In a big city like Tokyo, you couldn't help but be influenced by the accomplishments of the people around you.
The weak would silently admire, let out a sigh of self-pity, and fade into the crowd without leaving a trace.
The strong, however, would be spurred on, unwilling to be left behind, striving toward their own dreams. Whatever the outcome, at least they could say they tried.
Kasumigaoka Utaha saw herself as one of the strong. She had always carried her own sense of pride, after all—she had been considered sharp and intelligent from an early age.
All through elementary and middle school, she spent more than half her time in class daydreaming and drifting.
And yet, she never failed to secure first place in her grade every single year.
Academics posed no real challenge. None of her peers could spark even the faintest competitive fire within her.
Bored and restless, she gradually found herself drawn to books with greater depth and literary merit.
Over time, Utaha began to feel her knowledge had grown enough that she could emulate the great authors she admired.
If she could write something that enriched the unstable, restless society of modern Japan—something to feed the soul—wouldn't that be meaningful?
Once the thought struck her, she didn't hesitate. In her first year of middle school, she set pen to paper and composed a short story.
After finishing, she reread it carefully, convinced her prose was elegant and her themes profound. Without delay, she mailed it off to a prestigious literary magazine.
She fully expected to be published, believing this would mark the start of her career as a writer.
Reality, however, was brutally unkind.
Her manuscript was sent back, accompanied by a short comment: "The writing is competent, but the ideas are shallow and lack depth."
The moment Utaha read those words, her pride refused to accept it.
For the first time in her life, she had found something that truly lit a fire within her. There was no way she would give up so easily.
She tossed her first story into the trash and immediately began a second. Then a third…
But every result was the same: rejection. At best, the feedback would say, "Keep trying. You have potential."
At worst, it was brutally blunt: "Your work lacks real-life experience. It reads like empty lamentation."
Her confidence and pride crashed down from the heavens to the dirt, leaving her trapped in a vicious cycle.
The more she was rejected, the more she wanted to prove herself.The more she wanted to prove herself, the more desperate and impatient her writing became.
But anyone could see it: with her shallow life experience and her restless mindset, how could her words possibly move the seasoned editors who had spent decades in the literary world?
Just as Utaha was on the verge of despair, one kind editor wrote her a personal note along with the rejection:
"The path of literature isn't limited to one road. Fantastic Bunko is holding a light novel contest soon, with a newcomer prize. If you're interested, you might try there."
Utaha had barely paid attention to light novels before. The colorful covers plastered with pretty girls had always seemed childish and shallow.
But after enduring so many rejections, her pride had softened. She had grown.
So she took the advice seriously. She looked up the contest details, bought several well-regarded light novels, and began reading them thoroughly.
And to her surprise—though the prose lacked the sharp elegance of traditional literature—the stories, the charm, the sheer fun of them was captivating.
This time, Utaha didn't rush. She read voraciously, studied the narrative style, and tried to understand the audience light novels were written for.
Only after preparing herself did she begin to write.
Following the contest rules, she submitted both her outline and a 30,000-word manuscript.
This time, she succeeded. Her carefully crafted high school romance caught the attention of an editor named Machida Sonoko.
When she went to the publishing house to sign her first contract, being addressed as "sensei" by older professionals was intoxicating. For the first time, she felt the sweetness of hard-won success.
But… that sweetness didn't last long.
She now understood the weight of the phrase: "In light novel publishing, signing the contract is only the beginning."
It was midday.
Inside a Japanese restaurant, Fantastic Bunko editor Machida Sonoko was seated across from her author, Kasumi Utako—Kasumigaoka Utaha's pen name—discussing the performance of her currently serialized romance light novel, Love Metronome.
Machida's tone was gentle."Utako-sensei, for a debut work without major promotional support, selling two thousand copies of the first volume is already a respectable start. We still have a chance. If sales improve with the second volume, I can push for more support from the higher-ups."
Utaha's expression remained strained despite the encouragement.
She was still new, but she understood the basics:
Light novels were sold volume by volume. Future releases lived or died based entirely on sales. If the numbers didn't justify continuation, the series would be axed without mercy.
It was a ruthless industry, but brutally fair. The readers' wallets decided everything.
An author who couldn't sell deserved to be replaced by someone who could. Shelf space was limited—why waste it on books that wouldn't move?
After a long silence, Utaha spoke."Machida-san… we only get one more chance, don't we?"
Machida hesitated, her expression heavy. She didn't want to confirm it, but in the end, she nodded."…Yes."
"What are the editor-in-chief's expectations for the second volume?"
"At minimum… sales need to double what they are now."
Utaha fell silent again.
The first volume's performance had already revealed how the market felt about her work. To double that with the second volume—was that even possible?
Machida knew the pressure weighed heavily on her author. But there was nothing more she could say.
Every light novel writer had to face this wall. No pep talk could make it easier. The only way forward was through."Let's not dwell on it now, Utako-sensei. Eat before the food gets cold."
But Utaha had no appetite. Her mind was completely consumed by the looming threat of cancellation.
She picked up her chopsticks, intending to force down a few bites before hurrying home to revise her manuscript again.
She was too proud to let her first real chance slip through her fingers.
Just as she steeled herself and lifted her chopsticks, a boy approached their table.
He was neatly dressed, his features so striking it was hard to look away.
A polite, almost shy smile lingered on his face, though beneath it flickered unmistakable excitement.
"Um… excuse me. Are you… Kasumi Utako, the author of Love Metronome?"