Inkless confidence

Aoki's hand moved before she could think. The pen was smooth, weighty, and humming with something ancient that guided her fingers across the page like it had a will of its own. Ink flowed exactly where she needed it to go, lines forming with clarity she'd never achieved before. The strokes were clean. The panels were balanced. Her characters felt alive, as if they'd existed long before she gave them form.

She didn't stop to sketch a name. She didn't pause to outline dialogue. It all just… came. Like the story had already been drawn in her head, waiting for this exact pen to unlock it.

Hours passed. The glow of her desk lamp mixed with the faint morning light peeking through the curtains. Her back ached and her eyes stung but she didn't care. By the time she placed her pen down, it was nearly 5 a.m.

She stared at it in disbelief. Not because she doubted its quality but somehow, she did because for the first time in years, it felt like hers. The raw excitement she once had as a teenager sketching fan manga in the back of her literature notes… it was back.

"Why do you always draw that girl with the giant sword?" someone once asked her when she was much younger.

"Because she looks cool," she answered simply, smudging a line with her sleeve. "And because no one at her school messes with her."

She remembered her first panel clearly. It was crooked, the inking too heavy, but the thrill it gave her—the idea that something she'd imagined could live on paper was unmatched. That one panel had led her down this path.

She jolted awake to the blaring ringtone on her phone.

10:26 A.M.

Her heart skipped.

"I should probably submit this as a one-shot to Matsumoto-senpai."

Aoki scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping over her blanket. She had drawn until dawn and passed out without setting an alarm. The Shonēn Black editorial office opened by 9 a.m.—and she was supposed to be in the next week with Chapter 22 of Saint ♰ Rewind. But after what she'd drawn last night… there was no going back.

She took a quick shower. Pulled on jeans, a hoodie, grabbed the finished manuscript pages from her desk, and bolted out the door.

At Shonēn Black HQ, Takeru Matsumoto adjusted his tie while sipping his coffee. His morning was routine so far. He skimmed through a few names on his desk and sighed. Another week of average submissions.

Just as he leaned back, the door slammed open.

Aoki stood there, panting, cheeks flushed from the July heat. Her hair was still messy from sleep, and her hands clutched a thick envelope.

"You're not due until next week," Takeru said cautiously, lowering his mug.

"I know," she said, breathing hard. "But I need you to look at this."

"Is this the name for Saint ♰ Rewind Chapter 22?"

"No. It's… something else. A complete manuscript"

There was a moment of silence. Takeru glanced down at the envelope, then back at her. He motioned for her to come in.

They sat down at a table in the shared editor workspace. Another senior editor, Kana Ishida, a sharp-eyed woman who usually worked with gag manga artists, peered over with interest.

Behind her stood a junior mangaka, Hikaru Nitta, nineteen, in his second year of serialization of his manga, Quest for Gold that sat comfortably at #5. He looked at Aoki with curiosity.

"She's turning something new? Could it be a one-shot?" he whispered.

Takeru carefully slid the manuscript out of the envelope. His eyes scanned the title:

"Margaria no Hana"

(The Flower of Margaria)

He raised a brow. "This isn't your usual style. Is this a one-shot?"

"Yes, it is." Aoki said.

Kana leaned closer. "Wait… you skipped the name?"

Takeru was already on the third page, flipping slower now. His eyes sharpened with each turn. By page seven, he was quiet. By page eleven, he leaned in.

"Who inked this?" he asked.

"I did," she replied.

"Bullshit." Hikaru snorted. Kana smacked his arm.

Aoki didn't look in his direction. "I'm serious."

Takeru continued reading, without making any comments. He read it to the last panel, stared at it for another ten seconds, then exhaled deeply.

"You wrote, storyboarded, sketched, inked, and lettered this in one night?"

She nodded.

Kana pulled it toward her. "Let me see." She read fast as always, her expressions shifting from mild interest to genuine surprise.

Hikaru whispered, "Can I—"

"Wait your turn," Kana said, eyes glued to the page.

And then came the voice Aoki hoped wouldn't show up.

"Trying out one-shots now, Aoki?"

She turned. Satoshi Morita, tall, stylish as ever, with a calm smirk that somehow always made her want to punch something.

He looked at the manuscript and scanned a few pages. He was silent longer than usual. Then finally, he said, "It's… not bad."

"That's all?" Kana shot back.

Satoshi handed it back carefully. "It's too clean to be hers."

"Watch it," Takeru warned.

But Satoshi didn't push. Instead, he gave Aoki a strange look. "We both know you didn't make this. But It doesn't matter, it doesn't par with mine."

Aoki raised a brow. "You're so full of yourself"

He didn't answer. Just gave a half-smile and walked off.

Later, in Takeru's private office, Aoki finally exhaled. He placed the manuscript on the table between them.

"Okay," he said. "Talk to me. What's The Flower of Margaria about?"

Aoki leaned forward. "It's set in a crumbling world where people forget their loved ones every time they speak a lie. The main character is a florist who starts keeping silent after losing too many memories. She meets someone who challenges her silence with honesty."

Takeru stared at her. "You had this in your head the whole time?"

"No, not exactly," she said honestly. "It came to me last night."

"Okay, I'll try to get the other editors' comments on it before submitting to the board."

"Thank you sir."

"I'm glad you haven't lost your mark, Aoki," he said smiling from ear to ear.

Outside the office, Kana passed Satoshi in the hallway.

"Looks like you'll start dealing with the real Aoki," Kana muttered.

Satoshi didn't reply. He stared out the window at the Tokyo skyline, jaw tight.

"They keep hyping her like she's something special."

He slipped his hands into his pockets, gaze steady on the skyline.

