Those slightly trembling shoulders, those tightly pressed lips, that furtive gaze that kept glancing his way before quickly darting aside...
Seiji Fujiwara found it secretly amusing.
She clearly wanted to ask for his help, but her reluctance to speak made her look adorable.
"Seems like the results weren't ideal." Seiji spoke slowly.
Eriri reacted as if he'd struck a nerve, burying her head even deeper, facing him with the back of her head—like an ostrich shoving its head into the sand.
That display was tantamount to admission.
Seiji pulled over a chair and sat down.
Watching her struggle between wanting help and being too proud to ask, the corners of Seiji's mouth curved into an imperceptible smile.
"Since that's the case," he spoke slowly, his voice carrying clearly to Eriri's ears, "how about we try a different approach?"
Eriri's shoulders gave an almost imperceptible twitch.
"I'll handle the story and the name—the manga storyboards," Seiji unhurriedly dangled the bait he'd prepared long ago. "You handle the artwork. After publication, we split the profits fifty-fifty. Consider it a formal business collaboration. How does that sound?"
That proposal struck like a thunderbolt in Eriri's mind.
Collaboration?
Division of labor?
Split profits?
She looked up in shock, her azure eyes filled with wariness.
"Collaboration?" She repeated the word, her tone full of distrust. "Since when are you so generous? What trap are you setting now?"
"A trap?" Seiji shook his head with amusement. "How could there be one, Eriri... If you're depressed all the time, you won't be enthusiastic when we roll around in bed either, which seriously affects my experience!"
The reason was too absurd.
Eriri's mouth twitched.
"Let's just say that's the reason. But..." She looked at Seiji suspiciously. "You're a novelist—do you even understand manga storyboarding?"
It wasn't that Eriri doubted him out of malice.
Different industries were like different mountains.
Professional experience didn't transfer—even if Seiji's writing skills were excellent, entering the manga field meant starting from scratch like any rookie.
"Whether I understand or not, words alone won't prove it."
Seiji didn't explain. He simply smiled and stood. "I'll prepare the storyboards. You'll know once you see them."
With that, he turned and left the studio, gently closing the door behind him.
Eriri stared blankly at that closed door, her heart filled with confusion and a trace of expectation she was unwilling to acknowledge.
Does Seiji really understand manga?
Shaking her head.
Eriri stopped worrying about it. Once Seiji brought the storyboards, she'd know whether he was capable.
"For now, I'll continue with my own plan..."
She stretched, continuing to develop her story.
She didn't place all her hopes on Seiji Fujiwara.
It wasn't until evening.
That Eriri, rubbing her tired head, finally walked out of the studio.
She came to the living room.
In the living room.
Kasumigaoka Utaha was leaning against the sofa, flipping through a thick hardcover book.
Seeing Eriri appear, she smiled teasingly. "What's this? Have you come to pay your respects to this 'senior wife'?"
"Who wants to pay respects to you! You scheming woman!" Eriri put on a stern face, loudly retorting.
But this time, the hostility was notably less intense than usual.
She hesitated, then walked over and sat on the sofa opposite Utaha, opening her mouth somewhat awkwardly. "I... I want to ask you something."
"Oh?" Utaha finally closed her book, looking at her with interest. "For you, this proud golden retriever, to voluntarily speak up—must be quite serious. Go ahead. Want advice on how to better serve Seiji-kun, or perhaps consultation on 'backdoor maintenance' precautions?"
"Shut up!" Eriri's face instantly flushed crimson. She grabbed a nearby cushion, wanting to throw it, but ultimately restrained herself.
She took a deep breath, asking in as calm a voice as possible: "That bastard... Seiji Fujiwara, can he... draw manga?"
"Draw manga?" Utaha's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. "You mean, commercial-level manga creation?"
"Yes!" Eriri nodded.
Utaha pondered for a moment, then answered with certainty: "I've never heard of him drawing manga. I've never seen it either... Why are you suddenly asking this?"
Hearing this, Eriri told Utaha everything about Seiji's "collaboration" proposal and his going off to "prepare his answer."
After hearing Eriri's account, the surprise on Utaha's face deepened.
But soon, that surprise transformed into a thoughtful expression.
"I see..." She murmured softly, looking at Eriri with a trace of sympathy. "He's finally making his move on you."
"What do you mean 'making his move on me'!" Eriri protested indignantly. "I won't fall for his tricks! An outsider like him—how could he possibly produce qualified storyboards! I'm waiting to see him embarrass himself!"
