Chapter 127: Aoi Kisaragi

Chapter 127: Chapter 127: Aoi Kisaragi

The anonymous message remained unread for forty-eight hours.

A new record.

---

Not because Haruki suddenly became mature.

That would have been unrealistic.

He simply had too many immediate problems.

Deadlines.

Collaboration planning.

Contracts.

Yui.

The order changed every hour.

The problems didn’t.

And every time he considered opening that message, something else demanded his attention.

---

At 8:20 AM, Haruki arrived at Studio Hall B carrying revised pages for the collaboration project.

The workshop space already buzzed with activity.

Artists occupied several tables.

Editors discussed schedules.

Assistants carried supplies between rooms.

Printers hummed in the background.

Someone was arguing about paper quality.

Someone else was arguing about deadlines.

Another creator appeared to be sleeping while standing.

Actual creative work.

Good.

No.

Necessary.

Better word.

The project needed more of this.

The novel needed more of this.

Less talking about creation.

More creating.

---

At the far end of the room, Aoi Kisaragi stood beside a large presentation board.

Reviewing layout concepts.

Alone.

A suspicious sight.

People usually gathered around talented creators.

Aoi somehow created personal space through sheer concentration.

Haruki approached carefully.

The creator didn’t look up.

Didn’t greet him.

Didn’t acknowledge his existence.

She only pointed toward a stack of documents.

"You’re late."

Haruki checked his phone.

Then the wall clock.

Then her.

"I’m seven minutes early."

"Exactly."

Silence followed.

Haruki considered several responses.

Rejected all of them.

Survival instinct.

Useful instinct.

Eventually Aoi looked up.

The woman studied him briefly.

Then nodded once.

Approval.

Possibly.

Or neck pain.

Difficult to tell.

Haruki placed his pages on the table.

"These are the revised layouts."

Aoi glanced at them.

"You changed the second sequence."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"The pacing was too slow."

Aoi picked up the pages.

Read them.

Then nodded.

"Better."

One word.

Haruki almost felt offended by how much he appreciated it.

---

The collaboration planning session began shortly afterward.

Twenty creators.

Eight editors.

Three marketing representatives.

Chaos.

Predictable chaos.

The first hour focused on promotional concepts.

The second focused on scheduling.

The third descended into open warfare.

Not literal warfare.

Creative warfare.

Arguably worse.

One creator wanted more individual branding.

Another demanded equal exposure.

Someone else hated the campaign title.

A fourth person hated everything.

The marketing representatives attempted to maintain order.

The editors attempted to maintain schedules.

The creators attempted to maintain their egos.

Nobody succeeded completely.

Haruki watched the arguments unfold.

At first, he wanted to intervene.

Then he stopped himself.

Not every disagreement required his solution.

That was becoming an increasingly important lesson.

He didn’t need to be the smartest person in every room.

He only needed to recognize when someone else had the better answer.

Then he noticed something strange.

Aoi Kisaragi hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes.

Not once.

That seemed impossible.

Eventually somebody noticed too.

The project coordinator looked toward her.

"Any thoughts?"

Dangerous question.

Aoi closed the document she was reviewing.

Then stood.

The room quieted automatically.

Interesting.

No.

Earned.

Different.

Because nobody feared her.

They respected her.

Aoi walked toward the whiteboard.

Then drew three circles.

Nothing else.

Three circles.

The room waited.

Confused.

Then she spoke.

"The audience."

First circle.

"The creators."

Second.

"The sponsors."

Third.

Simple.

The woman looked around the room.

Then:

"Which one are you optimizing for?"

Silence.

Real silence.

Because nobody had an answer.

Not immediately.

The room suddenly looked different.

Not physically.

Conceptually.

Every argument belonged to one of the circles.

Every complaint.

Every concern.

Every proposal.

The creator demanding more personal exposure was optimizing for creators.

The marketing representative pushing broader accessibility was thinking about the audience.

The sponsor’s representative was focused on visibility and financial return.

They weren’t necessarily disagreeing about the project.

They were optimizing for different priorities.

The realization spread slowly.

People started reevaluating their positions.

Adjusting.

Thinking.

