Entertainment System: Reincarnating into Another World with a Database

The meeting room was spacious and minimalist, with white walls emitting a faint glow. A long rectangular table occupied the center, surrounded by comfortable black chairs. On one of the main walls, a large screen was ready to project the students' work, while the rest of the space remained impeccably tidy.

One by one, professors and invited leaders arrived, exchanging polite greetings or casual remarks as they settled into their seats. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, and conversations began to flow.

"This exam will be interesting," commented one of the leaders, a bald man with a thick beard, adjusting his glasses as he sat down. "It's an excellent opportunity to see if any of these kids truly have what it takes to be my apprentice."

Another leader, Elden, broke the silence in a livelier tone:

"Samuel Lorrick is undoubtedly the one everyone is watching. Being part of such an influential family in film brings enormous expectations."

"And rightly so," responded a professor sitting nearby. "His family name opens doors, but it's his talent that must keep them open. Still, with his family's track record, it would be surprising if he didn't succeed."

"Aileen Vernett isn't far behind, though her strengths lie outside the cinematic field. I have faith in her," interjected a firm yet elegant female voice. The speaker was Celeste Avelyn, a renowned composer who, despite being only 30, was already considered one of the most influential leaders in the music industry. With a proud smile, she added, "Not that I need to say it—everyone already knows Aileen is my protégé."

The professors nodded in agreement. No one dared to question Aileen's abilities, whose prodigious skill in composing and singing had earned her a place under someone as esteemed as Celeste. The composer leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased with the attention she commanded.

"Let's not forget about Celine Marwick," Elden chimed in, steering the conversation toward another promising student. "She won a national contest with a cinematic project. There's something undeniably special in the way she tells stories."

"That's true," Celeste agreed. "Her name is starting to gain recognition thanks to the excellent projects she's been showcasing."

Nathan, another student, was also brought up in the discussion. A leader in the music industry, a man with platinum hair and a sharp gaze, remarked:

"Nathan has natural charisma and a powerful voice. Plus, his strong social media presence makes him a magnet for younger audiences. If anyone here is looking for an apprentice with media potential, he's a solid option."

The conversations continued in this vein, highlighting the promising students and revealing the leaders' eagerness to uncover hidden talents among the participants.

Finally, the door opened once more, and the murmurs ceased. A woman of commanding presence entered the room. It was Bera Callister, the academy's director. Her black hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her eyes seemed capable of piercing through anyone with a single glance. Dressed in an impeccable black suit, she strode confidently to the center of the room.

Everyone fell silent as she positioned herself near the screen.

"Thank you all for being here," she began, her voice clear and resolute. "This exam is more than a simple test for our students. It reflects the future we are helping to shape in our respective fields."

Bera's gaze swept over the leaders and professors, her expression calm but commanding.

"Some of you already have your favorites," she added, her eyes briefly resting on Celeste, who maintained a confident smile, "but I assure you, there is always room for surprises. I hope you're all open to discovering new talents, even in unexpected places."

There was a collective nod of agreement, and Bera continued:

"Today, I'm not looking for perfection. What I want to see is passion, creativity, and above all, the drive to innovate. Let's begin."

She turned to the screen, where the list of participating classes was already displayed.

At the far end of the table, Meredith adjusted her posture. Several people noticed she seemed more reserved than usual, but no one said anything. Meanwhile, she simply took a deep breath and thought:

"I hope Damian Grant's short films don't embarrass me."

...

Bera Callister pressed a button on her console, and the screen lit up with the first short film.

Oliver West's work, Lights in the Darkness, depicted a solitary figure walking through a dark tunnel, facing symbolic obstacles that reflected internal struggles. The atmosphere was oppressive, with effective use of light and shadow, but the narrative felt ambiguous, leaving the audience with a sense of incompleteness.

"Visually intriguing, though the lack of a clear conclusion weakens its impact," commented a professor of narrative.

"The experimental approach is bold, but it needs more cohesion," added another, making it clear that Oliver still had room to grow.

The next short film, Reunions by Isla Kane, explored the reunion of two childhood friends, focusing on nostalgia and how time transforms relationships. Although the performances were heartfelt, the absence of a central conflict made the short film feel flat.

