Shuu Fumiya sat back and exhaled. That interview response was something else.
In an era dominated by hot-blooded shonen manga, a debut work with creative philosophy this deliberate and this sharp was genuinely rare. And that kind of depth tended to draw people in, mature readers especially. He wasn't a kid. He didn't want manga that played out like children pretending at make-believe. He wanted work that left a mark, that had something to say.
And something to say was, frankly, the difference between memorable and forgettable. A story with impressive fights and solid worldbuilding was fine, but if it had nothing underneath, it faded within a month. That was just how it worked; by now the ACG scene had produced enough "exciting but hollow" titles that people had built up immunity.
What kept people talking was work that hid something beneath the surface. A religious metaphor, a philosophical argument, a mythological reference embedded in the structure, something that made readers feel like there was a puzzle worth solving, a meaning worth digging for.
Neon Genesis Evangelion was the clearest example he could think of. What made that show generate the reaction it did wasn't just the story; it was everything layered into it. The religious imagery, the psychological symbolism, the conspiracy-theory readings, all the threads people pulled. That was why it wouldn't go away.
Or take the older domestic animated series that recently got a wave of retrospective praise, the one that seemed like a simple children's show until you looked closer. What elevated it in hindsight was exactly that: the philosophical weight hiding in its dialogue, the villains who articulated coherent worldviews, the structural reversals that recontextualised everything earlier. People hadn't noticed at the time. Now they were citing it.
And the film Prometheus. Divisive, yes, but the highest-rated entry in the Alien franchise for a reason. The reason was that it asked serious questions about religion, philosophy, and the origins of life, and refused to answer them cleanly. That texture, that refusal to be simple, was what stuck with people.
So for Aoyama's work to sit at that intersection, future technology and its effect on human society, humanist concern, a critique of how capital reshapes a world, that was a rare combination. The kind of creative foundation that drew serious readers in and kept them.
Not just Shuu Fumiya. After the interview ran, readers across the board who'd skipped Edgerunners entirely started taking notice. Some of them picked up the entire run the same day. The readership was growing.
"No wonder ForceKing said it had real depth," Shuu Fumiya muttered, smiling. "That explains it."
He reached the final interview question.
"Last one, and it's the one readers have been asking about most: what was behind your decision to have David's mother die so suddenly?"
"That was just how the story needed to go. In Night City, anyone can die without warning; that's the nature of the setting. But Gloria's death has a specific cause that goes beyond the traffic incident. She didn't actually die from the crash. She died at the hands of scavengers."
"Night City's scavengers are mostly gutter-level predators. They target people who let their guard down, street wanderers and strays, and strip out their cyber implants and organs to sell on the black market. To them, a human life is just a collection of resellable parts."
"Patients like Gloria who couldn't pay premium rates for proper care essentially didn't register as people to scavengers. They were inventory."
Shuu Fumiya's hands went still.
He hadn't seen that coming. Not black market ambush, not gang crossfire, not the EMTs leaving her to die. Scavengers. The ones who'd seemed almost harmless at first, the ones who'd checked her vitals and noted she was in decent shape.
They'd just changed their minds.
That was what had happened. They saw her implants, ran the numbers, and decided the payout was worth more than leaving her alive. And Gloria died for that math.
The realization hit differently than a dramatic death scene would have. It was quieter and worse. Just the cold logic of a world that didn't value her.
And if David ever found out, if he ever learned that his mother hadn't died from the crash, that she'd been alive longer than he thought, that it was those same scavengers who...
He'd be destroyed.
Shuu Fumiya set the magazine down slowly.
This creator was not normal.
The ideas were unconventional, the worldbuilding was original, the story beats were nothing like he expected, and this interview made all of that legible in a way that the manga alone hadn't. Aoyama wasn't just drawing a cool sci-fi story. He was constructing something.
"I suppose that's just what genuine talent looks like," Shuu Fumiya murmured to himself. Then, a beat later: "Though I really wish this wasn't bi-weekly. Can't he just... give us more?"
---
Across the city, high up in one of the Metropolis's gleaming office towers.
A young man in gold-rimmed glasses set his magazine down with faint reluctance. "That's a solid work," he said. "Why is it only bi-weekly?"
On his computer screen, a messaging client was open. His username: ForceKing.
On his desk sat not one, but seven issues of Manga World GoGo, every issue that had carried an Edgerunners chapter.
He'd fallen hard for the setting. The neon-soaked Night City aesthetic, the implant design, the cyberpunk action; Aoyama's Drawing Kaleidoscope ability made every spread look like a fully realized illustration. It was genuinely beautiful.
Knock knock.
"Sir." A voice from outside the office door.
"Come in." Ryo Shien straightened slightly, cleared his throat, and composed himself.
Yes, Ryo Shien, twenty-nine years old, company director. A young man who'd built a company more out of passion than necessity; his family had the money to back it, and he'd chosen to spend it on something he actually cared about.
He ran a game development studio.
In this era, who got into game development without being driven by genuine love for the medium?
The door opened. A sharply dressed young project manager walked in with a bound document.
"Manager Ryo. What's up?"
Ryo Shien shifted into work mode, the magazine set aside. Edgerunners would have to wait.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]
T/N: The "older domestic animated series with retrospective praise" referenced here is a nod to a classic fictional franchise within the story's world, treated as a cultural parallel to real-world titles that were underappreciated on release.