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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 282
🕑 Added 2025-08-28 20:40:38 +0000 UTCHaruki glanced around the table.
“This project is going to run for over fifty episodes,” he said firmly. “I don’t want production to drag on for years. What do you think about releasing two episodes per week?”
The room fell quiet. Everyone exchanged uneasy looks, unsure how to respond.
Kazuya finally broke the silence. “Haruki… that’s not realistic. There are too many hurdles. The strain on staff, scheduling, post-production—it could collapse the whole production if we double the pace.” A few others nodded, voicing agreement. The industry standard was one episode a week for a reason.
Haruki leaned back in his chair, watching them. He could tell the hesitation wasn’t just about logistics. It was habit. People clung to norms because they were safe.
“Alright,” he said at last, “then let’s do it properly. Lay out every problem on the table, and we’ll tackle them one by one. But know this: I want us to release two episodes a week. Remember why we named the studio Evermark Productions when we made 5cm/s? It wasn’t to follow the rules. It was to prove we could create something new.” His tone sharpened. “And don’t worry about running out of content to produce. I’ll always have new stories ready. So, what else is holding us back, aside from fear of breaking precedent?”
The conviction in his voice cut through the hesitation. He had seen enough production firsthand with 5cm/s and Madoka Magica to know the basic hurdles they would be facing. Still, the team remained fixed on convention. If he wanted to push them into uncharted territory, he would need to dismantle each objection.
If he wanted to unlock the friction of work from the system, he would have to break industry rules.
Kazuya spoke again, more measured this time. “It’s not about running out of ideas. I trust you there. But the scale alone is an issue. With Code Geass already set for a June release, the schedule is tight. Doubling output means doubling manpower. That’s more animators, more supervisors, more coordinators. It’s not just my workload. It’s like running two shows in parallel. I can’t manage all of that alone. We’d need at least one more senior supervisor. If we were making anime with a normal budget and normal animation, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem. But as you said, you want this anime to feel fresh even after thirty years.”
Haruki nodded. “Then let’s promote from within. We’ve got promising talent. Let one of them step up. And I’ll take on more responsibility myself. I’m considering taking a leave from school under the banner of an ‘internship’ so I can focus fully on this. I may not have all the experience yet, but between me and the promoted lead, you won’t be alone, Kazuya.”
Shiori, the production manager, had been scribbling rough figures on her notepad. She looked up, face tight. “If we push at that scale, the cost jumps by at least two hundred million yen.”
Before anyone could flinch, Haruki cut in. “Evermark exists to make work that lasts, not to chase profits. If we walk away with three hundred million instead of five, fine. I’m not here for margins. I’m here to make history.”
The room stirred. Even skeptics found themselves drawn in by his conviction.
Haruki looked up. “Any other questions? I’ve also decided that we’ll begin working on the entire series with a three-month break between Season 1 and Season 2. We don’t need to wait for the market reaction to the first season because I have complete faith in this work. That three-month window will extend into next year, allowing Season 2 to qualify for the year’s awards as well.”
He let his words hang. “Don’t worry about industry norms. After Code Geass, we will be the ones writing the rules. Just as anime reached new heights in the ’80s and ’90s, we’ll take it even higher. Not just animation. Storytelling, worldbuilding, the whole medium. That’s our goal.”
By the time he finished, the tension in the room had shifted. What began as skepticism was now restless energy. After further discussion of logistics, the team agreed to explore the two-episode schedule, though they all knew it had to stay under wraps until the teaser release.
As everyone left, Kazuya and Haruki remained in the meeting room.
“That was quite a speech,” Kazuya said with a faint smile. “It seems you’ve decided to throw yourself directly into production.”
Haruki nodded. “I want to build as much experience as I can before graduation. My first directing project will come after that. And I already know what story I want to direct.”
Kazuya tilted his head. “Already? Care to share what it is?”
Haruki replied, “Don’t worry. Even if I start directing anime, my main job will still be mangaka, so I’ll continue giving you the best work to adapt.”
As they talked, investment came up again, though this time it wasn’t much. Haruki was throwing out numbers Kazuya couldn’t keep up with. He knew those figures would only climb from here. When he had agreed to co-found the studio with Haruki, Haruki held a 90% share, since they had started with Haruki’s manga income. They didn’t need outside investors. That meant they could focus purely on the creative process without reporting to anyone.
With income from 5cm and now Madoka Magica, Kazuya didn’t have to worry about money anymore. That had been his first goal—to become independent and work on what he truly liked. But when he read Code Geass, it reignited his own spirit from when he first entered the industry. Now, more than ever, he wanted to make a mark in the anime world.
If Haruki and he worked together, Kazuya knew he’d have his place. This time, he didn’t push too hard in negotiations, having decided to invest 10% and take a 5% director’s share.
By the time Haruki stepped out of the office, the sky had already darkened. He pulled a mask over his face and tugged a cap low over his head. It wasn’t much of a disguise, just enough to let him disappear into the crowd without drawing attention.
Sunday arrived.
Madoka Magica was leading the season, already two hundred thousand views ahead of Into the Abyss. But numbers were only half the story.
For Haruki, the most unforgettable moment wasn’t the grand finale. It wasn’t even Madoka’s transformation. The episode that struck him hardest was Episode Eight—Sayaka’s heartbreak, her descent into despair. Yet the one that stayed with him, the one that refused to leave his mind, was Episode Nine.
Kyoko’s last stand.
Red and blue. Fire and ice. Bitterness and hope colliding in a doomed friendship.
That tragedy resonated with him more deeply than Madoka’s eventual ascent to divinity. It wasn’t about miracles. It was about sacrifice, about clinging to meaning even as the world closed in.
Critics had already said it. If Madoka was going to claim the crown this season, it needed moments that could burn themselves into memory.
And Haruki knew this was only the beginning.
The last four episodes weren’t just strong. They were devastating.
Tonight, with Episode 9, Madoka Magica would stop whispering to the audience. Tonight, it would make the gods listen.
