Ravi thought of the people behind that work: strangers who never asked for credit, who sent patches and translation notes anonymously, who argued over the ethics of frame interpolation and audio leveling until someone finally compiled a version that sang. He pictured a small group in a cramped apartment, much like his, holding a watch party across time zones, their laughter sending ripples across forums and message boards. In that picture, he saw himself as a child, reaching for his father’s hand, and as an adult, reaching back.