Haruki spent the entire next day trying to convince himself not to be nervous. The attempt failed. Spectacularly.
He sat in front of his monitor at nine in the morning, staring at a single blue button.
Publish Chapter
Three words, one button, an unreasonable amount of psychological pressure. The Chapter was finished — dialogue checked, artwork cleaned, pacing adjusted. Everything that could realistically be improved in one night already had been. There was no logical reason to hesitate. He kept hesitating anyway.
The system appeared.
[Current Problem Identified: Fear of Judgment]
Success Probability: Unknown Failure Probability: Unknown Recommended Action: Publish Anyway.
Haruki narrowed his eyes. "You’re not very comforting."
The system stayed silent, which was probably for the best — because unfortunately, it was right. No amount of preparation could answer the question actually bothering him: would anyone care? That answer only existed on the other side of the button.
His phone buzzed. A message from Yui: Have you published it yet?
No, he typed back.
Coward, came the reply, almost instantly.
He stared at the screen and laughed despite himself. Another message followed: Press the button.
What if nobody reads it?
The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: Then you’ll make Chapter Two anyway.
He stopped moving. The answer landed harder than expected — not because it was complicated, but because it wasn’t. Nobody reads it? Make Chapter Two. A few people read it? Make Chapter Two. A thousand people read it? Make Chapter Two. The next step never changed, and the realization settled firmly in his chest.
He looked back at the screen. The blue button waited, patient, unmoving. For a moment he thought about his previous life — the office worker who’d spent years watching opportunities pass by, not for lack of ability but for lack of courage. Then he thought about the last week: twenty-five pages, the late nights, the excitement, the effort — the first project he’d genuinely completed.
Slowly, he moved the cursor. Clicked.
The page refreshed. A loading circle spun for five seconds, then ten. Then:
Upload Complete.
The words appeared quietly — no music, no celebration, no dramatic effects. The Chapter was simply there. Published. Available. Real.
Haruki blinked. That was it? After all the stress, all the anxiety? The contrast struck him as strangely funny, and he laughed — a genuine one, born more from relief than amusement.
A blue screen appeared.
[Mission Completed: Create and Publish an Original Manga Chapter]
Rewards Issued: Story Structure +1 Visual Composition +1 Creator Points +100 New Feature Unlocked: Reader Analytics
Warmth spread through his body — not painful, not overwhelming, just noticeable. His thoughts felt clearer, sharper, more organized, and though the sensation faded after a few seconds, the difference stayed. The system wasn’t just displaying numbers. The improvements were real, and that changed everything.
Another notification followed.
[New Creator Rank Achieved: Amateur Creator]
Reward: Creator Points +25
Haruki stared, then laughed again. The system really did reward progress.
He opened the newly unlocked feature — a simple, minimal window with a single number on it.
Readers: 0
He stared at the zero. The zero stared back. A creator versus a number — the most modern conflict imaginable, and the thought amused him.
Minutes passed. Nothing happened. He refreshed the page. Still zero. Five minutes later, still zero. Ten minutes later—
Readers: 1
Haruki froze. A real person, somewhere in Japan, a stranger he’d never meet, had clicked on his story. The realization settled heavily in his chest — not because one reader was impressive, but because one reader was real. For years his stories had existed only in his own head. Now someone else could see one. It felt surreal.
He opened the analytics page. No details yet, just the number. One. Beautiful. Tiny. Perfect.
Another buzz. Yui: How many?
One, he replied immediately.
You’re smiling, aren’t you?
He looked at his reflection. Unfortunately, he was. Maybe embarrassing, but true.
Good, she wrote. Simple, as always, and somehow still enough.
The afternoon crawled by. He tried working on character sketches for Chapter Two — failed. Checked analytics — succeeded. Failed to concentrate again, checked analytics again. The cycle repeated. By evening:
Readers: 7
Seven strangers who’d given his story a chance. The number was small, but every increase felt meaningful.
Around six, a new notification appeared — not from the system this time, from the platform. His first comment. He stared at it for several seconds before clicking.
Interesting concept. Curious about the gate.
One sentence. One anonymous reader. One simple reaction. But his heart still sped up, because the comment proved something important: the reader had reached the end. The reader remembered the gate. The reader wanted answers. The hook worked.
Another message from Yui: You got a comment.
How do you know these things?
I have eyes.
Reasonable. Annoying. But reasonable.
What did they say?
That they’re curious.
A few seconds passed. Then: Good. Make them more curious.
Haruki leaned back in his chair. Outside, evening lights lit up the city. Inside, seven readers had become eight, then nine — the numbers moving slowly, steadily, not enough to change his life, not enough to attract real attention.
Yet.
The word lingered. The future suddenly felt larger than it had yesterday, because now it contained readers — actual readers, not imagined ones, not hypothetical ones. Real people. His first Chapter existed. His first readers existed. His first comment existed. The journey had officially begun, and for the first time since graduation, Haruki wasn’t wondering whether he could become a creator.
He was already acting like one.
Tomorrow, he’d start Chapter Two. Tonight, he allowed himself five more minutes staring at the reader count. Then ten. Then fifteen.
Some habits formed very quickly.