The discussion improved immediately.

Haruki hated how effective it was.

A recurring problem with talented people.

Aoi didn’t solve the disagreement.

She simply changed how everyone looked at it.

That was more dangerous.

And more useful.

---

The session ended at three.

Exhaustion followed.

Collective exhaustion.

The healthy kind.

The kind that came from actually accomplishing something.

Outside the studio, Haruki found himself walking beside Aoi.

An unfortunate coincidence.

The creator adjusted her bag.

Then asked:

"Why didn’t you answer her?"

Haruki almost walked into a signpost.

A meaningful reaction.

"What?"

Aoi didn’t look at him.

Just kept walking.

"The confession."

Haruki stopped.

Actually stopped.

Because the question arrived from nowhere.

Or so he thought.

Aoi finally glanced sideways.

Then sighed.

"You’ve been distracted for a week."

Fair.

Dangerously fair.

The woman continued walking.

Leaving him no choice but to follow.

An increasingly familiar problem.

Eventually Haruki caught up.

"How do you know about that?"

Aoi raised an eyebrow.

"Half the collaboration team knows."

Silence.

Complete silence.

Not dramatic silence.

Horror silence.

The worst kind.

Haruki stared at her.

"Half?"

"Probably more."

"How?"

"People talk."

"I hate people."

"I noticed."

Aoi laughed.

Actually laughed.

A rare event.

"Relax."

A pause.

"I don’t know details."

Another.

"People just notice things."

That somehow felt worse.

Much worse.

Haruki looked toward the street.

"So everyone knows I’m distracted."

"Not everyone."

"How comforting."

"I didn’t say it was comforting."

---

They crossed a busy intersection.

Traffic moved around them.

Pedestrians flowed past.

Life continued.

As always.

Eventually Aoi became serious again.

A dangerous transition.

The woman looked toward the skyline.

Then said:

"People think difficult decisions become easier if you wait."

A pause.

"They don’t."

Haruki remained silent.

Because arguing required confidence.

He didn’t have any.

Not here.

Not now.

Aoi stopped near the station entrance.

Then surprised him.

For the first time.

Genuinely surprised him.

"You know why I respect Arata?"

The question seemed unrelated.

Probably wasn’t.

Haruki shook his head.

Aoi smiled faintly.

Because the smile belonged to somebody remembering an old defeat.

Not an old victory.

"He answers."

A pause.

"Even when the answer costs him."

The sentence landed cleanly.

No metaphor.

No lesson.

Just truth.

Haruki thought about the adaptation.

The contracts.

The sponsors.

The consequences.

Then Yui.

Her confession.

His silence.

Different situation.

Same problem.

Eventually, someone had to answer.

Waiting forever wasn’t a solution.

Aoi looked at him once more.

"Don’t confuse silence with a decision."

Then she left.

Boarded her train.

Disappeared into the crowd.

Leaving Haruki alone with the thought.

---

That evening, he returned home.

The apartment felt quieter lately.

Not empty.

Different.

His desk remained crowded with manuscripts, contracts, and collaboration documents.

Life in paper form.

The anonymous message still waited.

Unread.

The confession still waited.

Unanswered.

One mystery.

One relationship.

Both unfinished.

Haruki sat down.

Opened his phone.

Then, after nearly three days—

Finally opened the anonymous message.

The screen displayed only one additional line beneath the first.

«The first creator who refused disappeared in 1987.»

Nothing else.

No explanation.

No sender.

No context.

Haruki stared at the screen.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He could ask.

Who was the creator?

What did they refuse?

What happened afterward?

Who knew about it?

But something stopped him.

Not fear.

Not exactly.

Priorities.

Haruki locked the phone.

Immediately.

Because for the first time in months, the mystery no longer felt urgent.

Important.

Maybe.

Urgent?

No.

Tomorrow he had a deadline.

Ren needed him.

Miyu needed him.

The collaboration project needed him.

And somewhere between Aoi Kisaragi’s challenge, Yui’s confession, and Arata’s example...

Haruki was finally learning something difficult.

Not every unanswered question deserved to come first.

Some could wait.

Some couldn’t.

And for now—

The manga couldn’t.