One more gamble…?
Kurokawa subconsciously reached for her pocket—but the moment she remembered she was inside the office, she clicked her tongue and pulled her hand back, swallowing the urge to take out a cigarette.
"Kurokawa-sensei!"
At that moment, a male staffer hurried over, clutching a thick stack of documents. The second he saw Akiyama sitting there sipping tea, he realized this was a business meeting and immediately stiffened, shrinking his neck like a startled turtle and going quiet.
"It's fine," Kurokawa said, lifting her head. "Go ahead. I'm not busy right now."
She curved her eyes into a smile—switching back into her polished "editor mode."
"These are the manuscripts Editor Nagashima received today. He wanted to ask if you have time to proofread them."
"Of course~"
"That's great…! Kurokawa-sensei, thank you for your help!"
The staffer beamed. He set the thick stack of manuscript paper on her desk and bowed repeatedly. When he looked up and saw the radiant smile on her face, his heart practically melted.
As he turned to leave, he couldn't stop himself from muttering under his breath:
"Kurokawa-sensei is so gorgeous… and her personality is like an angel…"
What he didn't know was that the "angel" he'd just praised was staring coldly at his back.
…The resentment in her eyes was intense enough to haunt a whole volume of ghost stories.
"So because you've completely lost your standing in the editorial department," Akiyama said casually as he watched the scene, "you're stuck doing other editors' grunt work now?"
Kurokawa didn't answer.
She took a deep breath, as if making up her mind, then turned back to him.
"Akiyama-san… no. Akiyama-sensei. If you have conditions, then say them."
From Kurokawa's perspective, there was no reason to refuse his proposal. This manga was interesting—so interesting that she believed it would most likely crush every newcomer in this month's Monthly Award and debut in first place.
Choosing to take the risk and aim for the Grand Prize… the one gambling was Akiyama. As for her—she was already on the edge of being pushed out of the department. Even if she went all-in again, she didn't have much left to lose.
And since Akiyama had bypassed other editors to choose her—and even wanted to gamble for the sake of her career...
Then naturally, he must expect her to meet certain demands.
Surely it wasn't just because he wanted a bigger prize payout… right?
Hearing her say that, Akiyama relaxed a little.
Talking to smart people really was effortless.
"If my work wins 'Honorable Mention' or higher," Akiyama said, "then I want you, Kurokawa-san, to help me apply for a serialization meeting for my next work."
…Apply for serialization?!
Kurokawa's heart jumped.
That ambition was huge.
Serialization—this was the dream of every professional manga artist. And getting serialized in a major magazine like Young Magazine was the ultimate goal.
A serialized mangaka's status was on an entirely different level from ordinary creators.
That was why even someone like Yudai Uesugi—a man who spent twenty years going nowhere and had a terrible reputation—could rise overnight the moment he got serialized and avoided cancellation. He'd immediately gain prestige, open his own studio, and have professional artists lining up to apply as assistants.
"Akiyama-san," Kurokawa couldn't help asking, "you've been drawing manga for a while, but you may not understand the industry—do you know how hard it is to go from debut to serialization?"
Most people needed at least six works of training before they could even talk about serialization.
Talented creators might manage it in three to six.
And only the rarest prodigies—geniuses among geniuses—could serialize after just one or two short works.
In Kurokawa's memory, the last person who pulled that off—and truly succeeded—was Tsukasa Hōjō.
He completed his debut work Space Angel in 1979 and reached the finals of a major newcomer award. In 1980 he produced the short manga I Am a Man.
Then in 1981, his third work, Cat's Eye—was serialized.
Two years later, City Hunter exploded onto the scene, cementing Hōjō's status as a master of his generation.
And just last year (1993), the live-action City Hunter film starring Jackie Chan hit theaters, igniting a worldwide "City Hunter" boom.
...
But not everyone was a Tsukasa Hōjō.
Most artists either burned through their youth without ever reaching serialization, or were serialized briefly—only to be canceled almost immediately.
And now this Akiyama was saying he wanted to apply for serialization with his very next work.
Clearly, he was treating himself like the next Tsukasa Hōjō.
Which also meant Kurokawa's earlier assumption had been wrong—maybe he never intended to stay in Uesugi's studio at all.
She understood the impulse. He was young, hungry, desperate to prove himself quickly.
But serialization wasn't the same as writing a one-shot.
Once you start, you're chained to deadlines and hard limits. Even the most talented creators can have their spirit ground down by that kind of life. Manga, novels—it was the same everywhere.
If a newcomer rushed into serialization without being ready, the price could be brutal.
Kurokawa couldn't help thinking again:
This assistant… actually wants to be the next Tsukasa Hōjō.
That kind of ambition was terrifying.
"Then within the next two works… is fine too."
Akiyama saw her hesitation and loosened his demand. One more short work was acceptable.
His reasoning was simple.
Serialization meant one thing—
Steady money.
A one-shot prize was a one-time payout. But a serialized manga was long-term security.
Only with serialization could he get stable manuscript fees—and only with stable income could he escape this grind he was trapped in.
He knew his request was outrageous, which was exactly why he'd chosen Kurokawa: because she was the one person with nothing left to lose, and therefore the only one who might say yes.
"…"
Seeing how firm he was, Kurokawa fell silent.
Even "within the next two works" was still absurd. Tsukasa Hōjō began serialization on his third.
She might love talent, but there was no point lecturing further.
Because "apply for serialization within the next two works" was Akiyama's condition. He hadn't even submitted yet. All she had to decide was whether she accepted.
"…Fine. I'll agree."
After a moment's thought, Kurokawa accepted, then restated it seriously:
"If this work wins Honorable Mention or higher in the Grand Prize, then within your next two works—whenever you want—I'll submit a serialization proposal for you."
Each Grand Prize cycle produced eight "final candidates."
Among them: one Winner, one Honorable Mention, and the rest were Merit Awards.
To preserve prestige, Kodansha would rather leave awards empty than hand them out cheaply—so it was common for even the Winner, or even the Honorable Mention, to be left vacant.
In other words, getting Honorable Mention or above was extremely difficult.
Since nobody could predict the result yet, Kurokawa could agree first… and hope for a safer, more ideal outcome: Akiyama debuts with a Merit Award, then grows steadily under her guidance.
"Thank you, Kurokawa-san."
Akiyama downed the last of his tea in one gulp, set the cup down, and stood, extending his hand.
"Mhm. I'll keep the manuscript. The Grand Prize results come out next month—go home and wait for news."
Kurokawa shook his hand.
Of course, no editor ever didn't want their artist to win the Grand Prize.
And if the chip on the table was Perfect Blue…
Then any gamble was worth trying.
After exchanging a few polite words, Akiyama turned to leave. Kurokawa, as if remembering something, asked:
"Oh, right—about this… should we keep it from Uesugi-sensei?"
Akiyama thought for a moment.
"For now, yes. Keep it quiet."
Once the results were out, revealing it to that bastard would feel so much better.
Kurokawa personally escorted him to the elevator, smiling brightly as she saw him off.
But when she returned to her desk and stared at the thick pile of manuscripts—
It was like the spark of excitement she'd just reignited was doused instantly by cold reality.
Her beautiful face twisted again into a resentful, ghostlike expression, and she let out a heavy sigh.
"…Still gotta finish the busywork first."