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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 119
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 17:46:17 +0000 UTCJanuary 24th – Headquarters of Nexari in Tokyo
Nexari wasn’t the largest company in terms of staff, but it was undeniably one of the most influential platforms for manga fans nationwide. With the resources to occupy half a building in central Tokyo, its presence in the industry was impossible to overlook.
Takumi Sakamoto, head of event coordination at Nexari, stood in the lobby ten minutes early, waiting.
He was here to welcome Haruka Sato, the editor from Echo Shroud Publishing, and Haruki Yuuki—the man behind the pen name Mizushiro, and the creator of Natsume’s Book of Friends.
“Welcome,” Takumi said warmly as the two approached. “You must be Haruka-san and Mizushiro-sensei. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“I’m Takumi Sakamoto, head of Events and Special Projects.”
In his early forties and slightly heavyset, Takumi gave off a relaxed, approachable energy. He made direct eye contact when speaking—a small habit that left a positive impression.
“Nice to meet you,” Haruka said with a rare smile. “Haruka Sato, editor at Echo Shroud.”
Haruki followed her lead, extending a hand. “Haruki Yuuki—Mizushiro. Thanks for having us.”
It was just past 7:00 PM. The live interview would begin at 8:00, broadcast on Nexari’s front page. There was still time for final checks and light makeup before going live.
Haruki was promptly led off by the staff for prep and touch-ups. Haruka, already used to events like this, crossed her legs casually in the dressing room, glancing at Haruki with an amused look.
The moment their attendance was confirmed, Nexari announced the interview. Word spread fast.
By the time the stream’s waiting room went live, the viewer count was already climbing.
Fans of Natsume, loyalists of Rurouni Kenshin, curious newcomers, and even those intrigued by the mysterious new anime Anohana—set to air in two weeks—all began logging in.
“Finally! We get to see Mizushiro-sensei properly. The awards show had terrible lighting. Barely got a close-up!”
“I’m just here to see what awkward questions they throw at him. Nexari interviews can be ruthless.”
“Burned through 10,000 yen just to drop an emote in the stream. If he doesn’t continue Remembrance after winning that poll, I swear—I'm gonna scream. Voted for Natsume thinking we’d get more Kenshin and now, two day and nothing!”
“Why are all the Remembrance fans so dramatic? I found Mizushiro’s work through Natsume. Judging from the comments, did Remembrance end badly or something?”
“Not at all. It's actually amazing. Emotional, short, and powerful—that’s why we’re salty. We just wanted more. We’re joking… mostly.”
A laughing emoji followed.
But the next comment missed the joke:
“Oh? I might borrow the volumes from a friend. He’s got the full set but I never bothered to check it out. Might be worth it now.”
The chat quickly shifted again:
“Anyone know what that new anime Mizushiro-sensei’s working on is even about? I saw the trailer. Looks good. Guy seems like the usual blank-slate type, but the petite girl is adorable.”
“Ah, a man of culture appears.”
“+1.”
“Didn’t think others liked that dynamic too. DM me if you're into this stuff—I’ve got a whole list of recs. Always down to trade.”
Fifteen minutes before the stream, the chat was flying.
Comments scrolled too fast to keep up, and viewer numbers kept rising by the second.
The popularity counter passed one million soon after. Even if part of that was algorithm-driven, real concurrent viewers were already between sixty and seventy thousand.
For an author like Haruki, that was more than impressive. Many of his fans followed his work quietly—rarely active on social media or forums. Seeing so many tune in live had Takumi grinning.
“Looks like we’re off to a good start,” he said.
And with ten minutes to go, the numbers kept climbing.
“Alright, we’re live!”
With cameras ready and the crew signaling all clear, Takumi gave the cue.
Across thousands of screens, the stream flickered on.
Centered in the frame was Takumi, flanked by Haruki and Haruka. Off to Takumi’s left sat Ami, his assistant, monitoring the chat feed.
