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I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 89
🕑 Added 2025-04-29 16:41:54 +0000 UTC“Anyway, Coffee Bean-sensei is a veteran author with three past serializations under Echo Shroud Publishing. He’s been preparing this new project for over six months just for a chance to debut it in Shroud Line. Regardless of anything else…”
“Fujio, that’s not the point,” someone cut in sharply. “Since when was Echo Shroud Publishing a place for sentiment? It’s about the strength of the work, nothing more.”
“The Thousand Stars Secret Realm is certainly imaginative,” Haruka said coolly, setting her teacup down with a quiet clink. “But let’s not ignore the facts. Yes, Coffee Bean has had three serialized titles with us—but all of them started strong and fell apart halfway through. Pacing issues, filler arcs, off-track endings. It’s a pattern. I have no reason to believe this one will be any different.”
“Oh? And what about Natsume’s Book of Friends, then?” another editor countered, eyebrows raised. “The creator is only nineteen. He’s had two short serializations, but both were, well, just that—short. According to your proposal, this new work could run fifty or sixty chapters, possibly more. It’s a slice-of-life drama in episodic format? Can he really handle that kind of length and structure?”
“You’re asking if he can manage it?” Haruka didn’t flinch. “Of course he can.”
Even if Haruki might hit roadblocks with the story later on, she couldn’t show a hint of hesitation now. If she faltered, so would everyone backing the project. Momentum was everything.
“Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance might only have been fifteen chapters long, but who said that was the whole story?”
“If I recall correctly,” she continued, voice steady and confident, “on the night of the Award ceremony, I was there. Mizushiro-sensei said clearly—there’s a continuation planned.”
“Words are easy,” someone scoffed. “He said there’s more. That doesn’t mean it’s actually happening.”
“Spoken like someone who hasn’t actually read Remembrance.” Haruka’s tone sharpened. “You think someone who can write like that is incapable of handling a longer series?”
Despite being one of the youngest senior editors in the room—and the only woman among them—Haruka’s presence dominated the conversation. Every rebuttal from her carried weight.
“Yes, Remembrance is a separate story. But the quality is undeniable. If the proposal today were to serialize its sequel, none of you would be raising this much noise.”
“But the author is still young, and this series is a major shift in tone…”
“I’m tired of that argument,” Haruka snapped, cutting the speaker off. “You said the same thing when I pushed for Airi’s Shadow Thorns to be serialized in Shroud Line. Then again when I brought Dream World forward. Every time, it’s the same speech.”
“And every time, you’re proven wrong.”
The room went silent. Even those inclined to argue seemed hesitant to push further.
Finally, a calm voice spoke from the head of the table.
“Haruka, are you saying that Mizushiro’s new work—Natsume’s Book of Friends—has the potential to rival Tanaka-sensei’s output?”
The speaker was Katsumi Kuroda, Echo Shroud’s editor-in-chief. In his early fifties, he was a towering figure in the manga world—known not just for his experience but for his uncanny intuition about what would succeed. Many of Japan’s most beloved manga had passed through his hands at some point in their infancy.
While everyone else had been debating loudly, few noticed that Katsumi had quietly reread the entire proposal for Natsume’s Book of Friends at least three times during the meeting.
Haruka Sato fell quiet at the question.
At that moment, her mind flashed back to the night Sora had come to her apartment, when they’d ended up talking about Haruki until the early hours of the morning. He had crashed on her sofa, half-asleep, but the excitement in his voice when he spoke of Haruki had been unmistakable.
“A true manga genius,” she’d said. “Two months to the top of Shroud Line? Two months to win the Global Manga Award? Just wait and see.”
Back then, Haruka had already heard whispers about Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance—especially from Airi, who had even been reprimanded for promoting the series too aggressively online. But with her workload piling up, Haruka had never taken the time to read it.
Still, after hearing that even Sora, a notoriously hard-to-please critic, was genuinely impressed, she couldn’t resist her curiosity any longer. The next morning, she dove into it.
And she was hooked.
It wasn’t just loyalty to Sora or Airi that made her advocate for Haruki’s new work at today’s serialization meeting. It wasn’t just because Haruki’s style aligned with her editorial taste either.
It was because there was raw, undeniable talent in Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance.
Someone who could treat a work of that caliber as merely a prologue, and walk away from it to quietly develop a brand-new series for half a year… that wasn’t someone she could overlook.
Especially after their meeting two weeks ago—Haruki had stood his ground amid sharp questions and doubts, not with arrogance, but with steady confidence. He believed in his work.
So when Katsumi turned to her and asked whether she really thought Haruki could stand alongside someone like Airi Tanaka—
Haruka paused for just a moment, then spoke clearly.
“I think you're wrong, Kuroda-san… Not ‘in the future.’ I think even now, he’s on par with Airi.”
Gasps and murmurs echoed around the room.
Airi's name carried serious weight. Her narrative instincts, artwork, and consistency had made her one of the most acclaimed manga creators in the country.
Haruki might have won the Award this year, but that was a platform for newcomers outside the Tokyo circle. Compared to a national star like Airi, the gap still seemed enormous.
Yet Haruka had said it with such conviction that no one could find room to laugh.
Because they’d all seen this before.
The same cold confidence, the same unwavering editorial eye. Every time Haruka had made a bold call, she’d backed it up—every single time.
“That's all I have to say,” she concluded.
Katsumi nodded, his expression unreadable. “Understood. Let’s move on.”
But everyone in the room could feel the shift in atmosphere.
The editors could sense it too—Katsumi was leaning toward his decision. They'd known this veteran long enough to read the signs. His subtle changes in tone, his quiet re-reading of Natsume’s Book of Friends several times during the meeting… he was clearly considering it seriously.
