Stepping out of Kodansha, Akiyama looked up at the clear night sky, and a wave of relief washed over him.
After laying the groundwork for so long, he'd finally taken the first step on the professional path. If things went well, maybe in two weeks he'd even receive his very first prize payment.
That good mood didn't last long.
Right afterward, he ran straight into the evening rush on the train. Packed into a swaying, overcrowded carriage for over two hours, he finally made it back to the place where he both worked and lived—Edogawa.
By the time he reached the studio, it was already past nine at night.
The studio was about sixty square meters—already cramped, and made even worse by mountains of document boxes and drawing supplies jammed into every corner.
Yudai Uesugi didn't like cleaning. He also rarely demanded that Akiyama tidy up. It made Akiyama suspect the middle-aged man actually enjoyed the "messy studio" vibe—as if only chaos could match the "eccentric aura" of a serialized mangaka.
As expected, the moment Akiyama came back carrying the supplies he'd been sent to buy…
Uesugi's furious scolding hit him head-on.
"Just buying materials—why did it take you this long?! Do you have any idea how many manuscript pages you could've finished in the time you wasted?!"
"If we miss the deadline, can you take responsibility for it?! This is a series running in Young Magazine!"
"You punk—if you can't handle it, then get out already!!"
Great. Another rap performance.
Akiyama was basically immune by now. He didn't feel much of anything—just stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking like a rebellious middle schooler getting chewed out by a garbage teacher.
Because he knew Uesugi was all bark.
He wouldn't actually do anything to him.
Most of the time, Uesugi's insults were just a way to squeeze out a sense of "superiority" as a serialized mangaka.
After all, with his reputation, no other assistants would come near him anymore. Akiyama—the lone apprentice—was the only target he had left to vent on.
And yes, Akiyama had come back late today.
He'd done something he shouldn't.
He'd gone to Kodansha behind Uesugi's back.
If listening to a few minutes of "rap" let him laugh it off, that was a bargain.
—
Just then, from the corner of the room, a gaze drifted over.
A high school girl in a JK uniform sat at a small desk, watching curiously.
Akiyama knew her. In fact, she was the only "coworker" he had in this studio.
Uesugi's niece—Akina Uesugi.
Beneath her long black hair, she had a plain, clean face, touched with a faint healthy color under the studio lights.
Her features were the kind of pretty that felt comfortable to look at. Her eyes were a clear pinkish-brown, pure and transparent like a spring that hadn't been disturbed by anything. Her uniform looked slightly faded from washing, and her skirt hem sat just above her knees.
Unlike her loud, abrasive uncle, Akina was quiet.
So quiet that even though Akiyama had been working here for a year, he'd never once spoken to her.
They worked in the same tiny sixty-square-meter room every day… and didn't talk.
It sounded absurd, but it was real.
She always sat silently at the small desk in the corner. Aside from coordinating with her uncle, she almost never interacted with Akiyama at all.
Which meant Akiyama knew practically nothing about her—only that she was in high school, and every evening she came to the studio to help and learn.
Most days she handled simple tasks like filling blacks, applying screentone, and drawing speed lines. After finishing, she still had to do her school homework.
The strange part?
Uesugi—who exploded at everyone—never raised his voice at his niece.
More often than not, he acted… oddly polite.
Polite to the point it didn't feel like an uncle-and-niece relationship at all.
"What are you spacing out for?!"
Feeling ignored, Uesugi barked, yanking Akiyama's thoughts back.
Staring at the young man, Uesugi's anger flared even harder.
He didn't know why, but lately Akiyama gave him a deeply unpleasant feeling.
It was like…
He was gradually losing his grip on this assistant.
Every lecture used to bring doubled guilt and reverence.
Now it brought only indifference—pure, blatant brush-off.
"Sorry, Uesugi-san. The train was jammed tonight."
That was so perfunctory!!
"Oh—I mean, I hit rush hour."
Realizing he'd said something stupid, Akiyama corrected himself.
"Rush hour isn't special! It happens every day! You don't know how to plan your time and avoid it?! Even something this basic—trash like you still wants to become a professional mangaka?!"
Uesugi launched into his classic opening again—and right then—
"Uncle."
From the corner, Akina stood.
Her voice was light and soft.
"I finished my homework. I'm going home."
"Ah… okay. Go on. Be careful on the way!"
Uesugi instantly switched into a sycophantic smile, watching her sling her black bag over her shoulder and leave.
