High school?
The age didn’t seem to match.
Kousaka Kirino was only fourteen right now, still in middle school.
Though she had developed early and shot up in height quickly.
At one meter fifty-eight, she was by no means short for a Japanese girl.
And with her habit of wearing makeup when she went out, if she claimed to be a high schooler, it would be hard to tell just from her appearance.
Kyousuke decided to ask a bit more.
“Regarding that young manga artist’s name, I’m not especially clear on it either.
After all, even though we’re on the same floor, we don’t have much dealings with each other.”
Editor Hattori paused here for a moment.
“You might laugh at this, but the reason I even heard about it was because that manga artist was signed to an unfair contract.
It’s become something of a scandal within the company.”
“An unfair contract?”
Kyousuke furrowed his brow.
“That’s right.
The manga artist submitted her work on her own initiative.
The editor in charge of her gave her a solicited manuscript contract.
Probably due to her age, she signed it without ever reading it carefully.”
“The kind of contract that provides fixed payment based on the number of manuscript pages?”
Kyousuke asked.
Hattori looked at him with some surprise.
“Seems you’ve done your homework on this.
Yes, exactly that kind of contract.
It bought out the copyright to the author’s work at a low price.”
“The matter caused quite a stir internally a while back.
The editor responsible for that high school manga artist received a substantial reward from department leadership.
There’s talk she might even be promoted to deputy editor-in-chief by year’s end.”
At this, Hattori let out a sigh.
“The atmosphere in this company is being ruined by people like that.
They do something clearly wrong, yet get rewarded for it.
New editors, eager to produce results as fast as possible, will just follow their example.
It’s a vicious cycle.”
Kyousuke smiled, though he was also curious.
“Just for getting a solicited manuscript contract signed, is that really worth a substantial reward?”
Hattori gave a rueful laugh and shook his head.
“That young manga artist’s work got an anime adaptation recently, since the market response was good.
It blew up immediately.
You might even have seen it, magical girl genre one.”
Kyousuke froze.
An image surfaced unbidden in his mind — Kirino sitting at the dining table, eyes glued to the TV.
“Lunar Witch Transformation?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Well, that was genuinely unprofessional.
Kyousuke thought to himself.
A solicited manuscript contract was typically drawn up for basic, entry-level authors.
Its original purpose was to safeguard authors who showed a certain degree of potential but currently lacked in skill, ensuring they’d have the motivation to keep creating by providing them with steady pay.
The works of such authors mostly had little copyright value.
Their quality was generally only enough to last two or three issues in a manga publication.
The kind where you could tell at a glance they wouldn’t make it.
But “Lunar Witch Transformation” — he had seen that anime with Sailor Moon levels of quality.
An exceptional work, absolutely, and a rare one at that.
Kyousuke did not believe for a second that the editors at Kadokawa Pictures couldn’t see its commercial value.
It had to have been deliberate.
If it followed the same trajectory as “Sailor Moon” from his memory, this work’s long-term influence would be immensely far-reaching, the profits astronomical.
Quite possibly enough for the creator to live on for a lifetime.
But with a solicited manuscript contract, the author could only receive a one-time buyout payment at the originally negotiated per-page price.
It seemed the higher-ups in the production division had foreseen the enormous revenue this work would generate.
That explained the so-called “substantial reward.”
Kyousuke glanced down at the tracker held in his palm.
Threads of clues were stringing together, but he felt he needed to confirm things with his own eyes.
Hattori spoke on, glancing at his watch as he did so.
“I’ve rambled on a bit too long with these asides.
I have a meeting to attend shortly, so I’ll have to excuse myself.
Editor Hayakawa will receive you from here on.”
Kyousuke nodded.
“One more thing.
I’m planning to assign her to handle the ongoing serialization of Kino’s Journey, as your managing editor.
If you have any objections, you can request someone else.”
Before leaving, Hattori asked this one last question.
The first two volumes of this light novel had won Dengeki Bunko’s Gold Prize.
Kyousuke was now officially a debuted author.
Publication was one thing, but the third volume he had brought with him this time had also, during his earlier discussion with Hattori, been agreed upon for serialization in Dengeki Bunko Magazine.
A revenue-share model based on word count.
If there was a chance for a standalone publication later on, the company would pay him additional copyright fees.
“That’s fine.”
Kyousuke had a good impression of Hayakawa Rumi.
She had that kind of clarity unique to someone still new to the working world.
A good person.
“Let Ms.
Hayakawa Rumi be in charge of me.”
“Alright.
May your work sell well.
See you around.”
…..
After Editor Hattori had left, Kyousuke waited alone for a while.
About ten minutes later, Rumi came hurrying in, still clutching a freshly opened can of coffee in her hand.
Seeing her out of breath, he guessed she had jogged the whole way.
There were still traces of coffee stains on the collar of her white blouse.
“Sigsawa-sensei, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.
I heard from Editor Hattori that you specifically requested me to be the managing editor for Kino’s Journey.
Is that true?”
Rumi’s eyes held a thin mist, her voice thick with emotion.
She looked as if she were about to cry.
Kyousuke was a bit taken aback.
He hadn’t named anyone specifically, but he quickly caught on to what had happened.
Hattori must have used that as a pretext to give this junior a leg up, removing himself from the picture and making it so that Rumi now owed him a personal debt of gratitude.
Truly painstaking efforts, keeping his own role hidden and nameless.
Looked at this way, he himself now owed Hattori a favor as well.
As expected, the kind of person who could make it to deputy editor-in-chief was no ordinary individual.
One stone, three birds.
“It’s true.
From here on, I’ll be in Editor Hayakawa’s care.”
“No, no, I’m the one who’ll be in Sigsawa-sensei’s care!”
Rumi bowed deeply in thanks, her voice brimming with emotion.
She had finally crawled out of the abyss.
She had already given up all hope of promotion, having embarrassed herself multiple times in front of this Gold Prize winner.
She had thought she’d left behind a thoroughly unprofessional image.
She never imagined he not only didn’t mind, but had requested her by name.
‘My luck lately has been far too good.
First being entrusted with an important task by the deputy editor-in-chief, and now being personally chosen by a Newcomer Gold Prize author.’
As a rookie editor at Dengeki Bunko, if she wanted to be put in charge of her own work, she would have to start as an assistant and grind through the drudgery for at least three years.
Now that wait had been shortened by a full two.
Once word of this staggering good fortune spread among her coworkers, she would absolutely be envied to death.
“Sigsawa-sensei, if you have time after work, please, you must let me treat you to a meal.”
A debt of gratitude must be repaid.
In the Japanese workplace, when someone gave you a leg up, you naturally took the initiative to repay the favor.
No matter how green she might be, Rumi would not forget this point.
A meal was only the most basic form of reciprocation.
Her mind was already cycling through a list of high-end restaurants.
But Kyousuke waved it off.
“A meal won’t be necessary, Editor Hayakawa.
Could you show me around the company instead?”
“Eh?”
Rumi was somewhat surprised by the request.
“I’m rather interested in manga.
So, I’d like to visit the manga editorial department as well,” he continued.
“Of course.
Then please, follow me.”
Rumi took the lead.
Kyousuke stood up, cast one final glance at the tracker in his hand, and tucked it into his backpack.
The real business was settled.
Now it was time to carry out his mother’s mission.
Time to confirm whether the figure he had glimpsed stepping out of the elevator had been a trick of the eyes or not.