“Good evening, everyone,” Takumi began, smiling smoothly. “I’m Takumi, director of the Special Events Team at Nexari. With me is Ami, our assistant for the night.”
“Tonight, we’re thrilled to welcome two very special guests. First, the winner of this year’s New Manga Popularity Award—the creator of Natsume’s Book of Friends—please welcome Mizushiro-sensei!”
He gestured to Haruki.
“And beside him, senior editor at Echo Shroud Publishing—Haruka Sato!”
The chat exploded.
“Wait, the assistant’s so cute!”
“Forget that—the editor’s stealing the show. She’s gorgeous!”
“Mizushiro-sensei looks… younger than I expected. Not a model, but he’s got that chill, nice-guy aura.”
"Is he more like Natsume or Kenshin in real life? If he’s got any of that personality, I might just become a full-time fan."
Takumi smiled as the chat lit up beside the video feed.
“Let’s jump right in,” he said. “Mizushiro-sensei, how did it feel to take the top spot in this year’s popularity poll?”
Haruki paused for a beat.
Truthfully, his first reaction had been excitement—mostly because of the mysterious reward system that he obviously couldn’t talk about on-air. Putting that emotion into ordinary words was... awkward.
He glanced toward Haruka.
She gave a subtle nod—just go with what feels natural.
Haruki cleared his throat. “Well… to be honest, I don’t think I really felt much of anything.”
Haruka’s expression twitched. That was a little too honest.
Takumi blinked. “Oh?”
“No happiness at all?” he asked with a half-laugh. “There was a whole week of buildup. The votes were neck and neck up to the final day.”
Haruki shrugged. “I mean—I’m glad people liked the work. But when the results came in, it didn’t feel real. Maybe I was just too tired by then.”
“Honestly,” Haruki said calmly, “I always thought Natsume’s Book of Friends would come out on top. So when it happened, it didn’t really surprise me—it just felt like things went the way I expected.”
His tone was steady, almost casual.
To most viewers, it came off as quiet confidence.
But to one manga artist watching the livestream from another city, the words landed like a gut punch.
Tatsuya, the creator of Spiritual Vision, sat frozen in front of his screen, face flushed with frustration.
He hadn’t known whether Spiritual Vision could win the seven-day popularity poll. He’d held onto hope. But the moment the final rankings dropped and Mizushiro’s series stood alone at the top, something inside him sank.
And now Haruki was sitting there, brushing it off like the outcome had never been in doubt.
That kind of confidence—no, arrogance—wasn’t even aimed at him directly, but it still cut deep. As if Haruki didn’t even see him as a rival worth recognizing.
Tatsuya’s breathing turned uneven.
Still, deep down, he understood the reality.
This was how the industry worked. The winner gets to speak. The loser bites their tongue. If he wanted to change that, he’d have to answer with his own work.
Someday, when Haruki stumbled—or when he caught up—Tatsuya would be the one settling the score.
If that chance ever came. If he understood the real reason behind Haruki’s unshakable calm, he might have thought twice.
He slammed his laptop shut, unwilling to sit through another second. That first line alone had already gotten under his skin. And if he kept watching, there was no doubt more barbs would follow.
He wasn’t alone.
Other manga artists in Tatsuya’s circle reacted the same way. They didn’t want to watch a livestream that felt like public humiliation for their side.
In this industry, there was an unspoken rule—don’t burn bridges.
If Haruki had been more modest, more diplomatic, maybe there would’ve been room for mutual respect down the line. Rivalries didn’t last forever. Over time, things could cool, and professional admiration might emerge.
But with the way Haruki was talking? That door was barely hanging on its hinges.
Still, he didn’t seem to care.
Back in the studio, the interview continued.
Takumi’s eyes lit up behind his glasses. This was better than he’d hoped. No vague answers, no hedging—just sharp, unfiltered conviction.
He laughed. “Wow, Mizushiro-sensei. You really don’t hold back, huh?”
“People see you now, all composed and calm. But during the voting period, I remember you posted a few frantic updates asking fans to support Natsume’s Book of Friends—not exactly the image of someone completely confident.”
