Chapter 84: Sora Tachibana

Chapter 84: Chapter 84: Sora Tachibana

Sora Tachibana hated meetings.

This was unfortunate.

Because people loved inviting him to them.

The publisher conference room contained seven people.

Six discussed business.

One discussed lunch.

Sora represented the lunch side.

The meeting had lasted nearly an hour.

Nobody seemed to notice he had contributed almost nothing.

That was a skill.

A useful one.

The senior editor finally reached the topic everyone actually cared about.

"Haruki Amamiya."

Several heads nodded.

Sora looked up from his coffee.

Now the meeting mattered.

"Growth rate is exceptional."

Another editor agreed.

"Reader retention is among the highest in his cohort."

A third added:

"Readers trust him."

That made Sora smile slightly.

Most industry people talked about numbers.

Views.

Growth.

Rankings.

Charts.

Reader trust was harder to build.

Much harder.

The discussion continued.

One editor preferred Aoi Fujimura.

Another preferred Haruki.

A third argued that Akari Sato might have the highest long-term commercial ceiling.

The conversation slowly transformed from analysis into competition.

Not creator competition.

Publisher competition.

Each company wanted to discover the next major creator first.

One editor leaned forward.

"Aoi is safer."

Another immediately disagreed.

"Haruki is more adaptable."

A third shook his head.

"Adaptable creators are difficult to predict."

Sora stayed quiet.

Listening.

People revealed more when they forgot someone was paying attention.

Eventually one editor looked toward him.

"You met both."

The room grew quieter.

Sora set down his coffee.

"Aoi knows exactly who he is."

Several people nodded.

Expected answer.

Then he continued.

"Haruki doesn’t."

A few expressions changed.

The editor frowned.

"Explain."

Sora leaned back.

"Aoi understands his strengths."

A pause.

"Haruki keeps discovering them."

Nobody answered immediately.

Which usually meant people were thinking.

Useful.

The meeting ended shortly afterward.

Business cards exchanged.

Future plans discussed.

Professional smiles deployed.

Sora escaped immediately.

Outside, Tokyo greeted him with sunlight.

Infinitely better.

His phone rang.

Mother.

The timing felt suspicious.

Very suspicious.

He answered.

"Hello."

"Did you eat lunch?"

There it was.

Not publishing.

Not contracts.

Not success.

Lunch.

Always lunch.

Sora laughed.

"I survived."

His mother seemed unconvinced.

Reasonably.

The conversation lasted several minutes before ending.

Then another message arrived.

Haruki.

Apparently the creator had finally replied.

Why are you warning me about contracts?

Sora looked at the screen.

Then typed.

Because that’s the real competition.

Several minutes passed.

Eventually:

Not tournaments?

Sora smiled.

Nobody loses ten years because of a tournament.

The reply never came.

Good.

The point probably landed.

Several districts away, Haruki stared at the message longer than expected.

Ten years.

The number felt ridiculous.

Then less ridiculous.

Then uncomfortable.

Because every publisher conversation now carried weight.

Not immediate weight.

Future weight.

The dangerous kind.

His phone rang before he could think further.

Mizuno.

Naturally.

He answered.

"Good timing."

"No."

Wonderful.

Apparently timing remained irrelevant.

"What happened?"

Mizuno ignored the question.

Expected.

"Three publishers contacted me today."

Haruki sat up.

"What?"

"The good news?"

A pause.

"They’re interested."

Another.

"The bad news?"

Haruki already disliked where this was going.

"What’s the bad news?"

The answer arrived immediately.

"They disagree."

Silence.

Then:

"About what?"

"Everything."

Mizuno finally elaborated.

One publisher wanted faster releases.

Another wanted broader appeal.

A third wanted stronger commercial positioning.

One wanted him producing content every week.

Another wanted him thinking about anime adaptation potential already.

A third wanted him preparing an entirely different project.

Different visions.

Different strategies.

Different futures.

Haruki rubbed his forehead.

"What would you do?"

The question escaped before he could stop it.

Silence answered him first.

Then Mizuno sighed.

Not annoyed.

Tired.

"Wrong question."

Haruki frowned.

"What?"

"If I choose for you, you’ll blame me when things go badly."

The statement hit harder than expected.

Mizuno continued.

"This isn’t an editor decision."

A pause.

"It’s a creator decision."

Another.

"You need to decide what kind of creator you want to become."

Then she hung up.

Leaving him alone with the worst possible thing.

Responsibility.

That evening, Haruki sat in his apartment staring at three business cards.

Three opportunities.

Three risks.

Three possible futures.

He picked up the first.

Yamashita Publishing.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

That alone made him suspicious.

Comfortable choices weren’t always good choices.

The second belonged to a much larger company.

More resources.

More reach.

More influence.

The promises sounded attractive.

The expectations sounded expensive.

He set it down.

The third remained untouched for several seconds.

Smaller publisher.

Less prestige.

Less certainty.

Yet strangely interested in Threadless Gate itself.

Not the tournament.

Not the rankings.

Not the publicity.

The manga.

Haruki rubbed his forehead.

Three publishers.

Three futures.

No obvious answer.

The apartment remained quiet.

Until Yui walked through carrying two cups of coffee.

She handed him one without asking.

Then noticed the cards.

Then noticed his expression.

Then sat down.

"What happened?"

Haruki explained.

Publisher interest.

Meetings.

Different expectations.

Different futures.

Different risks.

Yui listened carefully.

Not interrupting.

Not offering solutions.

Just listening.

When he finished, she looked at the business cards again.

Then at the manuscript pages beside them.

Then back at him.

"I think you’re scared."

Haruki blinked.

The answer felt annoyingly accurate.

"Maybe."

Yui nodded.

"Good."

Now it was his turn to stare.

"What?"

"If you weren’t scared, you’d probably choose badly."

Haruki laughed despite himself.

A ridiculous answer.

A very Yui answer.

For several moments neither spoke.

The city glowed outside the apartment windows.

Cars moved below.

The world continued.

Then Yui pointed toward the manuscript pages.

"The moment you start thinking more about publishers than your story..."

A pause.

"...you’ll choose the wrong one."

The statement lingered.

Not because it sounded profound.

Because it sounded true.

Haruki looked down at the cards again.

Then at the manuscript.

Then at Yui.

A strange feeling settled somewhere in his chest.

Not comfort.

Not exactly.

Something more complicated.

Something he didn’t examine closely enough.

Yui stood.

Collected her coffee.

Then disappeared toward the kitchen.

Leaving Haruki alone once more.

With three business cards.

One unfinished Chapter.

And far too many choices.

His laptop chimed softly.

A new email arrived.

Unknown Publisher.

Subject Line:

Proposal for Representation

Haruki stared at it.

The unopened message sat quietly on the screen.

Waiting.

Outside, Tokyo continued moving.

Publishers maneuvered.

Editors negotiated.

Creators chased futures.

And for the first time since this journey began, Haruki faced a challenge more complicated than failure.

Choice.