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The air in the coffee shop seemed to freeze. The clinking of porcelain cups and the low murmur of conversation faded into the background as Kawada Yuichiro and Machida Sonoko stared at the teenager across the table.
He had just rejected one of the fundamental pillars of the light novel industry.
"You... don't need an illustrator?" Kawada repeated, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear a glitch in his vision. He leaned forward, clasping his large hands together. "Leo-sensei—or should I say, Great Demon God-sensei, as per your pen name—I understand your hesitation. But the illustrators we provide are industry veterans. They are guaranteed to produce high-quality artwork that drives sales. If you have a specific vision, we can facilitate a meeting. You can direct them."
Leo didn't argue. He simply reached into his bag and pulled out his "Old Reliable" laptop. The heavy machine whirred to life, the fans spinning up with a familiar, weary hum.
He navigated to his encrypted portfolio, opened the gallery view, and spun the laptop around, sliding it across the table toward the Editor-in-Chief.
"It's not about their skill level," Leo said, his voice calm and authoritative. "It's about compatibility. I am capable of doing the work myself. More importantly, I understand the soul of this story better than anyone. If I delegate this to an outside artist, we'll spend weeks going back and forth on revisions, and the result will still be a compromise. I don't do compromises."
Kawada adjusted his glasses and looked at the screen. Machida leaned in over his shoulder.
Their eyes widened in unison.
On the screen was a gallery of breathtaking versatility. It wasn't just "good drawing"; it was a masterclass in style. There were character sheets rendered in the sharp, vibrant anime style popular in Akihabara. There were realistic sketches that looked like charcoal life-drawings. There were digital paintings that mimicked the heavy, textured strokes of classical oil painting.
Kawada clicked the "Next" arrow. A dragon appeared—not a cute, round-eyed mascot, but a terrifying, serpentine beast wreathed in smoke and shadow, its scales rendered with such detail you could practically feel the slime and heat.
He clicked again. A knight in battered armor stood before a cathedral, the lighting somber and oppressive, evoking the weight of centuries.
"This..." Kawada breathed, his finger hovering over the trackpad. "You did all of these?"
"Every pixel," Leo confirmed.
Kawada looked up at Leo, his expression shifting from skepticism to profound respect. Most people spent their lives mastering one discipline. To find a writer who could produce a manuscript of that caliber and an artist who could paint like a seasoned master... it was unfair. It was a statistical impossibility sitting right in front of him.
"The illustrators on our roster..." Kawada murmured, shaking his head slowly. "They are good at drawing cute girls. They are good at 'moe.' But this? This is art."
He realized then that assigning a standard light novel artist to Leo would be an insult. It would be like asking a finger-painter to finish a Rembrandt.
"My work belongs to the counter-mainstream category," Leo explained, retrieving his laptop. "The tone is absurd, gray, and coldly humorous. It's dark satire. If you slap a generic, bright-eyed anime girl on the cover, it will mislead the audience and kill the atmosphere."
Leo gestured to the screen, where a gloomy, magnificent cityscape was displayed.
"The art style needs to match the narrative. I'm going for a 'thick-painting' style—cool tones, heavy shadows, impasto textures. It needs to feel like a medieval tapestry that's been left out in the rain. I need precise control over the architecture, the period-accurate clothing, the grime on the daily necessities. Ordinary commercial artists can't handle that level of historical grit. I'd need a classical oil painter, and frankly, they wouldn't lower themselves to do light novel covers. So, I'll do it."
Leo spoke with the confidence of an "old painter." In his past lives, he had painted dragons, knights, and cathedrals until his hands cramped. He knew the structure of a gothic arch and the way light hit a steel breastplate. He wasn't going to let some freelancer turn his dark masterpiece into a generic harem comedy.
Kawada stared at him for a long moment, then slumped back in his seat, defeated but exhilarated.
"Alright, Great Demon God-sensei," Kawada said, using the pen name with zero irony. "You've convinced me. We will amend the contract. You have full creative control over the visuals."
In the adjacent booth, the "Game Development Circle" watched the scene unfold.
Tomoya was trying to look professional, but his leg was bouncing nervously. Eriri was pretending to check her phone, but her eyes were glued to the glimpse of Leo's art on the screen. Utaha sipped her tea, a small, knowing smile on her lips. Megumi just sat there, blinking slowly, her expression unreadable.
They weren't surprised. They had already accepted that Leo was a monster.
With the final details settled, Leo signed the papers. The scratch of the pen against the contract sounded like the opening shot of a war.
"Now that that's settled," Kawada said, packing the documents away with reverence. "It's getting late. Leo-sensei, Kasumi-sensei... are you sure I can't persuade you to join us for dinner? I know a place that serves excellent wagyu."
"Thank you, Editor-in-Chief," Leo said, standing up and nodding toward the booth behind him. "But as I said, I have friends waiting. And my inspiration for Volume 2 is burning a hole in my brain. I need to get back."
Kawada followed his gaze to the group of high schoolers. He saw Utaha, the famous author, and the blonde girl who looked suspiciously like the doujin artist Eri Kashiwagi. He nodded understandingly.
"I understand. Youthful camaraderie is a precious thing," Kawada said, bowing deeply. "We will be in touch."
He turned and left the café, Machida and the legal assistant trailing in his wake.
As he walked briskly toward the train station, Kawada's mind was racing. He clutched the briefcase containing the manuscript like it was a suitcase full of diamonds.
He needed to get back to the office. He needed to mobilize the troops.
Shinazugawa Bunko was a shadow of its former self. Years of mismanagement by his predecessor had decimated their infrastructure. Once, they had boasted 112 directly affiliated bookstores across the nation. Now? They were down to 68.
They had lost the prime real estate in Osaka and Fukuoka. They had been forced to retreat, consolidating their power in the Kanto region. Of their remaining 68 stores, 15 were in Tokyo. They were cornered. They couldn't rely on a nationwide blitz like Dengeki or Kadokawa.
"But we have Tokyo," Kawada muttered to himself, his eyes hard. "And we have this book."
He would personally oversee the layout. He would clear the shelves in every one of those 15 Tokyo stores to make a shrine for Leo's debut.
Shinazugawa Bunko had survived by selling off its limbs to save the heart. Now, with this weapon in hand, Kawada planned to stop surviving and start conquering.