"A narrative short with sensitivity, but it lacks a moment that truly captivates," noted a leader in actor direction.

"The concept is good, but it needs more risk. And for a narrative piece, the lack of conflict doesn't resonate with the audience," Celeste Avelyn concluded, her tone critical yet encouraging.

Bera Callister listened attentively to the constructive feedback. These comments were crucial, as they would be shared with the students to help them improve. Even if their short films weren't perfect, they could pass if enough talent was evident.

With a gesture, the screen prepared to showcase the short films of the next group.

The meeting room remained busy as professors and industry leaders reviewed the students' various works, assigning grades while analyzing each effort. Most projects were decent; a few stood out, catching the attention of some leaders. However, the majority of attendees were still waiting for the short films from the most promising students.

The director glanced at the list projected on the screen and, in a firm tone, announced the next short film.

—The next work is by Samuel Lorrick.

A faint murmur swept through the room. Professors and leaders straightened in their seats, adjusting their glasses or crossing their arms in anticipation. Samuel was one of the most talked-about names in the academy, and his surname carried the weight of a dynasty of renowned filmmakers.

—Finally, we get to the main course, —commented Elden with a smile, glancing sideways at Meredith, who remained calm.

—Samuel has always demonstrated talent, —she responded in a neutral tone. —His work will speak for itself.

Deep down, Meredith felt a mix of pride and anxiety. Samuel and Aileen were her most exceptional students, and while she trusted their abilities, the charged atmosphere was hard to ignore.

The screen lit up, and the short film titled "The Monster's Son" began.

The story opened with a desolate, grim landscape. A young man, armed with a self-forged sword, silently trained, facing combat simulations in a nightmarish environment. Shadows seemed to shift, and the tense, melancholic music accompanied every strike and fall.

The antagonist, portrayed as a massive, monstrous figure, was revealed to be his own father, a being who dominated and oppressed him. The final battle was fierce: the son confronted his father in a duel that was both physical and symbolic, ending with the young man triumphing and gazing at the horizon with determination.

When the screen darkened, a profound silence filled the room before the comments began to flow.

—Technically flawless, —noted one of the film professors, leaning forward. —The art direction is excellent, and the symbolism is clear.

—The dynamic between father and son is a universal theme, but its execution shows a level of maturity I didn't expect, —added an industry leader, crossing his arms in approval.

—It's somewhat predictable, but it manages to convey emotion, and the duel scene is visually powerful, —Celeste Avelyn pointed out, her critical tone underscored by a hint of respect.

Another professor, smiling slightly, remarked:

—No surprise, considering his lineage. The Lorricks have always had an innate talent for telling impactful stories.

—Certainly, —responded Elden. —But here, we're judging him, not his family. I must say, however, that he's proven he has the foundation to uphold that legacy.

Meredith, who had remained silent until then, briefly commented:

—Samuel has shown his talent, but it's true that his family heavily influenced his ideas.

Director Bera Callister, observing the reactions, intervened calmly:

—It's a solid piece of work. While it bears the hallmark of his surname, it's clear he's mastered the techniques. It will be interesting to see how he develops his style in the future.

As the discussions continued, Meredith took a deep breath, relieved that Samuel's work had met expectations. Yet, she couldn't shake a slight pang of worry, knowing the short films of other students, including Damian, were still to come.

—Let's move on to the next project, —Bera announced with authority as the screen prepared for the next short film.

—Next up is Celine Marwick.

The name sparked mild interest in the room. Celine was known for her storytelling ability and had demonstrated a remarkable talent for connecting with audiences in previous works. However, the runtime listed alongside the title caught some attention.

—Two minutes? —one of the leaders commented with curiosity, raising an eyebrow. —It's unusual for students to create such a short piece.

—It's a huge challenge, —added Celeste Avelyn. —But if anyone can pull it off, it's Celine.

Meredith remained silent, crossing her arms as the screen lit up. The room dimmed as "Fragments of a Summer", Celine's short film, began.

