Silence.
Ishigami Rina had fully expected Kazama Yuu's call to be about the envelope of money she'd offered him earlier.
She had not expected him to say he wanted to enter the New Generation Original Works Award.
Is he insane?
Anger surged up her chest—but she forced it down instantly. She was still outside, surrounded by people. Losing control here was unacceptable.
"Kazama-sensei…" she said calmly into the phone, even using honorifics.
"…Have you considered this carefully?"
"No," Kazama replied without hesitation. "But my decision is final. Please believe in me, Editor Ishigami."
That answer made her grip her phone tighter.
As they walked, Kazama flipped through the latest issue of Weekly Shōnen Sunday, confirming what his memories already told him.
Because Ishigami had constantly drilled "study the market" into the original Kazama, stacks of the magazine filled his apartment. He'd skimmed every issue.
The trend had been obvious.
For twelve consecutive issues—nearly three months—the same pattern dominated. Sales remained high, but reader enthusiasm was clearly dropping.
People were getting numb.
If Weekly Shōnen Sunday kept chasing shallow stimulation, it would eventually degrade into low-effort, disposable trash.
Ishigami suddenly stopped walking.
If no one were around, she would've already ripped this idiot apart verbally. Every time she "believed in him," he failed spectacularly.
"…Kazama-sensei," she said after a pause. "How about pork-cutlet rice bowls for dinner?"
"…What?"
"If you're really entering the New Generation Original Works Award, then I'm coming over. We'll talk properly."
Her gaze flicked toward a nearby convenience store. It was already after work hours—she just wanted to go home, cook something, and relax.
If only this troublesome man didn't exist.
"I—I couldn't possibly impose—"
"Don't refuse," Ishigami said sweetly. "As your editor, it's my job to support you."
Her voice through the phone was gentle.
And completely non-negotiable.
"…Then thank you very much, Editor Ishigami."
Kazama swallowed. His stomach growled painfully.
He checked his wallet—thirty thousand yen left. He'd pay her back. He hated owing anyone.
While waiting, he continued flipping through the magazine.
Definitely for research.
Absolutely not for those scandalously drawn pages.
Twenty minutes later, someone knocked.
Kazama hurriedly hid the magazine—even though it was pointless, guilt still hit him.
"Sorry for the trouble, Editor Ishigami."
He opened the door immediately, thanking her before she could speak.
"It's fine," she replied with a gentle smile. "Let me in. After dinner, we'll discuss your new project."
The moment the door closed behind her, the smile vanished.
Terrifying woman, Kazama thought solemnly.
"Kazama," Ishigami snapped, "are you trying to get yourself killed? Editor-in-Chief Nagasaki wants you gone. Why are you volunteering to be humiliated again?"
She shoved the two pork-cutlet bentos into his arms.
"Are you some kind of masochist?!"
"No—please trust me this time," Kazama said quickly.
She stared at him.
Dead serious.
That was exactly what gave her a headache.
"…Fine," she said at last. "If you insist on wasting both our time, don't blame me later."
"Thank you."
Kazama exhaled in relief.
Entry into the New Generation Original Works Award required an editor's approval. If Ishigami refused, he was finished before he even started.
"All right," she said. "Heat them up. After dinner, we talk concepts."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"You do have one, right?"
"Yes," Kazama replied instantly. His survival instincts screamed that hesitation would be fatal.
She nodded, slipped off her pumps, and changed into indoor slippers.
The movement caused her pencil skirt to ride up slightly.
Kazama immediately looked away.
"…Thanks for the meal."
"Oh, right." Kazama pulled out his wallet. "Here's the cost of the bentos."
"Keep it," Ishigami said flatly. "Consider it an investment. If you turn in another piece of garbage, I'll make you regret it."
She smiled.
Her eyes didn't.
"Relax, Editor Ishigami. No problem."
The bentos were heated, and they sat down.
"All right," she said, chopsticks in hand. "Let's hear it. Broad strokes only."
She paused.
"First—this is still a romance manga, right?"
"Yes."
"Good. Protagonist?"
"Human. Timeline goes from student to salaryman."
She visibly relaxed.
"Thank god. I thought you were about to tell me it was another monster romance."
If his art weren't exceptional, he would've been axed long ago. Readers had already complained his works were emotionally traumatic.
"And the plot?" she pressed.
"That's the key part."
Kazama thought for a moment.
"They meet. They fall in love. They separate."
Ishigami froze.
"…What?"
Her chopsticks lowered slowly.
She leaned forward, eyes wide.
"You want to throw tragedy into today's rom-com market?!"