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551 – He’s a Mystery Novelist, He Really Hasn’t Killed Anyone
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 17:56:11 +0000 UTCThe moment the words “Please, come in” were spoken and the door opened, Shimomura Tetsuya instinctively clutched his head and ducked away from the entrance.
That odd reaction made Kyousuke pause in confusion.
The one who walked in was Akamatsu Yuki, the editor in charge of his novels.
Both the novel division and Weekly Shonen High operated under the same publishing group, sharing the same building.
Kyousuke had already notified him before coming, but at the time Akamatsu had been out handling business. Now he was finally back.
“Stop hiding. In front of Hojou-sensei, I’m not going to hit you.” Akamatsu shot Shimomura a sharp glare, his voice laced with irritation.
“Hit him?” Kyousuke asked, puzzled.
“This idiot made such a massive blunder, I could kill him!” Akamatsu growled.
“That’s a death threat! I’m reporting you to the higher-ups!” Shimomura’s words only stoked Akamatsu’s temper further.
“Perfect! I was just thinking we should go have a little chat with Executive Michiyo.”
Akamatsu cared more than anyone about Kyousuke’s work winning awards.
He’d even been running around all day to make it happen.
If he weren’t sane, he really would have throttled Shimomura by now.
Whether his family spent the winter suffocating in kerosene fumes at home, or enjoyed a luxurious hot-spring vacation in Atami, all depended on whether Hojou-sensei’s novel took home the prize.
His usually shy daughter had even greeted him several days in a row with, “Welcome home, Daddy!” after hearing about the possibility of a trip.
“I really should tell Hojou-sensei’s loyal friends about this,” Akamatsu sneered. “Let them have a word with you. Oh right, Shimomura—your son is one of them, isn’t he? If Masao found out, I wonder how disappointed he’d be in his father?”
Akamatsu’s verbal barrage came one after another, and he was truly furious.
The truth was, whether Kyousuke won or not didn’t affect Shimomura that much.
At worst, he’d lose the chance to cash in on Kyousuke’s fame in the mystery world, but he’d still do just fine editing manga.
Akamatsu, however, had poured enormous resources into the award campaign—if it failed, not only would it waste everything, it would hurt future marketing.
“You bastard! Don’t forget, I was the one who introduced Hojou-sensei to you! Is this how you treat the man who helped you?” Shimomura shouted, red with anger.
If his son really found out, he might just roar his motorcycle engine inside his bedroom tonight.
“The past is the past. You can’t cling to old achievements. As an editor, you should know that! Back then I was grateful you introduced me to Hojou-sensei. But now? Everything I do is for his sake!”
“Ungrateful…”
“And that generous year-end bonus you got last time—don’t tell me…”
“…”
Sitting quietly, Kyousuke finally pieced together what was happening.
His novel editor wanted to throttle the manga editor for messing things up—and maybe also out of jealousy over his big bonus.
Basically, he thought Shimomura was sabotaging him.
This kind of editor-on-editor brawl wasn’t something you saw every day.
The two had once been close friends, which only made their attacks more personal—digging up old family issues, regretted mistakes, even stories about chasing stray cats in the rain back when they were junior editors.
The whole thing was both funny and sad.
But the more he watched, the stranger it seemed.
Why did both of them keep sneaking glances at him?
“Isn’t he going to stop us?”
“Why isn’t he saying anything?”
“Maybe we’re not being dramatic enough?”
“I literally did a dogeza just now!”
“What are you talking about, I don’t get it.”
“…”
With his sharp eye for micro-expressions, Kyousuke quickly deciphered the real meaning behind their little act.
So that’s it.
These two old friends weren’t actually fighting—they were putting on a show for him.
And Akamatsu’s intention became clear: the award push was something the editors and publisher had to lead, while the author cooperated.
Sometimes, publishers would even promise well-known writers that if they switched companies, awards were guaranteed.
Manga divisions like Weekly Shonen High had already swept up every prize they could get their hands on.
