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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 198
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 19:04:53 +0000 UTCEven though Rinako had braced herself, she hadn’t expected Voices of a Distant Star to hit quite this hard.
She’d suspected it might be another melancholic piece anything from Mizushiro usually carried emotional weight but expecting it didn’t make it easier to process.
After finishing the short, that same hollow ache from 5 Centimeters per Second crept in again.
But as she sat with the feelings it left her, she realized the two works were fundamentally different.
5 Centimeters per Second told the story of Takaki and Akari two people who drifted apart not because of distance, but because of time. They exchanged letters, tried to hold on, but little by little, life pulled them in separate directions. Years later, they passed each other on the street as strangers.
But in Voices of a Distant Star, Mikako and Noboru were separated by actual light years. Texts took months, then years, to arrive. At one point, Noboru went a whole year without hearing from her—but when he finally got a message again, learning she was heading even farther into deep space, he didn’t give up. He joined the defense forces, trained, waited. Even after eight years of silence, he checked his phone every day, hoping.
Both stories explored the pain of separation but one showed people giving up, and the other, people holding on.
In 5 Centimeters, the heartache came from knowing they could’ve had a second chance, but didn’t take it.
In Voices, the ache came from how hard they tried despite the impossible odds.
By the end, when Mikako's mecha floated powerless in deep space, and Noboru finally received a message from her eight years late Rinako couldn't stop herself from tearing up.
“Hello, twenty-four-year-old Noboru. I’m fifteen-year-old Mikako…”
The final moments, with their overlapping inner monologues and memories rainy afternoons, shared drinks from the convenience store, summer clouds—were devastating.
Despite the vastness between them, their feelings hadn't faded.
Even without a concrete ending, Rinako knew. This wasn’t about resolution. It was about connection—fragile, enduring, and achingly human.
Online, the reactions mirrored hers.
Under Mizushiro’s latest post, fans filled the comments with bittersweet reflections, dark humor, and reluctant praise.
“I thought I was watching sci-fi. Turns out I signed up for emotional damage. Again.”
“Two nights in a row! First 5 Centimeters, now this? Mizushiro is out here ruining everyone’s sleep schedule.”
“I swear, next time he says something is ‘just as moving,’ I’m running the other way.”
Others tagged friends, recommending Voices of a Distant Star the same way they had the previous work.
“It’s only 25 minutes. Watch it. Cry with me.”
“Hurts so good. Spread the pain.”
There were even debates about Mizushiro’s other works.
“Isn’t Natsume supposed to be a healing series? Or Initial D? I’m scared now. Too peaceful = foreshadowing.”
“Takumi and Natsume are too happy. He’s going to hit us with something later, I know it.”
As always, Mizushiro’s fanbase didn’t really blame him. They’d been through this before. At this point, the cycle was familiar watch, cry, complain, recommend.
By morning, Voices of a Distant Star was the new trending topic across anime platforms and social media.
Its momentum was nearly equal to that of 5 Centimeters per Second just a day earlier.
At animation studios across the country, meetings were quickly called.
No one quite understood how these short, emotionally restrained dramas were outperforming shows with much higher budgets and longer run times.
Was it just Mizushiro’s style? Or had audience tastes really shifted?
Some executives nervously proposed altering their own shows.
“Maybe we rewrite the ending. Kill a main character. Add tragedy. Make it hurt.”
The idea spread quickly through smaller studios—but those who acted on impulse learned the hard way: tragedy without depth didn’t resonate. The endings felt forced. Viewership dipped. Merchandise stopped selling.
As for Mizushiro, his reputation kept growing.
A successful manga artist, now also recognized as a top-tier screenwriter and creative producer an emerging force reshaping the industry.
And all with two short films.
---
Evening, January 18
The first-day viewership data for Voices of a Distant Star had been compiled.
Despite having no official promotion, the anime logged 2.9 million views on its debut day—hundreds of thousands more than Frozen Witch did on its own launch.
The industry was stunned.
No one had expected a quietly released title from a small animation team to outperform major studio productions.
By January 19, the second day, Voices of a Distant Star had reached 4.6 million views. Meanwhile, 5 Centimeters per Second had surpassed 15 million total views.
On wide anime ranking, 5 Centimeters per Second held the top spot with an episode average of 5.2 million views. Voices of a Distant Star followed closely behind with 4.6 million per episode. Frozen Witch, once a front-runner, had slipped to third with 3.4 million.
Haruki was already thinking ahead. The system’s spring anime evaluation wouldn’t complete until April at the earliest. Depending on its timeline, rewards might be distributed by May. But the system wasn’t rigid if it determined there was no major competition, it had shown it could issue rewards early, just like it had with The Anohana.
Haruki didn’t expect the system to walk back a reward even if something unexpected did happen. From what he’d seen, the rules were flexible. The system existed for one purpose: to keep him working. Not too comfortable. Not too lazy.
If he ever just coasted only producing when he needed cash the system would push back. But as long as he kept moving forward, it would respond in kind.
So he wasn’t too worried. The spring crown would belong to either 5 Centimeters or Voices of a Distant Star. That much was clear. The reward would come in time.
And in the meantime, he got back to work.
Elsewhere: New Developments in Initial D
The latest chapter had just dropped.
Iketani, after a chance encounter, had fallen for the stunning Mako Sato who turned out to be the fastest driver on Akagi Road.
In the new story, Mako made a bold offer: if Iketani could convince Takumi to race her on her home turf... she’d agree to date him.
The update sent Initial D fans into a frenzy. Older readers, in particular, flooded the forums with wolf howls.
"Mizushiro sensei finally gets it!" they cheered. "This is the content we live for!"
Even Takeuchi, who once crashed during a reckless date and bitterly declared “A driver doesn’t need a woman!” was mocked relentlessly.
“To drive without a girl? What’s the point?” fans laughed. “That’s half the thrill gone!”
Others raised concerns about Takumi’s ambiguous dynamic with Natsuki, hinting that even he might end up in emotional wreckage. But for now, all eyes were on Iketani’s budding romance with Mako.
Haruki, reading the online reactions, could only sigh.
After all, he knew what fans didn’t:
There was no romantic subplot.
Only Mako Sato’s flawless 720-degree cornering technique… and her declaration that drivers don’t need men either.
When the next chapter dropped and the real theme of Initial D hit the brutal, lonely pursuit of skill over sentiment those fans hoping for fluff would be in for a rude awakening.
But that, Haruki thought, was just part of the ride.
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