The editorial office buzzed like a hornet's nest that had been tapped one too many times.
"Only one serialization this quarter?"
"Just one. Apparently, Chief made the final call himself."
"Oh? Let me guess—'The Flower of Margaria' ?"
"Hah. What else? That fairy tale knock-off beat my action-horror pitch?"
"And Matsumoto-san's the one backing her? Pfft. No wonder. My rookies' one-shots are way better than hers."
Their voices weren't hushed. In fact, they seemed to echo through the walls intentionally—like a test. A test to see how long Takeru Matsumoto would ignore it.
He didn't.
The elevator doors hadn't even fully opened before his voice sliced through the open floor.
"Say that again."
Everyone went silent. Kana's pen froze mid-scratch on her notepad.
"What was that, Takeda-san?" Takeru said, stepping forward, voice cool but eyes sharp. "You said Aoki's work is a fairy tale knock-off, right? Mind telling me what part of your submission wasn't a poor man's rip-off of D.Gray-Man?"
"W-what? I didn't—" Hiro Takeda could hardly find words.
"Or was it Chainsaw Man this time?" he continued, not raising his voice but somehow making every word thunder through the office. "You think shouting and blood makes your story edgy? You want to talk merit? Let's pull up the scoring sheets. Right now."
The editors stared at him. Kana raised an eyebrow.
"The efforts she has out into this is something you or any of your so-called 'rookies' have never, and probably will never be able to top. She got serialized because she submitted something better. Simple."
He turned to the rest, now uncomfortably still.
"Act like professionals," he finished coldly, then walked past them toward the coffee machine.
Kana couldn't do anything but stare at him dumbfoundly. "Oof. First time I'm seeing you crash out like that, Matsumoto-san."
Takeru didn't answer. He just poured himself a cup, hands steady.
___
Aoki's apartment smelled faintly of ink, instant ramen, and the soft citrus of Yuka's fabric spray.
The serialization had been officially announced that morning. Her heart had pounded with excitement then—but now, as she sat in front of her desk, none of that mattered.
She had a deadline.
Chapter 1 had to be perfect.
Her hands, slightly trembling, hovered above the page. The fountain pen waited silently beside her favorite ruler. She hadn't touched it since that night.
No. She couldn't rely on it yet.
Her G-pen scratched against the page, slow but purposeful. But, she couldn't replicate the perfection of the fountain pen.
Aoki had no choice but to turn back to it. She didn't bother turning on music or opening the window. She didn't notice the hours passing.
Panel by panel.
Line by line.
Each brushstroke made the characters breathe.
She didn't realize how tightly she was clenching her jaw until a stabbing pain shot through her temple. She winced, blinking rapidly—and noticed red speckles on the edge of her page.
Her nose... dripping blood.
She reached for a tissue, but her hand missed the box completely. Her vision blurred. Her back slumped. The pen rolled from her fingers.
She came to on the sofa, eyes barely focusing.
"Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty."
Yuka Shinozaki, her assistant smiled from across the room, arms crossed, wearing a hoodie far too large for someone her size.
"Yuka…?"
"You passed out."
She walked over and gently dabbed Aoki's nose with a tissue, cleaning the rest of the oozing blood. "You're lucky I came early and somehow pulled you up to the sofa."
"I was… drawing," she replied softly.
"Drawing yourself to death?" she said dryly, then her eyes caught the scattered storyboard on the desk. "Wait—this is… the manuscript for chapter one?"
Aoki nodded slowly.
Yuka exhaled. "This is gorgeous."
"It's not done."
"I don't care. These characters—what the hell, did you level up or something?"
Aoki gave a tired smile. "Maybe I'm finally catching up to myself."
Yuka helped her up properly, guiding her back into the chair. "You need to hydrate. Nose bleeds not part of the creative process."
"I'm totally okay. But don't talk Matsumoto-senpai, please" Aoki muttered.
Yuka smirked. "Fine. But you're not allowed to collapse on me. Who else will I ink backgrounds for?"
They shared a quiet moment, interrupted by the sudden buzz of Aoki's phone.
Takeru Matsumoto calling.
Aoki picked up. "Hey."
"I'm coming over," Takeru said. "You're home, right?"
"…Yeah."
___
He arrived 10 minutes later, paper bag in one hand, laptop bag in the other.
"I brought melon pan," he said casually, stepping inside like he owned the place as Yuka opened the door for him. "And Pocari Sweat."
Yuka raised an eyebrow. "Wow! You spoil her."
"I don't see you buying electrolytes."
"I bought her tissues."
He ignored that and turned to Aoki. "How's the manuscript?"
She hesitated. "Done... mostly."
"Good, let's begin."
The three of them gathered around the table, Yuka watching from her little office by Aoki's table with a pencil in hand, quietly sketching side characters while eavesdropping.
Takeru carefully placed his laptop bag on the table. "I heard what some of the editors said. Sorry I wasn't there to stop it earlier."
"You were. I heard about it."
He looked surprised. "Already?"
"Office rumors travel fast. You actually yelled?"
"I defended the manga. Not you," he lied.
Aoki didn't call him out on it.
Instead, she handed over the compiled storyboard he came for. Takeru scanned through it silently, taking his time with every panel. When he finished, he placed it down and leaned back.
"This..." he said, "feels like you."
She blinked. "What?"
"Your last serialization, you were always second-guessing yourself. Playing safe. But this? This is perfect."
Aoki looked down at her ink-stained hands. "I didn't try to copy anyone this time."
"Good," he said. "Because if you had, you'd have failed. This isn't a loud story. It's poetic. It's reflective. And not every editor gets that. But I do."
Yuka spoke from the couch. "It's basically aesthetic murder mystery meets tragic fairytale."
