Credits are treated as leftover time. That is fair when the names are a scroll nobody in the room can read from the sofa. It is less fair when a mid-credit sting is the only joke the title had left.
In a Bangsar sitting the household stood up at the first card, kettle on, conversation already on tomorrow’s school run. Autoplay began. Nobody sat down. The next morning they were “behind” on an episode they had not watched. They chose a sitcom instead.
In a different home the daughter stayed for a mid-credit scene she had heard about at school. The parents left. The log had to split the room. A single completion number would have called that a success. It was a success for her and a walk-out for them.
If you shorten a hold, say what you are shortening toward. A clearer next-episode face. A “stop here for tonight” line. Silence. Each choice meets a different Malaysian hour. We will mark which one the room took. We will not tell you that credits are dead. We will tell you whether yours were looked at, and by whom.