly remembered what happened yesterday. That moment when Li Xue lifted her skirt slightly and asked if she wanted a peek… Her lips curled slightly as she bit back a smile.

Yuan Yanbo moved fast.

Barely an hour after everything had been decided on their end—

Over at AnimationFan—

The ops team behind ANF received the message.

Founder Cai Quan stared at the email on his screen, breath catching in his throat. He looked stunned.

Then, without even realizing it, his hands flew across the keyboard.

“Bro. Forget investment—can they acquire us?”