The story unfolded through a series of quick, carefully chosen images that evoked moments of a happy childhood, contrasted with the present, where the protagonist, now an adult, grappled with loneliness after losing her older brother. Without dialogue, the narrative relied on warm cinematography and a melancholic soundtrack to guide the viewer's emotions.

In just two minutes, the short film captured the fleeting nature of time and human connection, leaving a lump in the throat of those watching.

When the screen dimmed again, the silence was broken by Elden's straightforward comment:

—Impressive. I didn't expect a work like this from a student. There are still some flaws, but with enough experience, she'll be a leader very soon.

—It's an outstanding piece, —Celeste admitted, placing her hands on the table. —While it's not on the level of an expert, it's surprisingly close. It's a testament to her ability to condense emotions in such a short time.

—She exceeded my expectations, —added another leader in film direction. —Samuel delivered a solid project, but this... this takes it a step further in emotional impact.

Celine's next short film, which ran for four minutes, was also presented and received positive feedback, though the initial surprise had diminished slightly. Even so, it was evident that Celine was one of the most promising students of her generation.

The review session continued, moving through the works of other students. Aileen Vernett stood out with her short films, especially for their impeccable musical design. Her original compositions not only enriched the narratives but also demonstrated why she was regarded as one of the greatest musical talents in the academy.

"Aileen has an innate talent for music," commented Nathan, a leader in the music industry. "Her work here confirms that she's not just an excellent performer but also a creator capable of offering something truly unique."

"As expected from my protégé," Celeste added with a proud smile.

Meredith couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as yet another of her students managed to impress the leaders. While Aileen was primarily under Celeste's mentorship, the fact that she was still part of her class made her success all the more rewarding.

The remaining short films varied in quality. Some showed interesting moments, while others revealed a lack of experience or time to refine their ideas. The professors took notes and provided constructive feedback when something stood out, but most of the projects followed a pattern that failed to generate much enthusiasm.

The review order, determined by the project submission dates, had placed the more remarkable works in the middle of the session. Now, as the session neared its conclusion, the room was filled with projects lacking planning, some incomplete or poorly executed. Fatigue began to show on the faces of the participants, and expectations had significantly lowered.

Meredith, however, grew increasingly alert as the names progressed.

"The next short film is by Damian Grant," announced Director Bera Callister with her usual composure.

The name elicited no reaction in the room. Damian was neither a standout student nor someone the leaders or professors immediately recognized. To most, he was just another name on the long list of reviewed projects. However, Meredith straightened in her seat, her eyes sharpening at the mention of his name. She vividly recalled the details of the examination and was curious about this student, hoping at the very least not to be disappointed.

One of the leaders noted the projected runtime on the screen: one minute.

"One minute?" he murmured, raising his eyebrows. "Well, that's unexpected. Few dare to present something so short, especially for an examination."

"It's a risky move," added Celeste Avelyn, leaning forward. "If it's not well executed, it could come off as shallow or rushed. But if it succeeds..."

"At the very least, it's bold," Elden commented, his tone tinged with skepticism masked by professionalism.

"I've never heard of this student. Are you telling me he made a better short film than Celine Marwick?" a professor quipped mockingly.

The director adjusted her posture and announced, "The title is Tuck Me In."

The room fell silent as the holographic projector came to life. The screen displayed a warm but slightly cluttered child's bedroom, illuminated by the soft glow of a nightlight.

The door creaked open, and a man entered, turning off the main light as he softly said, "Goodnight, champ."

"Dad, can you tuck me in?" the boy in the bed asked, his innocent voice echoing in the room.

The father smiled tenderly, turned on the nightlight, approached his son, and carefully tucked him in.

"Goodnight, son." He gave the boy a gentle pat on the shoulder and began to head for the door.

"Dad," the boy called out before he crossed the threshold. "You forgot to check under the bed."

The man paused, nodded patiently, and bent down to look under the bed. The camera shifted perspective, revealing what he saw: the same boy, identical in every detail, staring back at him with eyes full of fear.

"Dad, there's someone in my bed," the boy beneath the bed whispered, his voice trembling.

