Ghostwriterr

At 18 years old, Hikaru Sano is a published novelist on the brink of a breakdown. Struggling with deadlines, a writer’s block that feels more like a writer’s mountain, and a growing pile of unpaid bills, Hikaru’s life is spiraling out of control. That is, until he’s forced to hire an assistant—Miyuki Hoshino, a no-nonsense college freshman who dreams of something more than just being another cog in the system.

Miyuki is organized, sarcastic, and the complete opposite of Hikaru. She walks in ready to help him get his life together—if only he’d get his act together long enough for that to happen. Between surviving last-minute rewrites, chaotic deadlines, and an editor who could break a man just by typing in all caps, they find themselves stuck in an unlikely partnership.

As the two spend late nights working together, an undeniable connection begins to form. But there’s a problem: both Hikaru and Miyuki are too shy, too awkward, and way too stubborn to admit their growing feelings. Add in some dark humor, a touch of romance, and a lot of writer’s angst, and you get a comedic ride through the unpredictable world of book deadlines, creativity, and finding love where you least expect it—between the lines.

Between these Lines

I have seen many things in my life. Some good, some bad. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the absolute disaster that is Hikaru Sano's "work process."

To be clear, work is a very generous term.

"Are you writing or summoning a demon?" I ask, peering over his shoulder. His screen is still blank, aside from a single, lonely sentence:

"The wind howled through the night."

…That's it. That's all he's got.

Hikaru, however, doesn't seem fazed. He leans back, stretching with the confidence of a man who just wrote the next literary masterpiece. "It's all about the process, Miyuki. You can't rush genius."

I gesture at the screen. "Genius is currently homeless and begging for spare change."

Look, I get it. From an outsider's perspective, it probably looks like I'm doing absolutely nothing. But what Miyuki doesn't understand is that thinking is part of writing. You can't just force creativity. You have to let the ideas marinate, grow, evolve—

Miyuki crosses her arms. "I literally just saw the reflection of a fluffy orange cat on your screen."

I sigh dramatically. "Fine. Yes. But in my defense, the cat was very relatable. He looked just as unmotivated as me."

Miyuki pinches the bridge of her nose like she's trying to physically restrain herself from strangling me. "Do you actually want to finish this manuscript or should I start preparing your obituary?"

I pause. "If it's the second option, can you make it sound cool? Something like, 'He died tragically while crafting a masterpiece, leaving behind a legacy of untold brilliance.'"

She stares at me. "How about, 'He died as he lived—doing absolutely nothing.'"

Watching Hikaru "write" is like watching a turtle try to win a race by napping at the starting line. At this rate, I'll be retired before he finishes a chapter.

I take a deep breath. Patience, Miyuki. He's your boss. Violence is not the answer.

"Okay," I say, clapping my hands together. "New strategy. You're going to write. Right now. No distractions."

Hikaru groans. "Miyuki, you can't just force creativity."

"You also can't pay rent with vibes."

He opens his mouth to argue but then stops, realization dawning in his eyes. I can actually see the moment he remembers that money is a thing he needs to live.

And just like that, Hikaru Sano finally starts typing.

The Art of Not Writing