Tokyo, Chiyoda Ward, 1994.
Behind the headquarters of Kodansha Publishing, at 2-12-21 Otowa, Bunkyo Ward.
Kurokawa Aoi had been watching that young man for quite some time.
Ever since she slipped out of the editorial office under the excuse of taking a break and came around to the back entrance for a smoke, the guy standing across the street had been staring in this direction for more than an hour.
A fan staking out his favorite mangaka?
That wasn't unheard of around here. After all, this place was one of the pillars supporting the manga industry.
But mangaka didn't come to the editorial department every day.
"...Don't tell me he's some kind of lunatic planning something crazy?"
Kurokawa Aoi tilted her head back and took a deep drag from her cigarette, one hand tucked casually into her black jeans. Her gaze lingered lazily on the blue sky, carrying the kind of apathy that said, If that's the case, he might as well kidnap me too.
In this era, after all, running into a few unstable people on the streets wasn't exactly rare.
...
To start...
In early 1992, Japan's economic bubble collapsed.
Overnight, companies went bankrupt, people lost their jobs, even banks fell one after another.
Stocks and property became worthless.
Suicides rose sharply. Tokyo's streets filled with drifters—people with empty eyes and nowhere to go.
The entire society sank into a suffocating stagnation.
Morality frayed.
One striking example is:
1993 – Serial killings of dog owners in Kumagaya, Saitama.
Gang violence. Street fights. One horrific incident after another.
Even though the worst of it had passed, the long recession still lingered like a shadow.
Companies downsized. Fresh graduates couldn't find work.
In an era like this…
Sometimes, even Kurokawa could almost understand how people ended up falling into insanity.
"Do something already, kid…"
She muttered while watching the young man across the street.
"Life's hard enough. Don't bottle it all up."
"If you cause a little trouble, maybe I won't have to go back to work…"
She stubbed out her cigarette, pulled another from her pocket, and flicked her lighter.
But just as the flame touched the tip—
She noticed the young man finally start walking toward her.
Oh? You're actually coming?
Kurokawa quickly pocketed the cigarette. But when she got a clear look at him, she froze for a second—then sighed in mild disappointment.
She raised a hand and greeted him first.
"Yo. Isn't that Akiyama-kun?"
She recognized him.
His name was Akiyama Satoru.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the type to cause trouble. He was an intern assistant working under Uesugi-sensei, a serialized mangaka for Weekly Young Magazine.
And "intern" really meant intern.
In the rigid hierarchy of the manga industry, only artists who had won newcomer awards were qualified to be official assistants.
People like Akiyama who kept around for their diligence—were basically glorified errand runners.
In a world built on strict teacher–student relationships, interns like him didn't even qualify as students.
Kurokawa remembered him because he'd accompanied Uesugi twice when delivering manuscripts. Polite, quiet, easy to remember.
…And honestly, pretty good-looking.
Fair skin, sharp eyes, and at twenty-three, still carrying a youthful air.
If I'd met him back in college, she thought, I might've actually gone after him.
"You are…?" Akiyama asked, stopping in front of her.
"I work in the editorial department."
Kurokawa squatted down and lit her cigarette again.
"I've seen you before."
She exhaled slowly, smoke curling from her lips, showing no intention of standing up.
Akiyama studied her.
Delicate features. Long hair loosely tied behind her head. A few stray strands brushing her neck and cheeks.
He couldn't recall seeing her before.
Cleaning staff?
Given the times, even former biker gang queens had to find work somewhere.
"…Is this a smoking area?" he asked.
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I can smoke here."
Her tone was blunt, relaxed, like she didn't consider him a threat at all.
"Can you enter Kodansha from here?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Thanks."
He turned to leave.
"Hey—!"
Kurokawa grabbed the hem of his jacket.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Just walking in like it's your house?
"I'm delivering manuscripts for Uesugi-sensei."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then you can't go in."
She frowned slightly.
Something didn't add up.
Uesugi was notoriously hot-tempered and arrogant. Rumor had it he even beat his assistants. There was no way he'd let an intern deliver manuscripts alone.
And if there was no discussion required, mailing them would've been easier.
"…I see."
Akiyama didn't argue. He didn't look flustered or embarrassed either.
Instead, he squatted down beside her.
That made Kurokawa hesitate.
After a moment, she sighed, took out her cigarette case, and offered him one.
"I don't smoke," he said.
"Oh. Right."
She slipped it back, relieved. She'd already been considering whether she should just let him go upstairs if he was here to bum cigarettes.
"So," Akiyama said, "do you know when the submission deadline is for this year's Weekly Young Magazine awards?"
"Today's the last day."
She exhaled a smoke ring.
"Don't tell me Uesugi-sensei is submitting?"
"How much is the prize money?" he asked instead.
"…First prize is one million yen. Runner-up gets five hundred thousand. Honorable mention is two hundred thousand…"
She paused mid-sentence.
Wait.
If Uesugi were submitting, how could he not know this?
She turned to look at him—only to find Akiyama staring at the ground, fingers raised as if calculating something.
One million yen…
At the early-'90s exchange rate, that was a fortune.
Enough to survive for over a year without income.
Enough to completely solve his post-isekai survival problem.
And more importantly—
Winning meant publication in Weekly Young Magazine.
A direct stepping stone into the professional manga world.
Perfect.
"…Wait a second."
Kurokawa finally caught on.
"You're not seriously thinking of submitting something yourself, are you?"
"Yeah."
He admitted it plainly.
"First submission, and you're going straight for the big award? Not even trying the monthly contest?"
"Uesugi-sensei doesn't know."
"…He doesn't allow it?"
Akiyama didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
Kurokawa clicked her tongue softly.
Figures.
That hot-headed old man wouldn't tolerate an intern dreaming beyond his station.
In his eyes, an assistant daring to submit work was laughable.
No wonder Akiyama tried sneaking in through the back.
Mailing it risked interception. And submitting as an unknown meant being overlooked.
So he came directly.
Interesting.
She crushed out her cigarette and stood up.
"That entrance won't work. If you want in, you'll have to go through the front."
"The guards won't let me."
"…Fine. I'll talk to them."
"You?"
He looked surprised.
"Just go."
She shrugged.
Even if it was reckless, she figured—
After smoking with her for this long, the least she could do was give him a chance to talk to an editor.