When a single magazine serializes so many different series at once, the reality is that many readers do not actually follow every single one of them.
This is especially true for a publication like Azure Kiyozawa, which carries exactly twenty different titles in every issue. Most people find themselves limited by time or simply find that certain stories do not align with their personal tastes, and as a result, they tend to be very selective about what they choose to read.
In these situations, the specific works a reader picks up are heavily influenced by how much the magazine prioritizes their promotion, as well as their numerical ranking within the table of contents.
Among the twenty series currently running in Azure Kiyozawa, seventeen of the creators are light novelists signed to exclusive, long-term contracts with Kiyozawa Library, while only three are working under simple, single-work agreements.
Aside from Haruto, the other two creators in this minority are in the same boat as him, receiving very little promotional support from the editorial department. Consequently, their placement in the magazine is quite low, and after half a year of serialization, they continue to hover in the bottom six of the rankings.
However, the trajectory of Parasyte was proving to be an anomaly. Even if one were to overlook the fact that the first chapter debuted at the fourteenth spot, the shift by the fifth chapter was impossible to ignore. It had somehow climbed all the way to the eighth position. Within the offices of Kiyozawa Library, many staff members were finally starting to take a serious look at the potential of this series.
One editor remarked to a colleague that this author, Shiori Takahashi, truly had some impressive tricks up his sleeve.
He pointed out that the top six spots in Azure Kiyozawa were occupied by series that had been transferred over from the flagship Kiyozawa magazine, meaning they already possessed a massive built-in fanbase from the start.
It was only natural for them to maintain high popularity. If they set those six juggernauts aside, they could see that the eighth-place ranking for Parasyte actually placed it above almost all the works written by authors with standard long-term contracts. It was an exceptionally brilliant performance.
Another staff member chimed in, recalling that it took the author Aika Miyamoto four full months to climb to the eighth spot with her previous novel, and she had the benefit of a massive marketing push from the company to get there. The fact that Shiori Takahashi reached that same height in just one month with almost zero resources behind him was nothing short of absurd.
The consensus among the staff was that the readership for this novel had been built almost entirely through word-of-mouth and the loyalty of the fans. They noted that while any interesting series serialized in a high-traffic magazine like Azure Kiyozawa is bound to gain popularity eventually, marketing resources usually just speed up that natural process.
Even so, the rate at which the popularity of Parasyte was rising felt almost terrifyingly fast. They concluded that these results were simply the product of the market making its choice, proving that Parasyte was significantly more compelling to the readers than many of the other series running alongside it.
The office atmosphere shifted as people began to admit that Shiori's title as the top newcomer really did carry significant weight.
Some lamented that if he were not so stubborn and would just sign a long-term contract, the publishing house would surely treat him like a precious treasure now that they had seen these results. They would likely be planning to groom him into one of the top novelists in Japan and a cornerstone of the company, but unfortunately, that was not the case.
The veterans of the industry knew that a top-tier novelist is usually the product of a perfect storm involving company resources, raw talent, and a bit of luck to ensure the work hits the market at exactly the right time.
While they felt Shiori Takahashi had immense potential, they wondered how he could possibly compete in the long run against peers who possessed equal talent but also enjoyed the full backing of a major publisher. They held out hope that he would eventually realize this and change his mind.
When a person possesses genuine skill and delivers undeniable results, it naturally changes how others perceive them. The success of Parasyte, reaching the eighth rank in Azure Kiyozawa without any corporate backing, earned the respect of many professionals at Kiyozawa Library.
Those who had previously mocked Haruto as a typical arrogant youth with more ambition than luck were now singing a different tune.
Kiyozawa Library was divided into several different departments, and many of the staff members who saw the growing potential of Parasyte stopped worrying about the politics of the contract.
As a commercial enterprise, the company was ultimately driven by the bottom line. While they preferred to support long-term authors because they provided stable, long-term revenue, Parasyte had proven to be incredibly valuable in its own right. After weighing the pros and cons, the management decided that the short-term gains from supporting this specific novel outweighed their previous concerns, and they did not hesitate to pivot toward promoting it.
That very evening, the operations department held a meeting to completely overhaul their strategy for Parasyte.
Meanwhile, at Minazuki University, Haruto was focusing all his attention on a lecture being delivered by an elderly professor with thinning white hair.
Several months had passed since the start of the semester, and his daily life had settled into a steady rhythm of studying and spending his free time at the Manga Research Club. He often met with Shizuru there to exchange ideas and learn more about the technical side of illustration.
Shizuru had managed to trick a few of her friends into joining the club as nominal members, which was just enough to prevent the school from dissolving the group due to a lack of participants.
However, she knew that if the club did not produce any tangible results soon, it would eventually be shut down anyway. Since she saw that Haruto was genuinely busy and had no immediate intention of collaborating with her on a manga, she had started looking elsewhere for a partner.
She eventually reached out to some promising newcomers in the Light Novel Club.
Since she happened to be roommates with the vice president of that club, the two groups organized a few joint activities. Through these events, she gained the support of a particular member, and the two of them were now planning to follow the exact model Haruto had suggested, where one person wrote the story and Shizuru provided the art. They were determined to make a name for themselves in the industry.
Haruto gave her his full support. He had a very good impression of Shizuru, but he simply had not yet uncovered anything from the memories of Shiori that would be suitable for a manga serialization at this time.
If he ever truly decided to enter the world of manga, he would not be against working with her. Her artistic skills were certainly high enough to rival a professional, and more importantly, if he were to choose a partner, he would want someone who was not overly driven by greed or ego.
