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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-04-17 06:44:56 +0000 UTCThat night, in a bar.
"Yes, Father. Things are going well for me here..."
"I understand that my background isn't particularly impressive, and I can see why you didn't want me joining a smaller company like Kurokawa to gain experience. But didn't you always say that real growth comes from experience, not just a title?"
"I've been here for over six months, and I'm managing three active series. All of them consistently rank in the top ten in our internal surveys. I think that should prove I'm doing something right..."
"What? You want me to stay another year?"
"No, Father... I want to come back to Tokyo. I—"
Beep.
The call ended abruptly, and Rika Hayashi's face tightened with frustration.
"Is something wrong, Hayashi-san?" A colleague asked, noticing his change in expression.
"It's nothing," Rika muttered, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Just a call from home."
The group of editors at the table returned to their casual chatter.
"By the way," one of them said, "Did you hear? The chief approved that new series from the newcomer... the one Aizawa-san's handling."
"Oh, I heard about that. Aizawa-san really fought for it, didn't she? I thought for sure it was going to get rejected in the pitch meeting."
"Yeah, me too. But I heard it got moved to the Inkbolt Series after some internal pushback. I'm surprised the chief made room for it so quickly."
"Well, after The Voice of the Tree wrapped up, Aizawa hasn't had much to work on, right?"
The conversation became more tense as it danced around the unspoken friction in the room. It was no secret that Sora Aizawa had been having a rough time lately. Several of her proposals had been rejected, though no one would directly acknowledge that politics might be at play.
Aizawa had made few friends among the senior editors, and there were quiet rumors—whispers, really—about one editor in particular who seemed to have a personal issue with her.
But no one spoke openly about it. That was just how the industry worked. As long as no formal lines were crossed, you endured. You kept showing up.
And Sora Aizawa had done just that. Even when her projects were shifted to lesser-known journals or quietly rejected, she kept trying.
She wasn't asking for sympathy. What she wanted was results.
---
Meanwhile, Haruki had no idea what was going on inside Kurokawa's editorial department.
He got up early Monday morning, went through his usual routine, and grabbed his school bag out of habit—even though he didn't actually plan on going.
It had been just over a week since he signed the contract with Kurokawa Publishing. According to Sora's messages, The Garden of Words would officially begin serialization this Wednesday in the Inkbolt Series, replacing a title that had just concluded.
His advance payment had already arrived: over 9,000 yen for the debut chapter, which had ended up running more than 40 pages.
That had kept him smiling for most of Sunday.
Losing his parents young had left Haruki with no one to lean on—but also, no one to argue with when he made unconventional choices. The house was paid off, but the inheritance wasn't much. He could manage through high school, but after that? University would've meant loans, part-time jobs, endless stress.
So the sudden deposit in his bank account felt massive.
With some of it, he finally replaced his ancient PC—one that took nearly three minutes to boot up—with a newer model. It cost over 50,000 yen, but it was worth every yen. That new screen alone made drawing feel like a dream.
…Even if he had spent half the night gaming on it. As a result, he looked a bit rough that morning—dark circles under his eyes and a dazed stare.
He still went through the motions and showed up at school for the morning assembly.
As usual, over three thousand students stood in tight formation, facing the flagpole.
"Hey, look at her…"
"She's seriously beautiful."
"If my girlfriend looked like that—"
"Keep dreaming, man."
Haruki could already guess who they were whispering about. He glanced up and saw her standing a few rows ahead—perfect posture, blue school uniform crisp and immaculate.
Kotone Shirasaka.
Top of the class, student council president, and unofficial queen of their school. She wasn't just smart and capable—she had that kind of calm, distant aura that made her feel untouchable.
Next to her in popularity was probably Eiri Minase, the class rep from Haruki's homeroom. But that was a different kind of charm altogether.
Still, Haruki wasn't particularly interested in either. He just thought it was funny how half the boys around him acted like they were watching an anime heroine in real life.
He chuckled softly and shook his head.
What's the big deal? They're just normal girls. Real people with flaws. Not some perfect, ageless 2D wife.
Haruki shook his head, trying to push the thought away.
The familiar music from the ceremony played on, filling the air with a sense of routine.
But soon after, a thud echoed from beside him.
Dozens of curious eyes turned toward the sound, and there, they saw a figure crumple to the ground.
A fair and beautiful face appeared, her lips pale, and a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She struggled to get up but her legs seemed too weak to support her, and she collapsed back onto the ground.
—What just happened?
—Why did she fall?
The murmurs spread through the crowd, confusion written on their faces.
Kotone , the girl who was usually so distant and cold, someone who rarely spoke a word in class, now lying there, struggling to stand.
Nobody had seen her like this before.
A few students glanced at each other, wondering if they should help, but the flag-raising ceremony was still ongoing, and any disruption might cost their class points. Besides, there were always rumors about Kotone's indifference, so most people just hesitated, unsure of what to do.
"Is she... alright?" Haruki muttered under his breath, looking at her pale face.
His eyes scanned the crowd, and it became clear that nobody was rushing to assist her. Despite not wanting to get involved, he gritted his teeth, walked over, and crouched beside her.
"Are you... feeling dizzy?" he asked softly.
Kotone lifted her head to meet his gaze. It took a moment for her to give a faint, weak reply.
"Yes..."
"Can you stand up?" Haruki asked, his voice quiet but concerned.
She didn't respond right away, her expression still pained. Haruki looked around again, but nobody seemed willing to help.
"Hey," Haruki said, turning to a nearby boy, "Can you help her to the infirmary?"
The boy, distracted by the loud flag-raising music, looked back at him with a confused expression, not quite hearing what he said.
"Forget it," Haruki muttered, not wasting any more time on him. He turned back to Kotone, took a deep breath, and gently slipped his arm under hers, bending down slightly.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, before lifting her carefully.
Kotone seemed to understand his intentions just as he moved. She instinctively raised her arm, as if to stop him, but when she met his eyes, she hesitated. There was no malice there, no hidden agenda—just concern. She paused for a moment before nodding slightly, allowing him to help.
With a firm grip, Haruki lifted her, his focus solely on getting her to the infirmary quickly. He ran as fast as he could, careful not to cause her any more discomfort.