"Eriri," However, Utaha shook her head. "While I'd also like to see that bastard make a fool of himself, I must remind you of three things—"
She paused, then said word by word: "Seiji Fujiwara is an absolute genius."
"He's never failed at anything so far."
Utaha looked at Eriri's increasingly surprised expression and said seriously: "So, I think you can hold a bit of hope."
Those words made Eriri frown, her expression turning thoughtful.
That evening.
Those words kept echoing in her mind.
[I've never seen him fail...]
...
The night passed without incident.
The next day, when Eriri walked into the studio as usual, she found Seiji already sitting there.
Seeing her emerge, Seiji gestured to a thick folder beside him.
"What you wanted—it's ready." His tone was as casual as saying "I brought the newspaper you asked for."
Eriri's eyebrows immediately shot up.
She walked over in surprise and picked up the folder.
On it, a label clearly read: Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day—Story Outline, Character Designs, and Storyboards for the First Three Chapters.
"This... this is..." She stared at the folder in shock, then looked at Seiji's face, which showed no sign of fatigue. "You finished all this in one night?"
After all, just conceiving a complete story outline could take many creators weeks or even months!
Not to mention character designs and storyboards for three full chapters!
In the manga industry, storyboards were the soul that determined a work's success or failure.
They weren't just simple drafts, but contained all the core elements—paneling, composition, character positioning, dialogue, pacing, visual flow—the complete "blueprint" for a manga.
A qualified storyboard required creators to deliberate repeatedly. For a single chapter's content, quick work took two or three days, while careful polishing could take one or two weeks.
And he finished three chapters in one night?!
That efficiency—he had to be a monster!
"Just some basic work." Seiji said lightly, as if he'd done something trivial. He finished the last sip of milk, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Take a look. After you're done, tell me your decision."
With that, he stood and leisurely left.
Eriri stood frozen in place. After a long while, she finally opened the folder to the first page, her expression solemn as she examined the contents.
Time seemed to slow down in that moment.
Eriri's gaze was drawn as if by a magnet, fixed intently on the first page of storyboards.
[A summer miracle...]
The story's opening had no earth-shattering battles, no elaborate complex settings.
Just a shut-in boy named "Jinta Yadomi," lazily playing video games on a languid summer afternoon.
Then, a girl named "Meiko Honma" (Menma), who shouldn't exist, appeared before him like a summer mirage.
Just a few pages, yet that atmosphere unique to adolescence—mixed with teenage restlessness, confusion about the future, and faint melancholy tinged with regret over the past—came rushing through those seemingly casual panels.
Eriri's breathing unconsciously lightened.
She thought of the story she'd been developing.
Her heroine was beautiful, powerful, righteous, but also... hollow.
Her hero was loyal, brave, handsome, but also... superficial. They were like standard templates walking out of a character design document—perfect, yet utterly soulless.
But this "Jinta" before her eyes—just through his messy room, his evasive gaze, and his rejection of the outside world—conveyed the image of a living, breathing boy carrying a heavy past.
That "Menma" was innocent and cheerful, yet carried a trace of unreality that didn't belong to this world. Her every word and action tugged at invisible threads called "the past."
"This is... a real 'story'..." She murmured absently.
Taking a deep breath.
Eriri suppressed her emotions and continued examining the storyboards.
Those crude stick figures burst with unimaginable vitality in this professional artist's eyes!
On the first page was an enormous horizontal panel occupying two-thirds of the page, depicting Jinta's messy room, establishing the protagonist's decadent tone while naturally guiding the reader's gaze toward the protagonist crouched on the tatami.
The next panel immediately following was a close-up of Jinta's numb expression while playing games.
Then, the scene suddenly shifted! A bright, sunlit double-page spread depicted Menma from childhood memories, turning back with a smile on a summer country road.
Just three panels—through the stark contrast between "darkness" and "brightness," "reality" and "memory"—expressed the story's core conflict with perfect clarity: "a present bound by the past!"
She continued reading, growing increasingly shocked.
Every panel transition, every compositional frame, every character's positioning and perspective... all executed with ultimate precision!
Seiji had even skillfully employed the "axis crossing" technique commonly seen in film, breaking conventional camera positions to express the chaos and unease in characters' hearts.
This mastery of paneling language, this control of rhythm, had reached—no, far surpassed—any professional manga artist she knew!