“You even teased the serialization of Parallel Reminiscence, the Kenshin spin-off. That felt like someone trying to grab every bit of attention he could.”
The livestream chat lit up.
“LOL, Tatsuya must be losing it right now.”
“Seven days of non-stop fighting and he gets brushed off like that? Ouch.”
“I love how Mizushiro just speaks his mind. Zero sugar-coating.”
Takumi leaned forward, clearly entertained.
“But from what I gather, this wasn’t just a contest between two series—it was about influence. You were up against Tatsuya’s whole support network. Even Kiyoshi jumped in to boost his campaign.”
“You really weren’t worried? Not even a little?”
Haruka’s expression shifted. That was a dangerous question.
She glanced at Haruki, subtly shaking her head—urging him to steer clear.
The last thing they needed was Haruki making a critical remark about someone as respected as Kiyoshi. That could spark backlash—waves of it.
Haruka had seen it before. Online harassment wasn’t just background noise. It could erode even the strongest creators. She’d seen too many artists lose heart after being caught in those storms.
Haruki caught her signal—but didn’t follow it.
It wasn’t recklessness. He just didn’t feel the need to filter himself.
“Director Takumi,” he said steadily, “you’re right. Kiyoshi’s involvement caught me off guard. But even when my series was trailing in votes, I never lost confidence.”
“Because even if I had lost, I would’ve chalked it up to my career still being new, and my fanbase not being as large yet.”
“But I wouldn’t have seen it as losing to Tatsuya—or the others supporting him.”
Kenta’s grin widened.
The livestream chat went wild. Viewership hit 1.5 million.
“Did he really just say that?”
“Mizushiro straight-up said ‘I wouldn’t lose to them.’ Wild.”
“That’s bold. I respect it.”
Some Kiyoshi fans tuned in out of curiosity, but their reactions were quickly drowned in the flood of excitement and admiration from Haruki’s supporters.
Takumi didn’t mind the tension—in fact, he welcomed it.
Drama made for good numbers.
“Heh...” Kiyoshi snorted and shut his laptop.
From the moment the interview began, he felt completely dismissed. No mention, no respect—just a quiet, pointed snub.
It was clear Mizushiro wasn’t just brushing him off. He was issuing a challenge.
Was it a stunt for attention? Or did he truly believe he could rival him?
Kiyoshi didn’t care about the details. One thing was certain: Mizushiro would fall eventually—and when he did, Kiyoshi would be there to see it.
…
“Since Mizushiro-sensei seems so confident even in the face of someone as established as Kiyoshi,” Takumi said with a smile, “do you have a timeframe in mind for reaching that same level of influence in the manga world?”
Haruka glanced sideways at Haruki and already knew what he was about to say. She’d had a hunch for a while—Haruki didn’t think much of Kiyoshi in the first place. That had been clear since the awards show, when he’d pointedly ignored Tatsuya .
If Haruki didn’t respect someone, he didn’t pretend to.
So this time, Haruka didn’t stop him.
It was too late for diplomacy anyway.
“I think... maybe by next year,” Haruki said, calm as ever. “At the latest, the year after.”
He left a beat of silence—just enough room for uncertainty. After all, his system wasn’t perfectly predictable. If the next draw gave him something that didn’t connect with readers, his timeline might shift.
But his tone never wavered.
Haruka nearly choked. “Ahem...”
Even Takumi was caught off guard.
“Mizushiro-sensei is certainly... ambitious,” he said with a smile.
The comment section exploded again.
“No way! Did he really say he’ll catch up to Kiyoshi next year?”
“This guy has no brakes! I’m loving this.”
“Either he’s a genius or totally delusional... either way, I’m watching.”
“Best interview I’ve seen all year.”
With the energy at its peak and the boldest statements out of the way, Takumi shifted gears, moving the focus toward Haruka and a few closing questions.
…
Half an hour later, Haruka and Haruki stepped out of the Nexari Studios building.
What did you think about the chapter?