The moment the door clicked shut—
He glared back at Akiyama.
"You little bastard—are you still pissed about last month, when I didn't teach you how to draw manga?!"
Last month, Uesugi dumped a whole week's workload on him, promising that if Akiyama finished it in two days, he'd teach him how to produce a submission-ready manga.
Uesugi's real intention had been simple: he was sick of being pestered, and wanted an excuse to shut him up—while conveniently increasing his workload.
He hadn't expected the idiot kid to actually do it.
And of course, the result was exactly what it always was—
Uesugi happily took the finished pages…
…and refused to teach him anything.
Back then, Akiyama hadn't even argued.
Now that he thought about it, the kid must still be desperate for him to teach him.
So he was putting on this careless, "whatever" act on purpose—just to get Uesugi's attention and make him soften up, right?
With that thought, Uesugi changed faces again, expression easing into a "kindly" seriousness.
"I told you then—right now, you're still a long way from being a pro. Even if I introduced you to an editor, who could you beat in the Monthly Award?! Even I only debuted with an Honorable Mention when I was thirty!"
"I didn't break my promise. I was protecting you—from getting crushed. You did a great job last month. Just keep up that attitude and next month… next month I can consider properly teaching you how to draw a manga—guarantee you'll get something like an 'Effort Award' in the Monthly Award…"
Just like always, Uesugi kept painting dreams and selling hope.
He knew Akiyama too well. When yelling didn't work, all he needed was to toss him a few sweet words—
But the moment Uesugi brought up last month's incident…
A chill surged straight up Akiyama's spine.
The expression on his face slowly vanished.
His gaze dropped, sharpened, focused—
And he stared at Uesugi with cold, bottomless eyes.
That icy look made Uesugi's heart twitch.
For a moment, it felt like the air had frozen solid.
W-what the hell…?
All at once, Uesugi felt that the Akiyama in front of him had become a stranger—like he'd turned into a completely different person.
Same face.
But his eyes, his presence, even the tiny micro-expressions…
Everything was different now.
Worse—there was a pressure in that stare. Subtle, but real.
"O-okay!"
Uesugi broke eye contact first, shattering the frozen mood. His voice dropped instinctively.
"Since you did buy the materials… if you're tired, fine. Call it a day. Take the pages home—leave the rest for tomorrow!"
Uesugi had this gut feeling that if he stayed in the same room with this guy much longer, something bad might happen.
"Mm." Akiyama nodded.
"Oh—right. There are apples on the table. Take one with you."
That actually made Akiyama pause.
This stingy bastard was giving him fruit?
What a miracle.
Akiyama didn't refuse. Seeing that Uesugi had already turned away, he casually grabbed two apples and left the studio.
---
Akiyama's apartment was located in an old residential area about a kilometer from the studio.
Back during the bubble era, Uesugi had joined the real estate frenzy. He didn't buy stocks—he bought several properties outright.
Maybe his foundation had been solid enough, because even after the crash, though the apartments lost value, he managed to keep them. Two of the units here were part of that collection.
The reason Akiyama could survive on such low pay each month was because Uesugi allowed him to stay there while working.
Of course, utilities were on him.
Akiyama walked home.
Same road as always—dim streetlights, narrow streets, the occasional passing headlights stretching his shadow long across the pavement.
But tonight, his steps felt unusually light.
He'd submitted his first manuscript.
And he didn't have to keep working tonight.
Bathed in silvery moonlight, he walked while biting into the crisp apple in his hand, feeling better than he had in a long time.
Because he knew—
The future where he escaped this miserable life…
Wasn't far anymore.
…
The next day, Akiyama was woken by the ringing of the phone.
He struggled out of bed and shuffled to the receiver.
It was an old, heavy rotary phone—something Uesugi had set up for him when he moved in, since he often took work home and Uesugi needed to be able to reach him immediately.
He picked up.
A woman's voice came through.
"Hello, is this the Akiyama residence?"
"Yes." Akiyama forced himself awake.
"This is Kurokawa from Kodansha's editorial department. Akiyama-san, sorry to bother you so early, but I need to inform you of something."
Akiyama inhaled slowly, testing the waters.
"Is it about the Manga Grand Prize?"
"Yes. Perfect Blue has officially passed the preliminary screening. Next up is the editorial judging meeting."
Kurokawa paused, then said seriously:
"Akiyama-san—"
"From this moment on… we're gamblers on the same boat."