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Machida Sonoko sat in the smoky haze of the izakaya, a half-eaten skewer of yakitori cooling on her plate. She swirled the ice in her highball, her sharp eyes staring at nothing in particular.
If Utaha was right—if this kid really had the ability to turn the tide—then Shinazugawa Bunko might have to bend the knee. They were a second-tier label, barely treading water. One bad quarter away from being relegated to the minor leagues permanently.
"Utaha," Sonoko said into the phone, her voice cutting through the ambient noise of drunk salarymen. "Are you absolutely sure about this? And more importantly... if this guy is the monster you say he is, why the hell would he choose us? Why not Dengeki or Kadokawa? He could walk into their offices and get a red carpet. Why settle for a sinking ship?"
It was the question of the night. Top-tier authors went to top-tier publishers. It was the law of the jungle. Shinazugawa survived on scraps—niche romance, weird mystery titles, the leftovers the big dogs didn't want. A flagship fantasy epic? That was a unicorn.
"I trust my gut," Utaha's voice came through clear and confident, with a hint of that signature arrogance. "And seeing is believing. I'll arrange a meeting. He's a high school student, same year as me. But unlike me—a fraud pretending to be a genius—this guy is the real deal."
Sonoko paused, her glass hovering halfway to her lips. She'd never heard Utaha call herself a fraud before. That alone was enough to pique her interest.
"Fine," Sonoko sighed, downing the rest of her drink. "If he's a student, his schedule is tight. You two pick a time. I'll clear my calendar. Just... don't make me regret this."
She hung up. It was a Hail Mary pass, but looking at the dismal quarterly projections for the publishing house, Sonoko knew she didn't have much to lose. She needed a win. And if this "Leo Vance" was her ticket to the editor-in-chief's chair, she'd take the gamble.
At that moment, Leo had no idea he was being scouted by the industry's hungriest shark. He was busy dealing with a different kind of predator.
Toyonosaki Academy - The Rooftop.
The wind up here was strong, whipping around the vents and carrying the faint scent of city exhaust and ozone.
Leo pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped out onto the concrete. Sitting on a bench near the safety railing, looking like a disgruntled princess in a fortress, was a petite girl with twin blonde ponytails.
Eriri Spencer Sawamura.
She looked up as the door clanged shut, her blue eyes narrowing instantly. She held a bento box in her lap, her chopsticks frozen mid-air. There was distinct wariness in her posture—like a cat ready to hiss.
If Tomoya hadn't practically begged her to listen to this guy, she wouldn't be here. She had zero interest in talking to strangers, especially ones involved in Tomoya's delusional projects.
"Tomoya already briefed you on why I'm here, right?" Leo asked, his voice easy and unthreatening.
He didn't encroach on her space. He sat on a bench a good ten feet away, leaning back against the chain-link fence with a relaxed sprawl. He knew the "Tsundere" archetype well—push too hard, and they bite. Give them space, and they get curious.
Eriri set her bento box aside, clearly losing her appetite. She crossed her arms, her twin tails swaying in the wind.
"I honestly didn't think anyone would actually buy into his nonsense," Eriri said, her voice sharp and brittle. "You're the guy willing to burn a hundred thousand dollars on a pipe dream. I really don't know if you're brave or just brain-dead."
She didn't sugarcoat it. In her mind, Tomoya was a great critic but a terrible creator. He had no skills, no plan, and no business running a production circle. She had already shot him down once because she refused to let him drag her into a train wreck.
But now, this guy shows up. A guy who apparently threw money around like it was confetti.
"I figure I was inspired by his enthusiasm," Leo laughed, looking out at the skyline. "Isn't it kind of romantic? A bunch of amateurs banding together to make something real? It's a classic underdog story."
"It's not romantic; it's a waste," Eriri snapped. "You're going to lose that hundred grand. Tomoya can't manage a project. He's going to run it into the ground."
"It's not a waste if I'm the one driving the car," Leo countered, turning his gaze to her. "The money just speeds things up. And besides... our team isn't exactly 'amateur.'"
Eriri raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Who else did he trick?"
"Well, the script is being handled by me and Kasumigaoka Utaha," Leo said casually.
Eriri flinched at the name. Her rival.
"And as for the visuals," Leo continued, "I'm pretty confident in my own skills. Just like you, Eriri-san, I've already secured early admission to the Tokyo University of the Arts. We're going to be classmates."
Eriri's eyes widened. "What?"
"I'm an oil painter by trade, but I do professional illustration work on the side," Leo said, ticking off his fingers. "I also code. And music? I'm Grade 10 certified in piano and violin, and I can compose an original score."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
"So, yeah. Tomoya might be the mascot, but I'm the engine. I'm a triple threat, Eriri. And with Utaha on the script... the only thing we're missing is a character designer who can match my level."
Eriri stared at him, stunned into silence. She had met plenty of talented people in her life—she was one of them, after all. But she had never met a monster like this.
Writer. Artist. Musician. Coder. He wasn't just a rich kid with a checkbook. He was a one-man army. And suddenly, the idea of joining this circle didn't seem like charity anymore. It felt like a challenge.