"I'll show them what a real manga looks like."

___

Aoki kicked off her shoes the moment she got home, slumping onto the floor by her desk. Her eyes immediately darted toward it. The fountain pen wasn't there.

She raised her head and checked again. It still wasn't there.

She stood up quickly, pushing her chair aside. The pen had been right there on the table. She remembered placing it down when she was done drawing the night before. Her hand had been cramping after inking the final page of The Flower of Margaria, and she was too tired to even put it back in the case. It hadn't left the room and she was sure of it.

But now? Now it was just… gone.

She tore through drawers, lifted her art books, flipped the mattress, even checked the fridge on impulse. Nothing. She couldn't even find the case.

She bit her lip. That pen wasn't just smooth—it was like it moved ahead of her, inking as if it knew what she was thinking. She picked up regular G-pen, but felt it like a twig in comparison.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her downward spiral.

She wiped her hands on her shorts and picked up.

"Hello?" she said, trying to sound casual.

"Aoki," Takeru said, his voice tight. "I showed your Flower of Margaria draft to some of the other editors."

Her heart stopped.

"And what did they think?"

"They loved it," he said quickly. "Everyone agreed on the fact that you're still one of the best we have and you still got that fire burning in you."

She sat back down gently. "So, now what?"

"Well, we're going to submit it to NEXT STAR," he said confidently.

"NEXT STAR?"

Takeru's voice came through casual, but teasing. "Wow. Three serializations and you forget how NEXT STAR works?"

Aoki scoffed, still digging through her drawer for the missing fountain pen. "I didn't forget. I just didn't think mine would end up there."

"It's where we spotlight potential," he said. "Editors pitch standout one-shots, readers vote weekly, and stores report feedback. It's fast, public, and if something hits hard... we push for serialization."

She paused, heart ticking faster. "And mine… hit hard?"

"Yeah," Takeru replied, scratching his head like he knew she'd react that way. "You know how it works. One-shots get thrown into the fire, reader votes, store surveys, online buzz — all that pressure in just one week."

Aoki leaned against her desk. "I started there. You really think it's still the right fit?"

"You shined there," he said, his voice steady. "That ranking chart—it's not just for rookies. Even seasoned artists go back to it to test something bold. And this one? Margaria hit different. You know it."

She paused, eyes on her discarded storyboard.

"Besides," Takeru added, "NEXT STAR isn't just a foot in the door anymore. Editors watch it closer than ever. If it makes waves, it opens doors fast. Like… next-serialization-meeting fast."

Aoki bit her lip. She remembered when her first and second debut one-shot ranked #7, and the third was #5 in that very same section.

"Plus, draw a new name for Saint ♰ Rewind end, fusing the remaining chapters. Just in case. Bye."

"Okay sir," she said as she hung up.

When the call ended, she stared at the blank manuscript for Saint ♰ Rewind on her desk. Her old G-pen lay beside it, feeling heavier than ever.

She picked it up anyway and started sketching the new name for Chapter 22. Even if it wasn't as effortless as the fountain pen, she needed to prove something to herself. That she was the one drawing these stories—not just some mysterious pen.

But even as she sketched, part of her still wondered—where had that pen gone?

______

One Week Later.

The air outside was crisp as she zipped her hoodie and headed out, both names safely tucked in her portfolio. Her neighborhood convenience store was still putting up the new issue of Shōnen Black. She waited at the counter, heart pounding.

The NEXT STAR page was always near the front. Itprinted in bold silver text across a black strip, like a badge of honor. She thumbed through quickly.

There it was.

#1 — The Flower of Margaria by Aoki Itsumi.

She froze on seeing it.

Right under it, a short reader comment box read:

~"Tragic and beautiful. I didn't expect a story about a dying florist to move me this much.

~"Those expressions… that panel on page 17 hit like a truck."

~"This art is too good to be through, I hope it gets serialized like Blade Ceremony.

She was a bit pissed by the mentioning of Blade Ceremony because it was Satoshi's but the joy she felt felt too good.

Her knees buckled, and the clerk gave her a strange look as she stood frozen, mouth open, before bolting out without buying anything.

She quickly took a bus to the HQ. The moment she pushed open the door, Takeru turned from the elevator, phone in hand.

He blinked. "I was just about to call you!"

She held up the magazine, the ranking circled in red.

Takeru smiled. "I told you I had a feeling."

From the hallway, Kana stepped out of her cubicle. "So you're the one who took the top spot this week," she said, arms crossed and grin wide. "Guess I owe Hikaru lunch."

Speak of the devil—Hikaru Nitta leaned over from his corner desk. "Next time warn me before you drop something that heavy. I was emotionally unprepared."

She gave a small bow, flustered.

"Let's just hope Satoshi doesn't see this," Kana added. "He'll burst a blood vessel."

"He already has," Hikaru said, smirking. "I think he's redrafting his manuscript."

Takeru tapped her gently on the shoulder and led her toward the conference room.

"Now that you've got people talking," he said, "it's time to make this real. You need to submit a 3-chapter storyboard for serialization by next week and submit them to me. The serialization board meets every Thursday. I want The Flower of Margaria on that table."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

"You think I'm letting someone else pick you up first?" Takeru said, almost possessively. "You're with me now."

They entered the small meeting room and he shut the door behind them. The buzz of the office faded, replaced by quiet focus.

"You've got a voice," he said, "and it comes through in your pages. It's not just the plot or the characters—it's the rhythm, the panel flow, the composition. Every page was cinematic."

She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I won't be able to recreate the same flow because I lost the pen," she wanted to say, but stopped herself.

Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out her old G-pen.

"I'll make it work," she said.

Takeru smiled.

And for the first time, so did she.