Editors' Dilemma

Aoki didn't sleep.

Not because she planned to stay up—but because the moment she dipped the fountain pen into ink and laid the first panel down, something inside her shifted. The clumsy hesitation of her earlier drafts melted away. Gone was the overthinking, the perfectionism, the spiraling second-guessing. This was instinct. This was breath. This was surrender.

She hadn't meant to redraw the entire thing. She only wanted to test a single page. But the pen glided on its own rhythm. Not literally—her hand moved it—but it felt like she wasn't the one deciding anymore. Scenes poured from her. Characters moved. Dialogue sparked as if spoken beside her ear. The world of Flower of Margaria returned in full bloom, and she followed wherever it led.

Time dissolved.

Light shifted in her window—afternoon bleeding into evening, evening curling into night. She barely noticed the hunger in her stomach or the ache in her shoulders. The pen urged her forward, its weight grounding her as it danced across the manuscript sheets. Her desk grew crowded with finished pages. Chapter after chapter flowed, more vivid, more alive than anything she had drawn in the past two years.

It wasn't just drawing... It was remembering.

Remembering the exact feeling she had the night she created the one-shot: that strange, magnetic pull between the pen and her fingers. That quiet fire in her chest. The sense that she wasn't creating alone. That the story had chosen her.

When the final panel was inked, her hand dropped. The pen rolled off her fingers and clinked softly on the desk.

Then silence.

Her body leaned forward unconsciously, cheek resting on the edge of the desk, eyes fluttering shut before she even realized.

She didn't hear her phone vibrate continuously.

It was Takeru calling. The serialization meeting was an hour away and he hadn't heard from Aoki. He watched as other editors submitted their storyboards to the assistant editor-in-chief.

"Hey Matsumoto-san, I thought you were submitting Aoki Itsumi's storyboard."

"She'll be with it soon," he replied with a light fake smile because he was panicking inside. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to go see her. He grabbed his keys and dashesd out.

Takeru stood outside her apartment, tapping his foot anxiously. He'd tried calling more times but there still was no response. The meeting would still begin.

He pressed the buzzer again. Still nothing.

"Dammit, Aoki," he muttered.

He debated leaving. But something about her silence pulled at him. He checked his watch, sighed, and dug out the spare key she'd given him months ago when they were still working on Saint ♰ Rewind.

Inside, the living room was dim. Only a sliver of morning light cut through the curtains. He moved toward the desk—and froze.

She was slumped forward, completely out, surrounded by manuscript sheets.

His eyes widened as he stepped closer. He immediately packed all the pages in the best order he could.

It was five chapters.

"Incredible," he said to himself.

Not just quantity. The quality hit him immediately—the balance, the mood, the expressions. She'd pushed past her limits, but instead of collapsing under pressure, she'd broken through. This wasn't her old work. This was a newer version of Aoki.

Then something else in the trash bin caught his eyes.

Takeru bent and reached in gently. It was neatly stacked draft of Flower of Margaria—her original storyboard. He turned through the pages, recognizing the layout.

It was good. But as good as the one he compiled.

She hadn't given up. She'd started over.

With a long breath, he put the manuscript, slipped it into a portfolio case, and gave Aoki a glance.

"You really are something," he muttered.

Then he left.

At the editorial office, the meeting had already begun.

A group of editors sat around the rectangular table, stacks of submissions in front of them, water bottles half-drunk. The Editor-in-Chief, arms folded, listened as the first round of pitches were reviewed.

Kana Ishida flipped through a few pages of a new one-shot. "Solid start, but I'm not convinced this would carry ten chapters."

"Agreed," said another editor. "Too reliant on the gimmick."

Next came a dark fantasy entry. Then a slice-of-life about an all-girls band. Each was evaluated quickly, some with faint praise, most with polite dismissal.

Then someone reached for a black folder.

"This came in right before the meeting," one editor said. "From Aoki."

A silence hovered.

Kana leaned in sharply. "Is it The Flower of Margaria?"

"Yes. Five chapters."

Whispers passed around the table.

"Five? Already?"

"Did she reuse the old storyboard?"

"No. This is completely redrawn."

Kana opened the folder and laid out the first few pages. The others leaned in.