"I like that," Aoki said softly.
Takeru nodded. "Polish it slightly. It's great already but what we're aiming for we'll need a little more—."
"Sparkles?" Yuka interrupts respectfully.
"Yes, sparkles," Takeru nods and they all burst into laughter.
___
One week later, the golden warmth of the sun spilled through the curtains of Aoki's apartment, casting long lines across her drawing table. The room smelled faintly of ink and eraser shavings. She passed the final page of Chapter 1 to Yuka, who took it carefully with gloved hands.
"Okay, I'll clean up the tones and scan everything in," Yuka said, already examining the quality of Aoki's linework.
Aoki leaned back in her chair and stretched, arms reaching high above her head, a soft groan escaping her lips. "Man... that felt longer than just one chapter."
"You really powered through this one," Yuka replied, setting the page down beside the others with admiration in her voice. "It's intense—but not in an overdone way. The pacing... the expressions... It's like you've leveled up again."
Aoki smiled faintly, her eyes drifting over the stack of completed pages. As pride swelled inside her, she felt a wetness tickle her upper lip.
"Ah—" She dabbed quickly at her nose with her sleeve, confirming her suspicion. Another nosebleed. She was starting to get used to it.
She turned from Yuka, wiping it hurriedly and throwing the tissue into the drawer beneath the desk—one of the older wooden ones with a wobbly leg and rough grain. She made a mental note to properly clean it later. "Need a break," she muttered, rising.
"Want me to grab drinks?" Yuka offered, but Aoki shook her head.
"No, no, my treat this time. I need some fresh air anyway."
She stepped into a comfortable sweatshirt and left the apartment, walking down the stairs with a slight sway in her steps. Outside, the sun was brighter than she remembered, and the streets were busy with weekend errands.
At the corner convenience store, a mother and her young son exited just as Aoki reached for the door. She stepped aside politely.
But the boy paused, eyes widening as he stared at her. "Mama, wait!" he tugged at his mother's hand.
"What is it?"
"That's her! That's Aoki-sensei! The one who drew 'The Flower of Margaria' !" the boy said, pointing at her, completely starstruck.
Aoki turned with a small, startled laugh.
"You read it?"
"I love it! It's the best! The princess is so cool, and the twist with the cursed knight—"
"Shh, don't spoil it for others!" Aoki said, laughing again. "Thank you. That really means a lot."
The mother smiled and bowed slightly. "Thank you for inspiring him. He draws every day now."
As they walked off, Aoki stepped into the store, her mood lifted by the encounter. She reached for two canned coffees from the fridge when the store manager, a young man in an apron, approached curiously.
"Excuse me, miss... are you a popular mangaka?"
"Kinda," she replied sheepishly, brushing her hair behind one ear.
"In that case, these are on the house. Just keep making awesome stuff."
Aoki blinked. "Oh—thanks! I'll make sure to!"
She returned home to find Yuka finished with the inking and scanning. "You're a machine," Aoki joked, handing her a chilled drink.
"Only because you draw like your life depends on it," Yuka grinned. "Thanks."
As they sipped, Aoki called Takeru.
"Yo, manuscript's done. Chapter One in full."
"Already?!"
"Yeah."
"I'll come over in a bit."
Yuka wiped her hands on a towel and began packing up her bag. "I'll head out. Give your editor a scare with how good this is."
"Thanks for today."
"No problem. Don't stay up too late again."
Yuka headed for the door but suddenly stopped. "Hey, Itsumi-senpai."
"Yeah."
"I've been meaning to ask for a while now. Why are you drawing with a fountain pen?" Yuka said looking very puzzled.
"Umm... Well... I don't know, I just picked it up and started using it and my drawing became better. It was like an extension of my hand, so I just continued." Aoki was hoping her answer was convincing enough or even made any sense.
"Okay, I was just abit confused because I've never heard of a mangaka using a fountain pen. Neither have you ever used it till last week."
"I guess that makes me different," she giggled trying to lighten up the room.
"Yeah, I guess," Yuka said, still abit puzzled.
She hesitated at the door, glancing back at the pen with a frown. "Just... be careful with that thing, okay?"
Once Yuka left, Aoki walked to her desk to tidy things. That's when she noticed it, just for a second—the pen, it glowed faintly with a shimmer of violet. She blinked and It looked normal again.
A knock at the door pulled her attention. She opened it to see Takeru holding a takeout bag and his laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
"Food and work," he announced. "You really finished it?"
She handed him the manuscript. As he flipped through the pages, his face gradually shifted from skepticism to pure awe.
"This is insane. Like… the flow, the character tension, the transitions between scenes. It's clean but bold. You meant every panel, huh?"
"I did," Aoki said quietly, sipping from her drink.
"This doesn't feel like someone who just got serialized. This feels like someone reclaiming her lost throne."
She almost laughed, caught off guard. "Throne?"
Takeru slid the manuscript into a protective folder. "Yes, throne. This will shut everyone up at the office. Those editors who were grumbling last week... They're not ready for this."
He looked up, meeting her eyes seriously. "You're not just making a comeback, Aoki. You're making a statement."
"Hope it's loud enough."
He chuckled. "It is. Trust me."
As he turned to leave, she walked him to the door. He paused before exiting.
"One more thing. Your art's never been better... but you look like you haven't slept in weeks. You push hard, but there's a limit—even for you."
"I know," she said, softer now. "I just want to give it everything I've got."
He nodded, then stepped into the hallway.
She closed the door behind him, the sound of it latching echoing in the silence.
She sighed and turned toward her desk.
The pen was glowing again.
Only this time... it didn't stop.
The pen pulsed with a light that wasn't reflection—deeper than violet, like the heart of a dying star, humming with something she couldn't explain.