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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 86
🕑 Added 2025-04-28 16:40:47 +0000 UTC"Sure enough, it's not that easy," Haruki sighed to himself.
The smooth ride he'd enjoyed in Osaka hadn't made him arrogant enough to think he was invincible. Honestly, the treatment he had received over the past two days was already extremely good.
The editors from the major publishing houses were willing to meet him directly — some even said they could serialize his work in top-tier journals without needing him to go through a serialization meeting. This kind of offer wasn't even guaranteed for veteran manga artists who had been active for years in the competitive world of Tokyo’s manga scene.
Still... Haruki’s standards were higher.
In all of Tokyo, among the Seven Major Publishers' ace journals, there were a little over a hundred serialization slots.
But every one of those slots was fiercely defended by veteran artists — many who had been fighting at the frontlines of the industry for over twenty years.
Compared to them, Haruki was just a newcomer who had won the Aurora Manga Award. It was impressive, but still a little lacking.
"Alright, one last shot," Haruki said, shaking off his frustration and gathering his focus.
Gilded Lock and Chain Veil's fighting-style manga magazines clearly weren't a good match for his new work, so he hadn't even considered them. Red Lantern was out of the question for now too.
Which left only one option among the top players: Echo Shroud Publishing.
If Echo Shroud also rejected him, he would have no choice but to serialize in a non-ace journal.
Inside Echo Shroud's headquarters, in the editor's office—
Haruka Sato was as sharp and composed as ever, dressed professionally in a stylish OL skirt, exuding confidence from the moment she stood up to greet him.
When Haruki entered, she poured him a cup of tea with a smile.
"You really did come," she said warmly.
Haruki blinked, slightly puzzled.
"Of course. I scheduled this meeting with you yesterday, didn’t I?"
Haruka chuckled. "I don’t mean it like that. I'm talking about before that — half a year ago, on the night of the Aurora Manga Award. When I gave you my card, I had a feeling. A feeling that you'd eventually come to Tokyo, that you'd come find me... and that we’d end up working together."
She sipped her tea, meeting his eyes steadily.
"Let me guess — the other companies didn’t exactly meet your expectations? They danced around your request to serialize in their top journals, didn't they?"
Haruki narrowed his eyes slightly.
"How did you know I visited the other companies?"
Haruka smiled knowingly.
"Tokyo is a big city, but the manga industry circle is a small world. Yesterday morning, you were at Silent Parlour. Afternoon, Graveleaf. And today you stopped by Hollow Anthem before coming here. Am I wrong?"
Haruki felt a ripple of surprise, though he kept his expression neutral.
"After all," Haruka continued lightly, "this year's Award winner — Mizushiro, the creator of Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance — coming to Tokyo with a brand new series... that's big news. Word travels fast. Especially since your new work seems to shift away from your previous combat-heavy style into the romance and slice-of-life genre. A lot of people are curious, and frankly... some are skeptical."
Haruki wasn’t particularly interested in the gossip. He knew perfectly well that some people in Tokyo’s manga world would love to see him stumble — especially certain veterans from his home region, who still resented how he'd claimed Awards.
But he had no time to waste on that nonsense. Once his new work was serialized and proved itself, those voices would fade on their own.
"So," Haruki said, cutting to the point. "Does this mean you’re willing to serialize my new work in Echo Shroud flagship magazine, Shroud Line?"
Haruka raised an eyebrow and smiled.
"No..."
Haruki frowned slightly.
"I didn’t say yes," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But unlike the other companies that gave you vague refusals, your request with us... it’s not off the table."
"But first," she added, holding out her hand, "let me see the work itself."
Haruki realized he had been talking for a while without even presenting his manuscript.
Apologetically, he handed it over.
Haruka accepted it with both hands, her demeanor turning completely serious.
She read through six chapters carefully, taking nearly half an hour.
When she finally set the pages down, she closed her eyes for a long moment before speaking.
"Honestly... this story feels fresh," she said, tapping the cover of Natsume’s Book of Friends.
"It’s not explosive, but it leaves a faint, lingering impression. Subtle... but powerful in its own way."
She opened her eyes.
"This is an episodic series, right?"
"Yes," Haruki nodded. "Most story arcs will wrap up within four chapters."
"And how long are you estimating the full series to run?"
"Probably around fifty to sixty chapters," Haruki answered.
The truth was, Natsume's Book of Friends wasn’t even finished in his system archive yet — it was still updating. But he figured that estimate would sound reasonable.
Since Natsume's Friends Account was structured as a series of stand-alone stories, the overall narrative stayed simple, allowing Haruki to break up the stronger emotional arcs and serialize them for maximum impact. That, in turn, would help him quickly build a strong reputation in Tokyo.
"I see," Haruka Sato nodded thoughtfully.
"And what about the consistency?" she continued, her gaze locking onto Haruki’s eyes. "Can you guarantee the quality won't drop after the first few chapters?"
Haruka had her own way of sizing people up. She didn’t need a long explanation. From a creator’s tone and conviction, she could often tell whether their ideas were fleeting inspiration or something they could sustain long-term.
After all, it wasn’t uncommon for a manga to start strong, only to lose its spark halfway through. Talent alone wasn’t enough—the follow-through mattered even more.
Haruki didn’t hesitate.
"I can guarantee that the quality will only get better from here."
There was an unmistakable confidence in his voice.
Haruka’s eyes briefly lit up with appreciation. Good. Without confidence in your own work, you’d have no business drawing manga in the first place.
"Alright," she said with a nod. "That’s what I needed to hear."
She paused for a moment, then looked back up at him.
"As it happens, three slots will be opening up in Shroud Line in two weeks. I can recommend your work at the next serialization meeting."
"Three slots?" Haruki blinked, surprised. "That many at once?"
Cutting three series at the same time seemed extreme. Shroud Line was a major magazine—would readers really accept that much turnover at once?
Haruka smiled faintly, as if expecting his reaction.
"I told you before—Echo Shroud runs things differently. You thought I was exaggerating?"
She leaned back slightly, explaining, "We divide our magazines into three tiers based on influence. Every three months, we evaluate the ongoing series. The bottom three, based on reader surveys and sales, get cut. No exceptions. Either they get axed, or they’re demoted to a lower-tier magazine."
"That opens up space. One slot usually gets filled by promoting a popular series from a lower tier. The other two go to new serialization pitches at the meeting."
"That's how Airi’s Shadow Sting shot up so fast. It went from a third-tier magazine straight into Shroud Line."
Haruka’s voice stayed calm, but her meaning was clear:
This is the fastest path to fame... if you're strong enough to survive.
"Of course," she added, "it’s also the fastest way for veteran artists to crash. Bottom three for one quarter... and it’s over."
Haruki quietly took it all in. It was ruthless—but fair.
"And because of this system," Haruka continued, "our contracts are different, too. We sign for each individual work, not the artist."
Haruki frowned slightly. "Only the work? Not the person?"
It was the first time he had encountered something like this.