She even felt that even Eiji Niizuma, the once-in-a-decade genius praised in Weekly Shonen Jump, might not match the emotional impact and narrative efficiency of these seemingly crude drafts when it came to pure storyboarding.
...
That's impossible...
Her hands began trembling slightly.
This level... this understanding of visual language... came from an outsider! This is simply...
A massive upheaval surged through Eriri's heart. Her eyes widened involuntarily, deep surprise spreading across her face.
She picked up her pen, trembling as she began refining the storyboards.
However, when she reached a particular panel—a close-up of Jinta's gentle expression when seeing Menma in a hallucination—she got stuck.
What kind of lighting and shadow should she use to express that feeling of illusion and reality interweaving?
Should Jinta's expression show more surprise, or more self-mockery?
Eriri fell into internal conflict.
Just then.
The studio door opened with a soft "click."
Seiji Fujiwara walked in carrying a glass of juice.
Walking behind her, Seiji looked at the artwork and commented in a flat tone:
"The emotion here is wrong. Jinta's first reaction to seeing Menma isn't surprise—it's the numbness and self-mockery of 'ah, here we go again.' So, his mouth should curve down slightly, and his gaze should be more hollow."
As he spoke, apparently feeling words weren't direct enough, he actually picked up a nearby pencil and quickly sketched a few strokes on scratch paper.
A perfect expression full of story leapt onto the page.
Eriri was completely stunned.
Before she could recover from her shock, Seiji's finger pointed to another spot on the artwork.
"And here, the lighting and shadow. Menma is a 'phantom,' a 'ghost in sunlight.' So, light should come from behind her, using backlighting to envelop her entire body in a hazy, sacred golden halo. This is called 'rim light'—it effectively separates her from real-world objects, emphasizing her unreality."
As he spoke, he demonstrated the light and shadow layout with simple pencil strokes.
That precise yet artistic treatment instantly elevated the entire scene's atmosphere to another level.
...
Eriri listened blankly to Seiji's guidance, her mind completely blank.
This person...
Was this person even human?!
Being excellent at literary creation was one thing, but manga too?
He'd even completely designed the final artwork's lighting, color, and the characters' most subtle "acting"!
As if using paper and pen to film a complete movie, frame-perfect!
A monster!
Eriri stared blankly at Seiji, then looked down at the pen in her own hand.
Her proud manga skills had been completely crushed to dust by Seiji Fujiwara.
...
...
Over the following days.
Eriri threw herself completely into Anohana.
She felt an unprecedented creative exhilaration.
It was a marvelous experience.
No longer needing to agonize over a panel's composition, no longer needing to repeatedly revise a character's subtle facial expression.
All she needed to do was fill an already-formed framework with flesh and blood.
Three days later, the complete manuscript for the first chapter of Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day was completed.
Eriri looked at the artwork before her, her heart full of mixed emotions.
She felt pride in this work's excellence, yet a hidden sense of loss that this excellence didn't originate from herself.
Ultimately, she submitted the manuscript to an industry semi-monthly manga magazine—Monthly GIGA COMIC.
This time, she didn't have to wait long.
Just the next day, a call came to her phone.
"Hello, is this Sawamura-sensei? I'm Yamada Aki from the Monthly GIGA COMIC editorial department. Regarding your submission, Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day, we..."
The woman's voice on the phone initially carried professional politeness and restraint.
But when mentioning the work's title, her tone noticeably rose several pitches, carrying barely suppressed excitement.
Yamada Aki, as a veteran editor for GIGA COMIC, had handled no fewer than eight hundred—if not a thousand—rookie submissions.
Initially, when she saw this manuscript with artwork too polished for a newcomer, she assumed it was some veteran switching fields for a fresh start.
But after reading just three pages, she sat up straight.
By the tenth page, she'd completely forgotten to drink water.
When she reached the final page—where Menma's phantom smiled at Jinta in his room like summer sunlight—she felt her heart seized by a gentle hand and squeezed hard.
She couldn't help removing her glasses to rub her slightly moist eyes.
"...A monster."
Looking at the name "Sawamura" in the manuscript's author column, she sincerely uttered those two words.
The artistic skill was exceptional.
But this manuscript's true terror lay in its "original story"!
This story, these storyboards... they'd already reached first-tier professional standards!
This was simply a top-tier art film!
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You can read up to chapter 110 on patreon.com/NiaXD.