I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 93

Of course, the reason Kazuya seemed so anxious was due to pressure from upper management and the incredibly tight production schedule.

In the animation industry, a typical project—from proposal to completion—often takes a year or more. Two or even three years isn’t unusual, and even then, success isn’t guaranteed.

Kazanami Animation was one of the more established studios, but even for them, a four-month timeline was cutting it close. A smaller studio would’ve likely fallen apart under this kind of pressure.

Animators, voice actors, music producers, directors, writers, post-production—getting all those moving parts to sync up was no easy feat.

Even with Kazanami’s experienced team, four months was barely enough.

If time weren’t an issue, Kazuya would’ve pushed back the script selection process by at least a month or two.

That’s why things felt so rushed now.

Haruka let out a quiet breath as she considered this. At the same time, she found herself increasingly curious about Haruki—the young mangaka she still didn’t know all that well.

From what she’d seen so far, he’d been in Tokyo for less than two months, and already one of his manga was set to debut in Shroud Line, while another might be picked up for animation by Kazanami Animation.

Sure, Haruka had helped make some of that happen, and luck definitely played a role—but opportunities were only part of the equation. The rest came down to talent and execution.

Just a few days after Haruki's new series was confirmed for serialization in Shroud Line...

The mood across Tokyo's manga scene—and even in other major cities—had already started to shift.

Online forums were abuzz with rumors.

There were whispers about CoffeeBean’s new series The Thousand Stars Secret Realm, and news that this year’s Aurora Manga Award winner, Mizushiro, was also launching a new title: Natsume’s Book of Friends.

Shroud Line was one of the top seven weekly manga magazines in the country, with national circulation approaching eight million. Naturally, its upcoming new releases had everyone in the industry paying attention.

Within days, the announcement was already making waves.

CoffeeBean had previously published several works with second-tier publishing houses and had built up a respectable following in Tokyo. His move to the main stage felt like a long-overdue promotion—years of persistence finally paying off.

But Mizushiro’s new work...

Once word got around that it wasn’t a continuation of Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance, nor even a similar historical romance, opinions quickly split.

Many assumed Mizushiro’s new project was destined to flop.

A shift in genre?

That almost never worked.

Even veteran mangaka who’d been drawing for over a decade struggled to keep their audience when switching styles. For a newcomer with just one breakout hit? Most considered it a doomed experiment.

And when rumors surfaced that the series might be a slice-of-life with a unit-episode format, the skepticism grew louder.

Sure, short stories had their appeal—easy to read, easy to write, no need for long-term plot threads or foreshadowing. But the drawbacks were just as clear. Without strong continuity, reader engagement could drop fast. One weak episode, and people might never return.

Could Mizushiro really pull this off?

Most people didn’t think so.

Many in the Tokyo scene were already looking forward to the first issue—not out of excitement, but to see if he’d crash and burn.

Resentment wasn’t hard to find in the manga world. And there were plenty of people who weren’t shy about rooting for Haruki to fail.

He’d won the Aurora Award—a prize that many established creators had chased for years—after being in the industry for less than twelve months. Now, his debut series in Tokyo was getting the spotlight in Shroud Line?

It didn’t sit well with a lot of folks.

The chatter from Tokyo didn’t take long to spread nationwide.

Elsewhere, reactions were mixed.

Fans of Rurouni Kenshin: Remembrance were completely blindsided.

Haruki hadn’t published anything for half a year, and most assumed he’d been quietly working on the next chapter of Kenshin. MangaSteam forums lit up with threads debating the news.

“Wait—what happened to the Kenshin sequel? My friend in Tokyo says Mizushiro is launching something completely different in Shroud Line?!”

"That’s just a rumor!"

"It’s not! My friend works at Echo Shroud Publishing. We grew up together—why would he lie to me?"

"Wait, seriously?"

"Is Mizushiro-sensei’s new series a continuation of Rurouni Kenshin?"

"Doesn’t sound like it. My friend said it’s something about humans and spirits."

"Ugh, I’m getting serious bad vibes from this. Why not just continue Rurouni Kenshin? Why go off and draw some moody spirit romance?"

"This is what happens when fame hits too young. We’ve seen this before—some fresh-faced artist scores a hit, then veers off into their passion project. Everyone’s excited at first, then boom. Crickets."

"Hey now, let’s not be unfair. Saying a human-spirit story is ‘cliché’ is missing the point. That wandering swordsman tale was just as old-school. It’s not the new idea—it’s how you execute it. I’m all in for whatever Mizushiro-sensei creates. But... yeah, I would love to see a new arc of Rurouni Kenshin."

"Same here. Still supporting Mizushiro-sensei all the way!"

"Yeah, count me in too!"

...

Meanwhile, the manga scene back in Osaka was in chaos.

Kurokawa Publishing was flooded with letters and emails from fans upset that Mizushiro had gone to Tokyo for his next series, instead of staying in Osaka to continue Rurouni Kenshin.

The fans were furious.

For years, Osaka hadn’t produced a breakout manga star like Mizushiro. And now that they finally had one, he was gone?

Still, despite their disappointment, Mizushiro’s loyal fanbase made their stance clear: they’d support Shroud Line magazine when it released his new work in three weeks.

After all, Shroud Line had national distribution. They could still follow him, no matter where he published.

...

Friday, at Haruki’s apartment.

Haruka arrived with two guests in tow.

“Good afternoon, Mizushiro-sensei. I’m Naoya Fujimoto.”

“And I’m Kenta Hoshikawa.”

Haruki glanced at the two young men in their twenties.

“These are the assistants you asked for,” Haruka said briskly, leading them into the apartment without ceremony. “Both have clean records, solid drawing skills, and live nearby. You can keep your focus on the manga.”

She gave the room a quick once-over. It was tidy, with a faint scent of fresh ink. Clearly, Haruki had been drawing when they arrived—his fingers were still stained with black from the pen.

She nodded to herself.

She didn’t say anything out loud, but inwardly, she was impressed. Compared to a lazy or disorganized artist, this was a good sign.

Haruki let her barbed phrasing slide and turned his attention to the two assistants, quickly striking up conversation. They were both recent graduates, passionate about manga but still trying to find their footing in the industry—much like Kotone had been.

In Japan’s fiercely competitive manga world, becoming an assistant was the usual starting point for most aspiring artists.

Of course, Haruki was a special case.

He handed over a few unfinished Natsume’s Book of Friends pages for a test.

The result? Not bad at all.

They weren’t quite on Kotone’s level, but their work was definitely solid—well above the industry average.

And for a series like Natsume’s Book of Friends, which didn’t require excessive detail or action-heavy panels, they were more than capable. With time, their synergy would only improve.

With that settled, Haruki relaxed a bit.

They hashed out salary details next—he offered a 10% increase over market rates, just to keep things smooth.

By the end of the visit, both sides had reached a working agreement.