"Two?" Haruka paused for a couple of seconds.
"What about gender or age requirents?"
"Doesn't matter!" Haruki replied quickly.
"Got it. I'll have it sorted in three days," she said confidently.
"Great." Haruki let out a quiet sigh of relief.
He'd was already starting to get a sense of how Haruka operated—straightforward and highly efficient.
Compared to her, Haruki, who only avoided procrastination when it ca to manga deadlines, felt like a bit of a slacker.
"Alright then, let's move on to sothing else."
"Did you bring the plot outline for Anohana?"
Haruka didn't waste ti getting to the point.
"Yeah, I've got it." Haruki reached into his backpack and pulled out a thick bundle of manuscript pages.
The top few were the completed chapters of Anohana, and beneath them were na drafts and rough sketches—loose outlines that still made the direction and tone of the story clear.
"You don't mind if I read through the rest of it, right?" she asked, glancing at him.
After all, showing a friend's animation company a series that wasn't tied to Echo Shroud Publishing was outside their original arrangent. She wanted to respect that boundary, even if she was trying to help.
"Go ahead," Haruki said with a nod.
Compared to the formal serialization of Natsu's Book of Friends, Anohana was sothing Haruka was helping with purely as a personal favor. Of course she had the right to evaluate the material before passing it on. That was only fair.
…
An hour later—
Haruka quietly set down the stack of manuscripts.
She studied Haruki for a long mont, as if trying to see straight into his mind.
"So that's what Sora ant."
"Huh?" Haruki looked up, a little dazed after the long wait.
"Sora told once that you're the kind of manga artist no one can pin down. She said you've got this strange genius—like your ideas co from places nobody else sees."
"A lot of creators tend to leave traces in their work. You can usually tell what kind of stories they're drawn to."
"But with you… The Garden of Words, Rurouni Rembrance, Natsu's Book of Friends—they all feel so different. Even your art style shifts."
"And now this one—Anohana—I really didn't see it coming."
"I thought it was going to be a simple supernatural love story. But it's actually... a quiet, gut-punch of a story about friendship. That ending… it really caught off guard."
"iko's character left a real impression."
Haruka hesitated, then added, "Honestly, I almost regret recomnding this one to my friend..."
"But if it were running in Shroud Line..." She stopped herself. "No, it wouldn't be a good fit. The early chapters are too quiet. Our readers can be impatient."
She looked at him seriously.
"Haruki, one last ti—are you sure you want to pass this on? If I submit this to my friend's animation studio, it'll be entered for their early-stage adaptation lineup."
"Yeah, I'm sure," Haruki said without hesitation.
Haruka gave a small nod and carefully set the manuscript aside.
"In that case, we're done here."
"The studio's currently reviewing original works for adaptation. The process might take a week, maybe a month. But whether it gets picked up or not, I'll make sure you hear back."
She was never one to draw things out.
With everything laid out clearly, she didn't waste another word.
After walking Haruki out of the Echo Shroud offices, she returned to her desk and went straight back to work.
----
"Finally… sothing big is actually moving forward." Haruki let out a long sigh.
Three weeks from now, for the first ti in half a year, Haruki would begin a new serialization.
The na "Mizushiro," long absent from the public eye, was about to make a coback.
At any rate, Haruki was in high spirits. Brimming with confidence, he was already looking forward to the start of serialization.
…
That evening, after work—
Haruka drove across the city center of Tokyo to another company.
Kazanami Animation Studio.
There, a producer nad Kazuya Mori had been waiting restlessly in his office.
"You're finally here!"
He jumped from his chair the mont he heard the knock at the door.
As a producer at Kazanami Animation, Kazuya had been under enormous pressure lately.
Upper managent had demanded a new project—sothing that could rival Oathbound, a smash-hit series launched back in August by their longti rival, Takami Animation.
Takami had delivered a major blow that season, with Oathbound easily outperforming both of Kazanami's offerings. To make matters worse, the people at Takami weren't shy about flaunting it. They'd been publicly mocking Kazanami ever since, taking shots at their so-called lack of creativity during industry gatherings.
The higher-ups at Kazanami didn't take that lightly.
They wanted payback. And not just with any show. They demanded sothing just as powerful—emotional, heartfelt, layered with friendship, romance, and sothing moving that would resonate.
In short, they wanted sothing that could et Oathbound head-on when its second season aired in February.
That's how Kazuya ended up in this situation.
This project wasn't born out of careful creative vision. It was a reaction—a knee-jerk mandate from executives bruised by public embarrassnt.
Takami's brass had scored a few laughs, and Kazanami's couldn't stomach it.
Of course, anyone who'd worked at Kazanami long enough had learned to endure managent's impulsive whims. Despite everything, the company remained a heavyweight in the animation world—well-funded, experienced, and well-connected.
Still, Kazuya couldn't help feeling boxed in.
It was already October. Even if they settled on a script this month, they'd have just four months to finish production. That was barely enough ti—even with full greenlight status and every internal resource at their disposal.
It was absurd.
They were expected to "match or beat" a hit series with a production window that would make most professionals break into a cold sweat.
Kazuya wasn't just stressed—he was drowning in uncertainty.
If they failed? The project would beco a cautionary tale. Sothing future producers studied in textbooks as a what not to do.
But after weeks of voicing his concerns to no avail, Kazuya had stopped fighting the tide.
All he could do now was find the best possible script.
Thankfully, so solid submissions had co in—from novelists, manga authors, and freelancers. A few had real potential.
But nothing quite sparked the way Oathbound had.
The pressure was mounting.
If they chose wrong, they wouldn't just fall short—they'd be obliterated in comparison.
Which is why Kazuya was so eager to see Haruka.
He needed a miracle. Or at least, sothing close.
As Haruka stepped inside and laid down a thick stack of storyboards and na drafts on the table, Kazuya's eyes lit up.
"Haruka, you move fast. It hasn't even been a full month since I brought this up."
He picked up the pages, fingers already flipping through them.
"Whose work is this, anyway? Is it from Suda? Maybe Takagi?"
"Neither." Haruka sat down, crossing one leg casually over the other.
She and Kazuya had worked together many tis before. Formalities weren't necessary.
"This is Mizushiro's new work."
"Mizushiro?" Kazuya paused, the na ringing a faint bell. "Wait… that sounds familiar. Who is that again?"
(TL:- if you want even more content, check out p-atreon/Alioth23 for 50 advanced chapters)
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