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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 130
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 17:43:40 +0000 UTCKazanami Animation Studio.
Kazuya, sat in his office listening as his team reported on the latest developments.
It had been two days since the broadcast of Anohana’s eleventh and final episode.
In that short time, the internet hadn’t stopped buzzing. Discussion threads about Anohana were still dominating anime forums and fan spaces.
Kazuya had anticipated a reaction—after all, the emotional weight of the final episode was considerable—but he hadn’t expected this level of intensity.
In the past 48 hours, Kazanami had received hundreds of letters from fans. Nearly all of them demanded the same thing: “Bring Meiko back!” “Change the ending!” “Please make a second season!”
But for Kazuya and the studio, while such fan passion was appreciated, it wasn’t going to change anything.
The ending was final.
And as for a second season...
The surge in viewership following the finale had taken everyone by surprise. The emotional impact of the last episode had driven countless fans to share the show online, spreading it through word-of-mouth faster than any ad campaign could.
In a way, the series had been reborn—despite already being completed.
Viewership numbers had exploded. In just two days, Anohana had gained over 38 million total plays.
And the momentum wasn’t slowing down.
A ripple effect had started. Viewers who were wrecked by the finale felt compelled to drag their friends into the emotional abyss too. They evangelized it, and the cycle repeated—each new wave of viewers becoming the next round of promoters.
As a result, Anohana had already surged to second place in viewership among all anime that aired in February.
That particular statistic shocked the production team of Oathbound, which had held the top spot all month. Just a few days ago, they'd been laughing off Anohana as a quiet little show with minimal marketing. They had even mocked Kazuya for what they saw as a waste of promotional budget.
But now, those same people were staring at their analytics in disbelief.
Previously, Anohana was considered a modest success—decent ratings, strong storytelling, but nothing spectacular.
Now? It was a phenomenon.
Even Oathbound, the darling of February’s anime season, was feeling the heat. At this rate, Anohana overtaking it wasn’t just possible—it was looking probable.
Meanwhile, at Haruki’s apartment, Haruka had dropped by—not just to collect this week’s manga manuscripts, but also to deliver a stack of fan letters addressed to him at Echo Shroud.
Haruki flipped through a few of them at random.
As expected...
Very few letters mentioned Natsume. Almost all of them were about Anohana, and almost all were emotionally charged. Fans poured out their feelings and begged for a different ending.
Haruki skimmed them quietly, then set the letters aside.
Change the ending? How could he?
As for a second season... it wasn’t just the fans who wanted it. He wanted to see it too.
But there was nothing more in the system archive.
“You’ve really become a hot topic in Tokyo these past few days,” Haruka said with a small smile. “A bunch of my industry contacts were asking me if the writer behind Anohana is actually you.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Haruki muttered. “I got dragged through the mud by the media not too long ago. Anyone who does a basic search can figure it out.”
“Well, that same media has conveniently forgotten all the stuff they said about you,” Haruka replied. “Now they’re all singing praises. Even within the anime industry, the reception has been overwhelmingly positive. People are calling Anohana a landmark in emotional storytelling—saying it might even be a contender for Anime of the Year.”
“It’s only May,” Haruki said, shaking his head. “Bit early for that kind of talk.”
Haruka didn’t press further, but she nodded. The media loved chasing whatever was trending, and right now that was Anohana. But when the awards rolled around, everything would depend on deeper discussions, not just hype.
“Still,” she added, “you’re building quite a reputation with your fans.”
Haruki looked wary. “What kind of reputation?”
Haruka smirked. “Oh, you know... 'the king of tragic endings.' 'The master of heartbreak.' 'The guy who kills off heroines like it’s a hobby.' That kind of thing.”
“What the hell...” Haruki groaned.
“It’s not new,” she shrugged. “Back when you released the Rurouni Kenshin, fans had a similar meltdown. They even wrote letters protesting the ending. You’re just repeating history at a larger scale.”
She paused, thoughtful. “You’re lucky Natsume doesn’t have a central heroine, or I think fans would be panicking over who’s going to die next.”
“Will this hurt my career?” he asked.
“Quite the opposite,” Haruka said.
“Because of Anohana’s ending, more people are digging into your past work. They’re discovering your pen name—Mizushiro—and realizing you're also the mind behind Rurouni Kenshin. There’s even been a spike in demand for old issues of that series.”
“In fact, second-hand copies of Rurouni Kenshin are selling at nearly triple the original price.”
“So congratulations, Haruki. You might be breaking hearts, but you’re also breaking sales records.”
“I’ll say it again—I’m not some tragic drama specialist!” Haruki groaned.