The music shifted subtly, the atmosphere turning eerie.

The father's gaze slowly lifted toward the bed, a mix of disbelief and terror etched on his face. The camera cut to the boy on the bed, who now stared directly at him with a vacant and unsettling expression. The screen went dark abruptly.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Even those who had been fatigued were now fully alert.

"That… was unexpected," Elden murmured.

"It's a masterclass in narrative economy," he added, crossing his arms as he continued to process the now-dark screen. "Not a single second was wasted."

"A short film this brief, yet it conveyed so much," Celeste remarked, a slight shiver running through her as she wondered about the talent behind it.

"The execution was flawless. A simple yet effective narrative. The atmosphere, the performances, the child's final expression…" said one of the leaders in cinematography.

"I haven't seen anything like this in a long time, especially not from a student," another leader added, visibly impressed.

One leader, intrigued, turned to Meredith.

"Where did this kid come from? Has he had any special training?"

The professor hesitated for a moment before replying.

"Damian is… an average student. He doesn't particularly stand out, but he's not mediocre either. He's consistent in my class, although…" She paused, trying to articulate her thoughts. "This is something I didn't expect at all."

"It's incredibly rare to see something this well-crafted from a student," Elden said, rubbing his chin. "If you told me a seasoned professional made this, I'd believe it."

Such a bold statement might normally have been dismissed as hyperbole, but this time, everyone in the room nodded in agreement. Not even Celine Marwick's short films had achieved this level of impact.

"And his second short film?" someone asked, now deeply curious.

The room once again fell into an expectant silence, but this time, the attention was sharper than ever.

Director Bera Callister glanced at the title of the next short film projected on the holographic screen. Animated Short Film: Kiwi. Her brow furrowed slightly, intrigued.

—Animated… —he murmured, as if trying to decipher the term—. What an unusual name.

Elden, one of the leading figures in cinema, tilted his head, confused.

—What exactly does "animated" mean? Is it some kind of unknown technical term?

—That term doesn't sound familiar to me, either, —responded Celeste Avelyn—. And… what is a "kiwi"?

—It might just be a word symbolizing the theme of the short film, but I'm not sure, —another industry leader added, frowning uncertainly.

—Let's not jump to conclusions. Let's see what it's about, —Bera interrupted, motioning for the short film to begin.

The room plunged into darkness, a faint hum filling the air as the screen came to life. The title "Kiwi" appeared against a black background, accompanied by a lighthearted and almost goofy melody played on a trombone. The music elicited a few subtle smiles, though no one said a word—the atmosphere was already successfully set.

On the screen, a small figure appeared—a plump bird with a long beak. Its design was simple, cartoonish, and its elastic movements had something... peculiar about them. The creature, with bright, round eyes, pulled a rope with surprising determination. The scene revealed the kiwi standing at the edge of a tall cliff, carefully tying the rope to a tree.

The room was utterly silent. All eyes were fixed on the screen, trying to make sense of what they were watching.

—This isn't live-action… —Elden murmured, almost to himself—. But... why does it feel so right?

The camera shifted, showing the kiwi descending with the rope to another tree, this one growing horizontally out of the cliffside. The bird hammered the tree's base with precision until it was firmly secured. Then, it climbed back up the rope, gathered it neatly, and put on a small cap.

—It's meticulously crafted. The textures don't feel low-quality. Visually, it's intriguing and unique, but this story… what's its purpose? —another cinematic leader quietly asked, whispering toward Celeste.

Celeste Avelyn watched the screen, captivated by the unfamiliar style the short film displayed. In traditional cinema, she understood that certain visual limits were inevitable; absurdity, if not handled carefully, could feel forced or out of place. But this technique, this "animation," seemed to completely disregard such restrictions.

The exaggerated movements, impossible actions, and over-the-top expressions weren't just accepted—they felt natural, as if the medium itself justified them. There was no conflict with visual logic; rather, this new form of storytelling appeared designed to capitalize on what conventional cinema couldn't offer. "It's as if imagination has been completely unleashed," she thought, fascinated.