Now that the publishing side had fumbled, Akamatsu was terrified Kyousuke might storm out and defect to a stronger publisher.
So he staged this whole drama to prove just how much he cared about Kyousuke’s work.
Understanding that, Kyousuke relaxed against the sofa, watching in amusement as the two editors exchanged furious glares and insults—though by now he’d noticed they were starting to repeat themselves.
The performance was running out of steam.
Eventually, parched and exhausted, the two finally stopped.
Akamatsu stole a glance at Kyousuke, trying to read something from his calm, smiling face, but got nothing.
He turned to meet Shimomura’s eyes.
“Do you think he figured it out?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?”
“I don’t know you idiot!”
“You’re the one who suggested this melodramatic stunt!”
“…”
‘Thud!’
“I’m sorry, Hojou-sensei. The mistake was on my end.”
Akamatsu slammed his forehead against the coffee table with far more force than Shimomura had earlier.
No surprise—he was a seasoned editor-in-chief, after all.
“Anyway, please take a look at this.”
Kyousuke didn’t bother with their apologies.
He simply pulled a thick stack of manuscript pages from his briefcase—his new work, The Dreams and Death of Author K.
Words were cheap.
What really mattered was whether Akamatsu and the publishing house could help push this novel to the influence he wanted.
“What’s this?” Both editors froze.
“My new novel,” Kyousuke said with a smile. “A mystery.”
“…Since when were you this prolific?”
“Did you hit your head or something?”
Both editors were dumbfounded.
Shimomura was still reeling from the fact that Kyousuke had actually delivered his manga draft on time for once.
And Akamatsu? He couldn’t believe his star author not only wasn’t running away—he was handing over a brand-new novel.
“Enough chatter. If you don’t read it, I’m leaving.” Kyousuke’s expression darkened.
“Read! We’ll read!”
The two editors shoved their heads together and tore through the pages at lightning speed.
Reviewing manuscripts was their job, after all.
Within minutes, they’d finished.
They looked up and locked eyes, both stunned.
“This… you wrote this just this morning?” Shimomura gaped at the timestamp, floored by Kyousuke’s sheer talent.
“You want this published before the Mystery Association Awards?” Akamatsu asked, stunned by Kyousuke’s audacity.
“Exactly. If there are no issues, make sure it’s out within a week. I’ll give you my full cooperation.”
Ignoring Shimomura, Kyousuke looked straight at Akamatsu, satisfied at his editor’s quick understanding.
“Are you really sure about this? Once you take a step like this, there’s no turning back. From then on, every one of your works will be put under a microscope. The moment you slip up, the hyenas will tear you apart.”
Akamatsu Yuki’s tone was heavy with concern.
“I’ve already had two people read it—Kurokawa Toyomasa and Naganuma Hiroki.”
Instead of answering directly, Kyousuke dropped a seemingly unrelated statement.
“What!? You’ve already shown it to those two judges? What did they say?” Akamatsu was visibly startled.
“I don’t know yet. I was planning to visit them after talking with you. I’m confident the outcome will satisfy everyone.”
Kyousuke’s gentle smile didn’t waver.
Just as he believed in his own talent, he had complete faith in Kisaki’s ability to handle things.
“I understand. I’ll go see Executive Michiyo immediately. I swear, Hojou-sensei, I won’t let your efforts go to waste!”
Akamatsu bowed deeply, hands pressed to his knees.
A rushed project like this required upper management’s backing.
Their so-called “Executive Michiyo” was the very person both he and Shimomura considered their patron in the company—a senior from their university days.
“Then… when should the manga start serialization?” Shimomura Tetsuya asked hesitantly.
Judging by Kyousuke’s usual style, the most effective show of force would be to release it before the Association’s award ceremony. But…
“Obviously after I win the award!” Kyousuke answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Heh… in that case, I’ll adjust the sales strategy accordingly,” Shimomura muttered with a dry laugh.
He didn’t voice the thought lurking in his heart—What if Hojou doesn’t win?
Secretly, Shimomura almost hoped for that outcome.