He knew that in many cases, creative differences between partners could lead to a complete standstill in production.
In that regard, Shizuru was a perfect candidate because she was talented, cheerful, and easygoing.
For the time being, Haruto could only hope that the student from the Light Novel Club actually had the talent to match her enthusiasm. He had his doubts about the skill levels of amateur student writers, wondering if their work could even pass an initial editorial review at a mid-tier publisher, let alone one of the major publishing houses.
However, seeing how excited she was about the project, he assumed the story she had been shown must have some merit. He caught himself daydreaming for a moment during class, hoping that her new submission would not be rejected, as he didn't want to deal with the awkwardness of a gloomy atmosphere during club meetings.
Two days later, Haruto went to the driving center to take his final exam. He passed and received his driver's license on the spot. Even though he had opted for a premium one-on-one instruction service, it had still taken him months to reach this point.
The process had been an exhausting ordeal.
While he was busy fantasizing about when and where he would go to buy his very first car, he hailed a taxi and headed toward the headquarters of Haru-Yuki Animation. As one of the owners of the company, Haruto could not simply leave everything to his employees. The journey of an anime from production to broadcast involved countless negotiations with various parties, and many of these steps required his presence and his signature to finalize.
He was heading to the office today specifically to chair a meeting regarding a crucial decision. They needed to decide which platform would host the broadcast of Puella Magi Madoka Magica.
In Japan, more than half of all produced anime series are typically aired on television. However, securing a slot on a high-traffic TV station is usually a privilege reserved for large companies with massive production budgets.
For instance, when Anohana was broadcast on Tokyo TV-4, the production company had to leverage many personal connections. The person in charge had spent many nights out drinking and dining with station executives, and they still had to pay a significant fee to secure the slot.
Indeed, many anime productions actually have to pay the television stations to be aired. The logic is that the station is essentially providing a massive advertisement for the series, which in turn drives the sales of merchandise and licensing in the secondary market. This "pay-to-play" model is the standard for smaller, lesser-known animation studios.
In contrast, high-profile anime series that are guaranteed to bring in high ratings are fought over by the stations, with broadcast rights sometimes reaching prices of tens or even hundreds of millions of yen.
Small companies that cannot afford these advertising fees often bypass television entirely and choose to sell high-definition Blu-rays directly to the market.
Takeda, the animation director, looked at Haruto with a very serious expression. He explained that although they had only just begun the creative process, they needed to decide on their distribution strategy immediately.
He asked whether they should aim for a television broadcast or simply release the discs and let the natural momentum of the market determine their success. Haruto asked him exactly how much these television advertising fees would cost.
Takeda took a moment to explain the hierarchy of the television market. He noted that there were four major stations with the highest popularity.
The first tier included Tokyo TV-1 and TV-2, where a high-quality series could command a viewership rating of five or six percent. The second tier consisted of Tokyo TV-3 and a few others, which typically saw ratings of three or four percent during prime time. The third tier included various other local Tokyo stations and popular regional channels, where ratings rarely exceeded two percent.
He paused to let Haruto process the information before continuing with the financial details. A slot on a first-tier station would cost between thirty and fifty million yen, depending on the quality of the work and the specific time slot. If a studio was unknown, the stations would likely refuse to sell them a prime-time slot and would charge them a higher premium for the late-night hours.
Second-tier stations cost between fifteen and twenty-five million yen, while the third-tier slots generally fell between eight and fifteen million yen.
Haruto understood the situation perfectly.
Although he thought the prices were extortionate, he accepted them as the reality of the industry.
He realized that since Tokyo TV-4 was a third-tier station, the studio behind Anohana must have paid at least ten to fifteen million yen for that spot. Even with that modest start, Anohana had managed to grow from a one percent rating to a three percent rating by its finale, becoming one of the highest-rated new anime of its season based purely on its own quality.
When Takeda asked for his decision, Haruto didn't hesitate.
He declared that they would definitely be aiming for a television broadcast. He could not fathom the idea of letting a masterpiece like Madoka Magica grow wildly in the market without a proper platform.
To him, the series was far too special to be handled so cheaply. He knew that he had to be willing to take a risk to get a significant reward.
He didn't just want a TV slot; he wanted a slot on a first-tier station. He wasn't going to let himself get hung up on the initial cost.
This was Madoka Magica, not some generic, run-of-the-mill production. He believed that the more he invested in it, the greater the return would eventually be.
However, Haruto's current liquid assets were limited. After investing in the company and upgrading the equipment, and factoring in the projected production costs for the anime itself, he was careful with his remaining capital.
He considered his passive income from previous works and his monthly royalties from Kiyozawa Library, which brought in a substantial sum, and calculated that by the time the anime was ready for a summer premiere next year, he would have a larger buffer.
He realized that he still needed to be strategic for a first-tier television slot. He told the team to continue with their work and promised that he would find a way to secure the investment for the advertising fees.
As Takeda left to return to his duties, Haruto sat in silence. He knew that even if he secured the funds for a first-tier station, they would likely only give an unknown studio a non-prime-time slot.
Still, a late-night slot on a major station was often more valuable than a prime-time slot on a minor one, as it all came down to the quality of the content.
He let out a long sigh, realizing that no matter how much money he made, it never seemed to be quite enough.
He needed to find a way to ensure that Puella Magi Madoka Magica got the stage it deserved on a premier network like Tokyo TV-1 or TV-2.
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