The kiwi returned to the cliff's edge, took a deep breath, and paused for a moment. The camera shifted perspective, showing the vast abyss before it, veiled in a light mist. With surprising resolve, the bird jumped. The rope slipped from its legs as it fell, and the camera followed it in an ever-accelerating descent.

—Wow… —Meredith whispered, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

The music returned, the same goofy melody from the beginning, but this time played on a xylophone. The change was striking, making the tune more sentimental—an echo of the original melody, transformed into something melancholic. The kiwi stretched out its small wings, barely useless appendages, but it continued to extend them as if trying to fly. The camera slowly rotated, showing how the landscape flipped: the trees on the cliffside now looked like a tiny forest, with the kiwi "flying" through them.

The room was utterly stunned when they finally understood the little kiwi's sacrifice. The bird closed its eyes, a solitary tear falling as the mist enveloped it completely. The screen gradually faded to black, but in the final seconds, a sharp thud shattered the silence, cutting off the music abruptly and leaving everyone motionless, trapped in an overwhelming silence.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, Elden broke the silence with a deep voice.

—Was that…? A first and final flight? —He leaned back in his seat, clearly moved—. It's… devastatingly beautiful.

Celeste crossed her arms, trying to process what she had just witnessed.

—This work… it's not just a completely new style, but it tells a powerful story in just a few minutes. That blend of humor and tragedy… it's something I've never seen before.

—The use of music was impeccable, —another leader added—. The contrast between a simple melody played by two different instruments—my God, what a delicate approach.

Bera Callister observed the room calmly, noting the expressions of awe on everyone's faces. Finally, she spoke.

—This isn't just a short film. It's an entirely new proposal. The style Damian called "animation" could change how we tell visual stories.

A professor at the back, clearly skeptical, raised his hand.

—Excuse me, but… are we certain this work is truly Damian Grant's? —he asked, addressing Meredith—. Couldn't he have taken credit for some recognized artist's work?

Meredith, visibly annoyed, shook her head firmly.

—According to Damian Grant's family background, they're ordinary people. They have no wealth, much less connections with industry leaders. And trust me, no one would be foolish enough to give a revolutionary work like this to a student. This short film is his.

Elden nodded, thinking aloud.

—If this really comes from a student, we're witnessing something incredible. This technique… this style… if developed further, it could change the game entirely.

Director Bera Callister leaned forward, her eyes shining with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

—Then, ladies and gentlemen, Damian Grant hasn't just outperformed his peers—he's introduced a new way of storytelling. We'll need to keep a close eye on him.

The room filled with murmurs of approval. No one could deny that this short film, and this style called "animation," would be etched in their minds as the beginning of something extraordinary.

Bera Callister observed the room in silence, her mind caught in the implications. She knew his talent was extraordinary, a singular brilliance in an ocean of promising students. He had created something entirely revolutionary. But beyond that, his mastery of direction, narrative pacing, the emotional depth of the story, the masterful use of music, and his ability to weave all these elements into perfect harmony was something no one, not even the most seasoned professionals, could ignore.

However, that same overwhelming talent could become his greatest danger. Damian lacked an influential family to shield him. His ordinary background left him vulnerable to envy, underhanded tactics, and exploitation. In a competitive world like this, where revolutionary advances drew eager eyes and grasping hands, it was easy to imagine how others might try to take advantage of him.

Bera rose from her seat, her determined gaze sweeping across the room. The leaders and professors, still reeling from the impact of the short film, looked at her expectantly.

"No information about this project, about Damian Grant's talent, must leave this room," she commanded with a calm authority that allowed no argument. "This includes the new animation style he has just presented to us. For now, he will be recognized as a distinguished student, nothing more. The rest of the world doesn't need to know the details."

The director's words met no resistance. Everyone understood her decision was the wisest course. One by one, the attendees nodded silently, grasping the gravity of the matter.

"Damian will be given the highest score, as his performance deserves. But this will be handled discreetly. He is now under my protection."

Bera sat back down, her thoughts still heavy. Protecting a talent like Damian would require more than concealing his immediate impact. She was well aware that the world would eventually discover his genius. Her only wish was that, by then, the young man would be ready to face it.