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533 – The Problem with the New Manga
🕑 Added 2025-09-20 15:00:17 +0000 UTCAs long as Eriri was around, there was never a shortage of fun.
She wasn’t the type to go out of her way to look for amusement—but somehow, she always became the amusement herself.
On the empty street, the two of them stomped on each other’s shadows, then used their hands to mime all sorts of bizarre weapons to “rescue” themselves.
They chased, they bickered, they cheated. And when Eriri got tired, she whined, “Carry me.”
Of course, Kyousuke wasn’t about to carry her.
She’d stuffed herself silly back at the family restaurant, and this evening walk was supposed to help her digest.
Besides, she still remembered how Kasumigaoka Utaha had once teased her about gaining weight—no way she was going to give her rival more ammo.
So in the end, she half-leaned on Kyousuke’s side instead.
To anyone watching, they looked like an ordinary high school couple walking home together after club activities.
Along the way, they gossiped about school events, including the never-ending stream of confessions Eriri received.
“It’s such a pain trying to reject them in a way that’s both polite and firm!” the little princess complained, while slyly throwing shade at a certain “witch.”
“Maybe I should just be like Kasumigaoka Utaha—so cold and condescending that after two or three rejections, no one would dare approach me again!”
She also brought up the upcoming Tokyo Youth Expo.
Whenever the topic shifted to her field, her whole being lit up like a spotlight.
“I already decided on my theme. Even without looking at the content, the concept alone is enough to win a Silver Prize!
Hmph, Kyousuke, if you keep taking it easy, don’t come crying when I outshine you. Not that you need to worry too much—once I finish, I’ll guide you myself.
After all, competition pieces are very different from manga.”
Kyousuke had to agree.
Most exhibition art pieces looked impressive to the untrained eye—bright colors, strong likenesses—and if the artist’s skill was high, they could even leave a powerful impact.
But it was always hard to explain why exactly they felt so impactful.
That was the essence of fine art: lofty, difficult to judge.
If it were as easy to critique as baseball, the imperial family’s relatives wouldn’t be hosting art exhibitions to flaunt their pedigree.
Still, Kyousuke wasn’t in this expo for glory.
He was only here to accompany Eriri.
Whether he won anything didn’t matter.
That said, with his “cheater-level” skills, it’d be harder not to win an award.
But Eriri barely lingered on this real-world stuff—probably because she’d already gushed about it to others earlier in the day.
With Kyousuke, her focus shifted back to otaku culture.
Though to call them mere “consumers” would be wrong.
Eriri was already famous in the doujin scene as Kashiwagi Eri, and Kyousuke… well, he started off exploiting otaku, but ended up a creator himself.
“I can’t believe Koike sensei is actually a sixty-something old man! I always thought someone who drew such cute manga had to be a cute girl like me.”
Eriri spoke with genuine excitement.
Unlike Kyousuke, who slacked off whenever possible, she had already joined a production team early.
In the professional anime world, her reputation wasn’t as big as in the doujin scene, but she’d already built a name as the exclusive illustrator for “Egoist-sensei” and contributed novel illustrations.
Her name had even appeared alongside Kyousuke’s in One Punch Man credits.
Naturally, she was taken seriously.
While Kyousuke slacked, Eriri was working as a layout artist—basically taking the storyboard and turning it into detailed design sketches.
Storyboards only described what kind of scene it was, which characters appeared, and what they were doing.
The layout artist had to make it concrete, considering perspective, proportions, and timing.
It was demanding work.
Back when Kyousuke worked on One Punch Man, his main job had been storyboarding—his drafts were so detailed they saved the animators a ton of effort.
Normally, layout was handled by key animators themselves, since it required not just drawing skill but also aesthetic judgment.
After all, it wasn’t just about making a single frame look good—it had to move well too.
Ever since Eriri got this position, she’d been brimming with energy.
Even Utaha’s teasing—calling her a grunt worker couldn’t shake her.
She looked like someone grinding a dungeon to level up.
Kyousuke knew without asking: ever since Kosaka Akane’s provocation, Eriri had been holding in a lot of frustration.
She was determined to prove, with her own ability, that she could produce top-tier animation—that she wasn’t just lazing around in Kyousuke’s shadow.
Okay, maybe she was slacking… but at least she got something out of it besides fun!
“Hey, do you remember Murasaki Shikibu from my team?” Eriri asked.
“Hmm… wasn’t she an animation supervisor on Mechanical Girl QZ?” Kyousuke thought back.
“You remembered that clearly? Don’t tell me you—”
“It’s just that the name is rare, that’s all!” he cut her off.
“Hmph. Anyway, I’ve been watching her quietly. She’s really talented. Once Neighbor Neighbor Neighbor wraps up, we should invite her to join our company!”
She spoke with a mischievous little hum, as if poaching talent was already a done deal.
Clearly, she had absolute confidence in their studio.
“Wow, Eriri. I haven’t even started moving yet, and you’ve already picked a target.” Kyousuke said, genuinely impressed.
His interest in animation production wasn’t purely about passion.
Sure, watching your favorite characters move under your pen was satisfying.
But wasn’t it even more satisfying to bring in top-tier talent to your own company—and have them earn money for you?
The entire “Carbonated” crew had been scouted from his time in the One Punch Man production team.
This time, he fully intended to repeat the strategy and snatch up talent again.
“I am the vice president of the company. You think I’d just sit back?” Eriri lifted her chin proudly, though her steps grew lighter at his praise.
After basking in that for a bit, she rattled off several other names she’d scouted, including one who was a vice president at another studio.
