The reason Voices of a Distant Star wasn't widely recognized was mainly because it was one of Makoto Shinkai's earliest works—and honestly, the art style was pretty rough.
In the parallel world, Shinkai was regarded as a wizard of the animation industry.
Born into a family of architects who also ran a real estate business, he had a comfortable upbringing. But instead of joining the family trade, he majored in Japanese literature and eventually landed a job at a video game company. Voices of a Distant Star was a project he created during that time.
He did nearly everything himself—writing the script, directing, animating, painting backgrounds, handling production, and even voicing the male lead. It took him about seven months to complete the film almost entirely on his own.
It wasn't just a personal passion project, either. When released, it made waves in the Japanese anime community and won multiple awards, quickly marking Shinkai as a rising star in the industry.
Its only drawback? The dated visuals. Had it featured the polished art of 5 Centimeters per Second, it might have become the defining work of his career.
Speaking of which, 5 Centimeters per Second became a landmark in the "emotional gut-punch" genre. Despite its gentle visuals and soothing atmosphere, it's infamous for leaving viewers heartbroken.
Still, Voices of a Distant Star wasn't far behind—classic Shinkai through and through.
So when Haruki received both from the system, he wasn't sure whether to thank it for the gift or curse it for the cruelty.
After all, Rurouni Kenshin and Anohana had already earned him a reputation as a master of emotional devastation—dubbed the "Queen Slayer" and the "Tearjerker King" by fans. Adding these two to the mix would only cement that label.
To make things worse, according to the system's info, 5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star weren't long-form works. They were more like one-hour films—similar in length to The Garden of Words. That meant Echo Shroud Publishing wouldn't even consider serializing them in Shroud Line.
Short works might be high quality, but commercially, they didn't fit. Serialization slots were business investments, not charity.
Haruki sighed.
What a waste.
It felt like he'd been scammed.
That precious A-rank lottery ticket was gone—and all he'd gotten were two short, albeit beautiful, films.
Apparently, the system's ranking favored length heavily. A tightly written story scoring 90 in quality might still only get a B grade if it wasn't long enough, while a decent series stretching hundreds of chapters could snag an A.
So this time, the system had bundled two high-quality shorts to justify burning one of his rare A-rank draws.
Haruki's stomach twisted.
But the system was in control—what could he do? As the saying went, "Fate doesn't ask for your opinion. It just hands you what you get."
"…System, use another A-rank lottery. Let's do this."
"Confirm usage?"
"Yes."
The cursor blinked again.
Haruki held his breath. Please, no more short films. If this next one was another movie or film-manga, he might lose it.
He needed something medium-length at least—something fit for serialization.
A few minutes later, the cursor stopped—and his heart raced at the result:
Initial D.
Even before diving into the content, Haruki knew enough about parallel world manga history to recognize it instantly.
A legendary street-racing manga, filled with iconic moments and in-jokes that had long since leaked beyond fan circles.
Akina "The road is my stage.", "You can't beat me on this mountain!" And of course, the tofu shop prodigy himself—Takumi Fujiwara.
Haruki had always been curious about the series, but never had a chance to experience it firsthand—until now.
Following protocol, he dove into the material for review.
Three hours later…
Haruki leaned back, drained from the system's immersive playback—but exhilarated.
It was good. Really good.
Even the early chapters had him hooked: intense mountain pass races between Takumi and other elite drivers.
Takumi—deadpan, sharp, ridiculously calm under pressure. A high schooler working part-time at a tofu shop by day, and crushing veteran racers by night.
It was thrilling and cool—a perfect blend of speed, skill, and raw attitude.
The only downside? The romance subplot.
The emotional drama—especially Takumi's—left Haruki irritated.
His quiet crush was tangled in a shady sugar daddy setup, and it made him want to throw something. Wasn't anime supposed to be beautiful escapism? Why did it feel like Takumi was the one being betrayed?
Eventually, Haruki coped by reframing it—imagining Takumi as the third party, not the one getting played. It helped… a little.
No wonder Initial D birthed the infamous line:
"Drivers don't need women."
As for 5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star, Haruki ended up watching the original animated films instead of just reviewing the manga adaptations the system provided.
His reaction?
Screw your "healing."
His chest tightened.
Anohana had left audiences mourning lost youth and innocent love, but it ended with catharsis—tears, yes, but also warmth and closure.
5 Centimeters per Second, though?
It lulled you in with dreamlike visuals and a haunting score, then hit you with a gut punch—a stark, quiet truth: Even the deepest love can fade with time. That final moment—two figures passing each other at a train crossing, a fleeting glance, and then nothing—shattered any hope of reunion.
If 5 Centimeters per Second was about love dissolving under time's weight, Voices of a Distant Star was about the cruelty of distance.
A fifteen-year-old girl sent off with a space fleet to battle aliens beyond the solar system. A boy left behind on Earth.
Eight light-years apart.
It took eight years for her messages to reach him. He waited. She never forgot him.
Even when her ship was destroyed and she drifted alone into the depths of space, her final thought was of him.
That iconic line echoed in Haruki's mind:
"We are like lovers, separated by the Earth and the stars…"
Even after eight years with no contact, he still searched the stars for her. And even on the edge of death, she clung to that connection.
At the same moment—her in the endless void, him on Earth—both whispered the same thought:
"…I'm here."
Haruki nearly cried.
Then a quiet peace settled over him.
Two works—one testing love against time, the other against space.
Both brutal. Both unforgettable.
But now came the hard part…
How was he supposed to handle these two?
Both tore something open. Yet both offered fragile comfort.
And now, he had to figure out how to release them.
Haruki had originally thought he'd just skip over lottery titles if they didn't suit the magazine. He could afford to wait.
But these two? They were different.
Neither 5 Centimeters per Second nor Voices of a Distant Star fit echo shroud well. Pacing, themes, format—it would be a stretch. But shelving them? Unthinkable.
These weren't stories to bury. They were stories to share—stories that healed both creator and reader.
Haruki leaned back, eyes closed, the voices of those two quiet masterpieces echoing in his mind.
He had to find a way.
[TL: How'd you feel about the manga choices? Drop a comment, I'm curious!😊]
(TL:- if you want even more content, check out p-atreon.com/Alioth23 for 50+ advanced chapters)