The next day.
Akiyama got up early. In front of the mirror, he combed his hair into a proper "adult" style, put on the only decent suit he owned, and then—washed his face.
For him, that was the highest level of respect he could show an editor.
Then he headed out.
It was his first time being treated to a meal by an editor as a "manga artist," and his mood was pretty good—after all, he wasn't paying.
After more than an hour on the train, he arrived at the meeting place Kurokawa had chosen: a yakitori izakaya near Kodansha.
Akiyama stood at the entrance, looking left and right, not seeing anyone—when a hand patted his shoulder from behind.
"Yo, Akiyama-san!"
He turned around.
In front of him, Kurokawa Aoi wore a black-brown leather jacket, her hair tied up neat and sharp. With a cigarette between her fingers, she smiled and waved.
Silver necklace. Earrings. Ultra-short denim shorts. Straight black knee-high boots. A cropped top under the jacket—clear definition showing at her waist.
It was the same style as when he'd first seen her at the back entrance of Kodansha.
Today she even had faint smoky eye makeup.
"You didn't see me just now?" Kurokawa asked, hands behind her back, tilting her head.
"Sorry. I didn't recognize you."
Akiyama thought, How is anyone supposed to recognize you? The most ridiculous part was that she'd somehow returned to blunt bangs again—she didn't even have bangs in the office.
Changing hairstyles whenever you want… what are you, a manga character who wandered into real life?
"Fair," Kurokawa said. "Too many people on this street. It messes with your judgment."
As she spoke, she glanced toward the crowd, cigarette in her mouth, her expression darkening.
"With how suffocating everything is these days, people are under insane work pressure. On weekdays no one has the mood to eat out, so even a tucked-away little shopping street like this is packed on weekends…"
Her eyes went colder.
"…Honestly, that crisis should've taken more people with it."
That's… a bit too nihilistic, isn't it?!
Akiyama broke into a sweat.
The moment Kurokawa appeared—this stunning, sexy woman standing on the street—she drew greedy looks from passing men.
But without exception, the instant they met the murderous edge in her gaze, all thoughts of flirting evaporated.
Kurokawa blinked, then turned back to Akiyama with a smile. "I'm kidding, Akiyama-san."
You'd better be.
She stubbed out her cigarette. "Let's go in."
...
The moment they entered the yakitori izakaya, Akiyama felt the atmosphere hit him—lively, noisy, full of warmth and smoke and real life. It really was a perfect place to talk.
The manager behind the counter spotted Kurokawa and immediately greeted her with enthusiasm.
"Hey, Kurokawa-sensei! Treating another manga artist today?"
Being so close to Kodansha, the shop clearly wasn't new to editors dropping by. Editors had high status, and even if the manager didn't know what was happening inside the editorial department, he was happy to act familiar whenever she visited.
Then he noticed Akiyama and couldn't help adding, "This sensei is really young!"
Akiyama just smiled.
Still, the comment put him in a good mood—who would've thought an editor would treat an intern assistant to a meal?
"Yes," Kurokawa said. "Give us a private room. Somewhere quiet."
"Of course! This way, Kurokawa-sensei…"
The manager personally led them to a tatami room. Once they sat down, a server came over with menus.
Kurokawa took one, ordered smoothly like she knew the place by heart, then handed the menu straight to Akiyama.
Akiyama didn't pretend to be modest. He hadn't debuted yet, but he was already mentally stepping into the role. Acting overly polite now would just make him look small.
"Chicken thigh with negi, four skewers."
"Chicken meatballs, four."
"Chicken skin, four."
"…."
"Kurokawa-san, do you eat organ meats?"
"I do."
"Alright. Chicken hearts—four… no, two."
After ordering, Akiyama returned the menu to the server. Kurokawa glanced at him and asked, "Want a drink, Akiyama-san?"
"A little."
He thought about it. He hadn't had alcohol since reincarnating, and the original owner of this body didn't drink. He wasn't sure how much he could handle—might as well find out.
"Then two draft beers!"
Once the server left, the two chatted casually while they waited.
Kurokawa asked about his situation in Uesugi's studio—what he usually worked on, how he learned to handle horror storytelling when Uesugi didn't specialize in it, and so on.
Akiyama didn't like the topic. He answered vaguely, half-heartedly.
Partly because he couldn't exactly explain where his manga "came from."
And partly because…
Every time he looked up at the woman across from him, he felt inexplicably tense. He already knew the office version of Kurokawa was a mask she wore to survive at work—but seeing her dressed like this again made it hard to believe she was the same person.
A stylish, gorgeous older woman sitting across from him, cigarette between her lips… and he was just a newly graduated guy.
Feeling awkward was only natural.
Before long, the skewers arrived. Their small talk faded as they started eating.
Akiyama took a big bite of tender, juicy chicken, then washed it down with crisp beer.
Bliss.
Ever since reincarnating, he'd been living on discounted convenience store bento. This was the first time he'd been able to eat meat like this without hesitation.
Being a manga artist really was nice.
...
Once he was about seventy percent full, Akiyama slowed down.
Free food was great—but he couldn't forget why he was really here.
He set his skewer down.
Noticing, Kurokawa stopped as well.
"Kurokawa-san. Let's talk business," Akiyama said. "About next week's editorial judging meeting… how good are our odds?"
Akiyama always preferred going straight to the point.
He knew that if Kurokawa had called him out for a serious talk, she wanted him mentally prepared for what was coming.
Kurokawa inhaled deeply.
Seeing her expression, Akiyama initially thought she was about to say it was complicated—he even started wondering if he'd been too blunt—
But Kurokawa lifted her head, face solemn, and said:
"I'm going to use my internal recommendation privilege. I'll have Perfect Blue skip the editorial judging meeting entirely and go straight to the judges' final review."
Her meaning was crystal clear:
If they were going to gamble—
They were going to bet big.