With the new book The Dreams and Death of Author K added to the mix, Hojou’s name might actually burn hotter than if he did win.
“But still, Hojou-sensei, you should discuss this with the Association President first. He’s always been supportive of you,” Akamatsu reminded.
“I already have. President Konno is on board. He even offered to write me a recommendation.”
Of course Kyousuke had anticipated this.
His novel contained “adjusted” passages, but anyone literate could tell it was a scathing attack on the Mystery Writers’ Association.
It was like mocking the Prime Minister—maybe people wouldn’t know exactly who the judges were, but everyone knew who the President was.
That morning, Kyousuke had already called Konno Kenzou and laid out his intentions. After finishing the manuscript, he even let him read it.
Konno, to Kyousuke’s relief, had praised his boldness. The President admitted he’d long wanted to clean up the corruption within the Association—Kyousuke had simply pushed him into action.
If Konno had disagreed? Well, Kyousuke would have apologized sincerely… and then carried out his original plan anyway.
“I see… so you’ve taken the side of justice,” Akamatsu murmured, nodding in understanding.
Kyousuke’s uncompromising will was something everyone who dealt with him eventually recognized.
Trying to stop him was futile.
President Konno had made the right call.
As for poor Kurokawa Toyomasa—his dream of staging a dramatic turn from villain to justice-bringer had already been stolen.
All he could do now was obediently march down the path Kyousuke had paved for him.
The three discussed promotion, publication schedules, and marketing strategies for the new novel and manga.
Soon after, they parted ways—each with heavy workloads awaiting them.
Shimomura went off to secure a slot for Detective Conan.
Competition for good magazine space was fierce, and timing mattered as much as connections.
Even famous authors couldn’t simply shove others aside without backlash.
In publishing, just like in office culture, seniority cut both ways.
Juniors were expected to obey, but seniors were also bound by unspoken rules.
For example, if a senior invited you out drinking, you just had to drink—he’d cover the bill.
In manga, exploiting assistants had been the norm for centuries, but one still had to worry about grumbling once those assistants made names for themselves.
Akamatsu, meanwhile, had the heavier burden: rushing a book to print in just one week.
Printing wasn’t the hard part—distribution was.
Thankfully, Kyousuke wasn’t an unknown rookie.
Just putting his name on the cover would make bookstores line up to stock it.
A small-time author, by contrast, would have to fight for space at promotion fairs, begging shop owners to believe in their sales potential.
Kyousuke, on the other hand, could relax.
The hard part was handled—now all he had to do was wait for results.
‘Thump.’
A great black paper umbrella opened, shielding him from the spring rain.
With one of his men carrying a matching umbrella close behind, Kyousuke strode toward the car waiting at the curb.
Before getting in, he turned back toward the publisher’s dull yellow building.
Sure enough, in the conference room window, two editors still stood watching him leave.
Kyousuke smiled and waved.
The two hurriedly waved back, their lips still moving.
“If he really doesn’t win the award, which mountain do you want to be buried under?”
“Why do I have to think about something like that… How about Mount Ibuki? You can see Lake Biwa from there—the scenery’s amazing.”
“I prefer the night view from Mount Hakodate. It’s one of the top three in the world.”
“That’s too far. If you’re that picky, we’ll just end up at the bottom of Tokyo Bay.”
“…True. Then let’s just work hard and make sure things go well. Land reclamation is better left to someone like Kurokawa Toyomasa—his spiritual aura might even make the view nicer.”
As they spoke, their eyes followed the street below.
The publisher’s headquarters sat in Chiyoda, one of Tokyo’s busiest districts.
Even on a rainy day, the sidewalks bustled with people.
Among the sea of transparent plastic umbrellas, two oversized black ones stood out vividly.
Watching them, the editors couldn’t help but wonder:
‘In Hojou-sensei’s new work, The Dreams and Death of Author K… was he writing a novelist’s fantasy? Or was it really a discarded murder plan?’
Though indoors, the chill of the spring rain seemed to seep into their bones, sending shivers down their spines.
