Lines Redrawn
The afternoon light slipped through the blinds, casting slow-moving stripes across Aoki's cluttered desk. The air was still, save for the faint scratch of her G-pen dragging across the paper. A near-complete storyboard lay in front of her—three chapters of The Flower of Margaria, drawn clean and methodical. The story flowed from the protagonist's quiet beginnings in the garden to her haunting first encounter with the blue-eyed knight.
It should have felt satisfying but it didn't.
She leaned back, stretching her fingers, and glanced over the pages. Everything was… fine. The panels were balanced. Dialogue was sharp. Action smooth. But there was a hollowness she couldn't name.
Her hand hovered over the final spread of Chapter 3, then slowly dropped.
The story of Flower of Margaria had unfolded in delicate lines: A dying world where every lie erased memories of loved ones. A florist who kept silent, clinging to the last scraps of memory. And a mysterious man who confronted silence with radical honesty. It was her most personal story yet, and now it needed to live up to the one-shot that shook the NEXT STAR chart.
Something was definitely off.
She stared longer, eyes narrowing as she tried to find the problem. Was it the pacing? The emotion? Why couldn't she feel anything from her own work?
A sudden gust of wind rustled the edge of a sketch taped on her wall—one from her university days. A smiling girl standing on a cliff, hair dancing in the wind. It looked rougher, messier… but it had something this one didn't.
Aoki's gaze softened.
She remembered her university days. Back in her university manga circle, the room always smelled like ink and instant noodles. Aoki sat cross-legged by the window, sketchpad on her knees. Her pencils moved without hesitation, capturing the posture of a character mid-laugh.
"Yo, you're drawing again?" came a voice from behind.
She turned slightly. It was Satoshi.
His hair was a little longer back then, and his confidence was less sharp. He leaned against the wall, watching her lines come to life.
"You ever gonna enter one of the national contests?" he asked, chewing gum.
She shook her head. "Why? I like drawing at my pace."
"Your characters have heart," he said after a moment. "More than most serialized stuff. You should let the world see them."
She was surprised, not expecting praise.
He smirked. "You can keep on hiding. I'll take the spotlight myself soon."
Back in the present, Aoki blinked away the memory. She stood, grabbing her clipboard and slipping the storyboard pages into a plastic file. Maybe she just needed fresh air or a new pair of eyes.
The editorial office buzzed in the background as she walked through the hallway. Before she could enter Takeru's wing, a voice called from behind.
"Aoki?"
She turned.
A man in a brown coat and scarf stood at the corner. His beard was longer than she remembered, but the calm in his eyes was familiar.
"I'm fortunate to have met NEXT STAR's finest."
"Hayashi-senpai?" she called out in disbelief. "You're back?"
He gave a small nod, stepping forward with a smile. "Just this week. I got tansferred back to the main branch two days ago. I thought I'd see you in one of these halls sooner or later."
She grinned. "How long has it been? Two years? Since Whispers Beyond the Fog ended."
"That's the one."
It had been her first serialization—Whispers Beyond the Fog, a psychological mystery about a girl who could hear lies as whispers in the wind. It lasted 31 chapters before ending in a rushed arc due to declining votes. But Hiroki Hayashi had believed in it until the final page.
"You look better," he said rubbing his neck. "But overwhelmed as usual."
She hesitated. "Actually... I was just on my way to Matsumoto-senpai with my storyboard. But... do you have time for tea?"
At a quiet cafe across the street, she spread the pages across the table. Hiroki scanned them slowly, a finger trailing the flow of the panels.
He didn't speak for a while.
"You've matured," he said finally. "Your pacing's cleaner. The transitions hit harder. But—"
She waited.
"It feels too safe."
Her brows furrowed.
"There's heart in it. I can tell you care about the world. But I think you're still drawing from the memory of your one-shot, not what this version of the story wants to become."
She looked down. The words weren't harsh, but they landed with weight.
"So I should redraw everything?"
"Not everything," he replied. "But start fresh. Forget the one-shot. Draw the story as if this is the first time anyone's meeting these characters."
She sat with his words for a moment, then quietly gathered the pages.
"When's the serialization meeting?"
"In two days," she said as she put the pages into the file.
They chatted a little longer before parting ways.
Back in her studio, Aoki stood still in front of her desk. She pulled out the pages, scanned them one last time, searching—hoping—for something redeemable.
She dropped the storyboard in the trash and returned to her desk.
Two days left and the clock was ticking.
At the other end of the city, Hikaru Nitta hunched over his lightboard, sweat beading on his forehead. The same page lay in front of him for the third time—an action splash panel of his protagonist jumping through smoke.
His assistant, Mina Susuki peeked in. "Nitta-san, you're redrawing it again?"
He didn't look up. "The anatomy was stiff. I need it to flow better."
"But the deadline is tomorrow"
"I don't care." His voice was low. "Aoki's probably gonna getting a serialization offer. I saw her one-shot."
He picked up his pen and swept a confident line across the paper. The figure leapt again—this time, fluid and fierce. "And Kuruma-sensei's still #1. Eight weeks straight. I'm not losing to both."