“Staying in a company that only makes small projects is such a waste. Better to come work for us—I’ll even pay her fifty percent more!” the little rich girl declared with surprising authority.
If Kyousuke weren’t so capable, the future might’ve been Eriri with a cooling patch on her forehead, an energy drink in one hand and a pen in the other, frantically cranking out doujins to bankroll Carbonated.
But neither of them believed it would come to that.
Sure, they were running on passion, but they weren’t starting from scratch—they were adapting a manga.
With the insane popularity of Attack on Titan, even an unproven studio wouldn’t struggle to attract investors.
Besides, just having “Hojou Kyousuke” attached was enough to convince people to give it a shot.
“Hey, I heard you went to baseball practice today?” Eriri suddenly switched the topic.
“Huh? How’d you know that?” Kyousuke blinked in surprise. Eriri hadn’t even come home yesterday, so she shouldn’t know.
“I just happened to overhear someone mention it,” she said casually.
“But I only decided to go last night…”
“What? Are you implying I spend all my time tracking your every move? Don’t flatter yourself over something so trivial. Anyway, enough about that boring stuff!”
Eriri tilted her little head, her golden twin tails whipping upward in a sharp, threatening arc.
If he didn’t shut up, he’d definitely get a mouthful of hair.
Of course, the truth was… she had woken up that morning, messaged him, and got no reply for ages.
Worried, she’d called Sakura, but she got no answer.
Then she tried Shouko. Still no answer.
After that, she even called Aunt Mikiko—and still nothing.
Finally, she stormed straight into that woman Kasumigaoka Utaha’s classroom to ask directly.
Unforgivable! If he was going to training, he should’ve at least told her first! Did he have any idea how worried she’d been?!
Kyousuke, naturally, knew better than anyone when a girl was at her cutest—right on the edge between embarrassed denial and angry frustration.
Grinning, he mischievously tugged at a strand of her hair with his teeth.
“Yeah… I just feel like, as a high schooler, there’s no way I should miss out on Koshien.”
Koshien’s status wasn’t so high for no reason. It represented countless regrets.
Third-years only got one last shot at the summer tournament—lose once, and you carried that regret for life.
Even long after graduation, through marriage and raising kids, that unfulfilled dream still haunted people.
That’s why not only students, but even office workers and retired old men watching from the stands ended up in tears.
Originally, Kyousuke hadn’t cared much about winning.
But the moment he found out Sakura had become the baseball club’s manager, he made up his mind: no matter what, he would take her to Koshien.
“…” Eriri fell silent.
His words had completely cut off the lecture she’d prepared.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Do you even realize that the 27th is the final selection date for the Mystery Writers Association Award?” she finally blurted.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“Then why are you wasting time with all this? Don’t you get it? Your chances of winning are dropping right now!”
His calm tone only made her angrier. Could this guy seriously not understand the situation?
‘That’s makes me even more mad!’
“Yeah, I know,” Kyousuke said with a smile.
That smile made Eriri grind her teeth in frustration.
Showing off her little tiger fangs, she huffed, “Ugh, honestly! What is wrong with your editor? Why couldn’t he wait until after you’d won the award before bringing this up?!”
She really wanted to chew Kyousuke out, but couldn’t bring herself to. So she vented her fury on someone else instead.
“Can’t be helped,” Kyousuke chuckled, tightening his arm around hers as they walked, hand in hand. “Shimomura has his own concerns to think about.”
So what was this all about?
Word had quietly spread among insiders: Hojou Kyousuke—the leading candidate for this year’s Mystery Writers Association Award would make his next manga series a mystery.
And it wasn’t some PR stunt. It had leaked by accident.
Kyousuke wasn’t quite the pillar of Weekly Shonen High yet, but his status was high enough that his next work wasn’t just about him.
The entire publisher took it seriously.
If necessary, even the chief editor himself would run errands for him.
In fact, Shimomura Tetsuya was the chief editor.
An author’s work wasn’t decided alone—it was a joint effort with the editors.
Editors weren’t just there to push deadlines or secure ad space.
They played a direct role in shaping the work itself.
For example, Shimomura had helped finalize Kyousuke’s character designs for his previous manga.
His duties didn’t stop there—he’d also advise on whether the premise would succeed in the market, point out plot holes, ensure the story followed narrative principles, and guide the direction of the plot based on reader feedback.
And when the magazine’s rising star was about to launch a new series, Shimomura had to be extra careful.
If it got axed within two or three weeks, the value of the “Hojou Kyousuke” name would take a serious hit.
That’s why, once he heard about the “Detective Boy” storyline, he immediately started running background checks.
Japan’s family registry system might seem messy, but precisely because of that, its credit investigation industry had become one of the most developed in Asia.
Companies hired credit agencies to vet potential employees.
Parents hired detectives to look into their child’s fiancé. R&D departments hired research firms to gauge how a new product might be received…
That was the reality: in Japan, private detectives weren’t usually solving murders for the police. Most of them were information brokers.
And thanks to this system, whether it was TV dramas, manga, or novels, creators would almost always conduct background research before starting production.
So once Shimomura had confirmed the theme and rough concept of Kyousuke’s new series, he launched his investigation.
He pulled sales data and performance records from other mystery manga across multiple magazines, ran surveys in partner bookstores using his authority as chief editor, and of course, consulted professional experts.
In short: his job was to make sure that, before Kyousuke’s new series launched, they could be as certain as possible it would succeed.
Of course, one could never be 100% sure. But this was everything Shimomura could do for him.
And that—was exactly where the problem began.
