Alioth
patreon
I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 92
🕑 Added 2025-04-30 16:09:23 +0000 UTC“Mizushiro… Who is that, again?” Kazuya asked directly.
“You really don’t remember?” Haruka gave him a sidelong glance.
“He’s the one who won the at this year’s Aurora Manga Awards with Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance. Don’t tell me you forgot someone like that.”
“Rurouni Kenshin…” Kazuya’s eyes lit up.
“That guy!”
“I loved that piece,” he admitted. “But after the awards, he completely disappeared. Did you manage to bring him on board?”
“I was at the Award ceremony that night,” Haruka said evenly.
“But—” Kazuya’s excitement faltered as his brow furrowed again. “Haruka, didn’t I say I was looking for a script with a tone similar to The Oathbound?”
“I mean, I loved Remembrance, and if Mizushiro’s new work has that same level of quality, I wouldn’t hesitate to greenlight it. But our team has very specific story requirements—and I doubt something in Mizushiro’s style will match that brief.”
Haruka met his gaze, calm and unreadable. “You can decide that after you’ve read it.”
That look in her eyes—it wasn’t casual. Kazuya paused. He’d known Haruka for years. She wasn’t someone who made bold promises lightly.
If she was saying this story could deliver, she was at least ninety percent sure.
“There are only twenty-two chapters,” she added. “You can finish it in one sitting.”
“But I want you to give your honest opinion after you’ve read it. If it doesn’t hit the mark, I probably won’t have anything stronger to offer. Whether it’s Airi Tanaka or the other creators I work with—none of them write stories quite like this one.”
She slid the thick manuscript closer to him. “Out of every script I’ve seen for this project… Mizushiro’s is the strongest.”
Kazuya chuckled. “You’re putting a lot of weight on a relatively unknown name.”
“You’ve still got Megumi Toba under your label, right? Even if she hasn’t landed a serialization in Shroud Line, she’s well-known in Tokyo. You didn’t offer this project to her?”
“She actually submitted a concept for it,” Haruka admitted. “It’s something she’s been developing for two years. It’s good. But Mizushiro’s piece—despite his lack of name recognition—fits your brief better than anything else I’ve seen.”
Kazuya glanced at the project folder in front of him, the one labeled Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day.
His expression turned serious.
He didn’t waste any more words. He picked up the manuscript and flipped it open.
The first three chapters were fully drafted—with character designs, rough layouts, and story notes.
From just that introduction, he could get a strong sense of the tone and emotional rhythm.
Text-only scripts were harder to visualize. They didn’t leave much of an impression.
But Haruka had brought a full name draft. With visual cues and layouts, even basic line sketches helped shape a clearer experience of the story.
Kazuya’s eyes moved quickly at first, flipping through the first few chapters at a brisk pace. But gradually… his speed slowed.
Where once he skimmed a chapter in a minute, he was now spending four or five minutes on each.
Haruka, meanwhile, quietly busied herself with emails on her phone, giving him space.
But Kazuya had forgotten she was even in the room.
Because beneath his title—producer, project lead, department head—he was also just a longtime anime fan.
And right now, he wasn’t thinking about deadlines, budgets, or executives.
There was only the story in front of him.
He was completely absorbed.
Kazuya flipped through the name draft in front of him.
Time passed quietly. Before long, nearly everyone working overtime at Kazanami Animation Studio had finished up and gone home.
Finally, Kazuya reached the end of The Anohana.
He closed his eyes for a moment, still caught in the emotional current of the final scenes.
Eventually, he looked up—and met Haruka’s curious gaze.
“Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”
Kazuya didn’t answer right away. Though nothing showed on his face, the truth was, for a man in his thirties, he was easily drawn into the emotional pull of a good story.
He glanced again at the final lines—at the quiet farewell between the protagonist and the girl named Meiko, and the friends who once drifted apart...
Even though this was only a rough name draft, in Kazuya’s mind, it had already come to life like a finished animation.
“Alright!” he suddenly exclaimed, slapping the desk.
Haruka flinched and nearly dropped her phone.
She’d never seen Kazuya react like this before.
“What the heck was that outburst for?” she asked, startled.
“Sorry!” Kazuya laughed sheepishly. “I was just picturing the moment when Kazanami airs this and completely steals the spotlight from Takami Studio four months from now. Got a little carried away.”
“Honestly... Mizushiro-sensei really is a genius. Whether it’s that story about the forbidden romance between teacher and student, the tragic love between Kenshin and Tomoe during a time of war, or now something like Anohana—a bittersweet, emotional tale mixing love, friendship, and loss... He pulls it off with such effortless grace. I take back any doubts I had about him.”
“This concept fits perfectly with our upcoming lineup. In fact... it’s exceeded my expectations.”
“Alright, enough rambling,” Haruka cut in before he could go on another tangent. “Are you going to pick it up or not? If not, just say so. It’s a little slow-paced for mainstream, but I can find a home for it in Shroud Line if I have to.”
Kazuya blinked at her, confused.
“Didn’t you come here to pitch it to me?”
He gave the draft another quick glance and waved his hand.
“No need to bluff, Editor Haruka.”
“This is an excellent piece. But even though I’m the producer, we still have to follow proper protocol. I’ll need to get the script reviewed, loop in the leadership, and go over production with the team. I can’t greenlight something like this on the spot,” he said with a sigh.
“Here’s what I can promise: give me a week. I’ll have an answer for you—and for Mizushiro-sensei.”
“Fair enough,” Haruka nodded.
Of course, she had no intention of taking the proposal elsewhere. Her little push earlier had just been to rattle Kazuya a bit and make sure Takami studio moved fast—so that no one else got a chance to snatch it.
Judging by his reaction, Haruka could tell that even if Kazuya hadn’t said it out loud yet, he was already sold on the story.
And if the rest of the studio’s senior team felt the same, then this project was all but confirmed.