“And Anohana isn’t even a tragedy! Meiko moved on and reincarnated... that’s the best possible ending for her!”
Haruka just shrugged. “You’re explaining it to the wrong person.”
“It’s not about what I think. The readers have made up their minds—they think you are some heartless villain. That’s what matters.”
“Still, besides the angry ones, a bunch of new anime fans are checking out your older work.”
“Yeah, I get Rurouni Kenshin. But what about Natsume? Something happen?”
“You haven’t checked the new popularity rankings?” she asked.
Haruki blinked. “Not yet?”
He hadn’t paid much attention lately.
Votes for Natsume typically hovered around 500,000—solid, holding fourth place.
But third-ranked Dragon Soul was still far ahead.
The top three series in Shroud Line were pulling in over a million votes per issue.
The gap was massive.
“You’re not about to tell me Natsume jumped to third, are you?” he asked, doubtful.
Haruka snorted. “Hardly.”
“But the gap’s closing,” she said.
“Natsume pulled in another 200,000 votes this week—it’s sitting at 850,000 now. Dragon Soul’s at 1.05 million. You’re within reach.”
“Wait, seriously?” Haruki raised an eyebrow.
Haruka nodded. “All that blowback from Anohana got people curious. They started checking out your other work. Now it’s just a question of whether they stick around.”
“Still fourth place, though…” he muttered.
“Sure, but your fanbase is growing fast. That doesn’t make you a little happy?”
“...Of course it does,” Haruki replied, though his tone was more restrained than cheerful.
In truth, he wanted more than just growth.
If Natsume reached the number one spot in the rankings, he’d unlock an S-rank system draw.
Haruka gave him a sideways glance. “You’re a strange one.”
“Anyway, one more thing.” Her tone shifted.
“You know Ashes of Tomorrow, right? That long-running series that’s basically defined Shroud Line for years?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, according to the company, it’s ending in a few weeks.”
“What?” Haruki sat up, surprised.
Ashes of Tomorrow was a flagship title.
It had sold over a hundred million volumes nationwide and ran for seven years.
There had been rumors it was winding down, but most assumed they’d stretch it a bit longer to milk the final arc.
“Apparently, the creator—Jin Takami—has a new idea he thinks can top Ashes of Tomorrow. He’s set on ending it now, and the editorial team’s backing him.”
“And what’s that got to do with me?” Haruki asked.
Haruka gave him a knowing look. “You still don’t get it?”
“You told me before you were thinking of starting a second series. Once Ashes of Tomorrow ends, the magazine’s going to have four open slots. If you submit something strong, they’ll probably greenlight it—even if you’re already serializing.”
“And if you time it right,” she continued, “fans who were just reading Ashes of Tomorrow might stick around. If your new series hits, you could capture a lot of that momentum.”
Haruki leaned back in his chair, processing it.
It made sense.
Launching a new series right after a major one ended would bring automatic visibility.
“I haven’t nailed down a concept yet,” he admitted.
“Well, if something comes to you, let me know,” Haruka said, gathering her things.
“I’ll handle the rest.”
After she left, Haruki sat in silence.
A second serialization…
He’d been thinking about it for a while.
His current studio setup could handle the workload now.
Two ongoing series wouldn’t be a problem.
“Let’s do it,” he muttered to himself.
He pulled up the system interface, ready to use his A-rank lottery pull.
“Or maybe…” he paused, frowning. His phone started buzzing.
The name on the screen: Kazuya Mori.
“Hey, Producer Mori?” Haruki answered.
“Ah, Sensei! Perfect timing. Just wanted to give you a heads-up—we’re holding a press conference for Anohana in two days, followed by a wrap-up party. We’d love to have you there.”
Haruki hesitated.
A celebration event?
He hadn’t planned on going.
But Kazanami Studio had poured millions into the adaptation.
Showing up was the least he could do.
“Yeah... I’ll be there.”
After he hung up, the excitement of drawing a new manga began to fade.
He knew how he worked—if he used the lottery pull now, he’d get caught up in the rush and start storyboarding on the spot.
And with Anohana still ongoing, it wasn’t the right time.
“Better to wrap things up first,” he sighed.
Still, the itch was there.
His manga journey so far...
The Garden of Words as his debut.
Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance got him noticed.
Natsume’s Book of Friends anchored him in Tokyo.
So what was next?
He could feel it—something big was on the horizon.
He just needed to draw the right lottery.
And when he did?
He wouldn’t settle for being “the healing manga guy.”
He wanted to be the name that came to mind when people thought of manga in Japan.
Not just respected.
Remembered.
Comments
Dhvaj Patel
I’m also excited to see how you all react!
Darthix
Can’t wait to see where the next manga will be!