Expressions changed.

Even the ones skeptical at first found their eyes drawn panel to panel. The emotion was different. Cleaner. More personal.

"She really improved," one editor said softly.

Another frowned. "She's had three serializations dropped. Are we sure we want to go down this road again?"

"She's also won NEXT STAR and ranked #1," Kana replied. "Not because of reputation but because of quality."

"That was a one-shot. Serialized work is a different beast."

A third editor nodded. "She may burn out again."

Kana held her ground. "You can feel it in these pages—this isn't the Aoki who fumbled Saint ♰ Rewind. She's pushing herself to grow."

Another leaned back. "What do you think, chief?"

All eyes turned to the Editor-in-Chief.

He remained silent, eyes scanning the first page. Then the second. Then the third.

They waited for him to speak.

___

The sunlight slanted through the half-closed blinds, cutting pale lines across Aoki's cheek. She stirred with a dull ache in her back, her face still resting on the edge of her desk. Her eyes blinked open slowly. Her room was quiet, the faint scent of ink and coffee still lingering.

Her gaze swept across the cluttered desk—the empty coffee mug, eraser shavings. But something was missing.

The pages. All of them were gone.

She sat up sharply. "No way…"

She tried to remember. She'd been drawing, that she was sure of. But… how long? How many pages? Her memory was a haze—flickering panels, inky shadows, light bleeding through her windows.

Panic gripped her for a second until she spotted her phone flashing weakly.

7 missed calls — all from Takeru.

She tapped his name.

He picked up immediately. "Aoki? You're up?"

"Yeah," she croaked.

"I came over to pick up the storyboard earlier," he said, calm but firm.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you weren't answering, and I got worried. So I used the spare key you gave me back in your Saint ♰ Rewind days."

Aoki rubbed her temple. "Okay thanks. Is the meeting over yet?"

"Not yet but I have a good feeling."

Aoki felt her body relax slightly. "So… you think they'll serialize it?"

"I think you might actually blow their minds."

She didn't say anything for a moment. Then: "I'm coming."

"Yeah. Come to the office. The meeting should he over anytime soon."

When the call ended, her body finally registered its needs—hunger clawing at her stomach. She made her way to the fridge and grabbed a rice cake, eating in silence while tugging off her stained shirt. Coffee blotches stained the cotton. She changed quickly, grabbed her bag, and stepped out.

___

At the headquarters of Shōnen Black, the editorial meeting had entered its third hour.

Files were stacked. Empty coffee cups lined the table. Most submissions had already been discussed and decisions reached. Only one remained unresolved.

A tense silence hung in the air. Everyone waiting for the editor-in-chief, Takagi Ogawa to give his verdict.

He adjusted his glasses and looked at the folder before him. The title printed on the cover: The Flower of Margaria.

He didn't speak immediately. Instead, his eyes shifted to the woman beside him. "Suzuki-san," he said, addressing his assistant editor-in-chief, Mina Suzuki, "what's your view on this one?"

Suzuki nodded. "Before I share my opinion, I should mention something Hayashi-san told me. He met Aoki two days ago. They had a discussion, she showed her storyboard to him and later decide to discard it."

The room reacted subtly—eyebrows raised, a few muttered comments.

"She did all five chapters after that?" someone asked.

"Yes," Suzuki confirmed. "In two days. What we're looking at now is the version she began right after that conversation."

Ogawa's expression remained unreadable. "And your thoughts on the work?"

"I believe it has promise. The pacing in chapter one was slower than expected, but the the rest of the chapters showed a clear grasp of rising tension and emotional payoff. It's not polished like 'Epitaph Parade' or the others, but it carries a raw intensity we haven't seen in her previous work."

There was a pause. Ogawa tapped his fingers on the table.

"Let's go around. Give me your take — yes or no to serialization."

Normally, when the board couldn't come to a joint decision a kind of vote would take place. The majority would decide.

Kana Ishida went first. "Yes. Not just because of quality, but the circumstances. I agree Aoki had had one of the lowest rankings before, but we can't afford to loose such a great story due to the past. Plus, the rest of the storyboards we've reviewed are nothing compared to this."

Another editor chimed in. "At first, I leaned toward no. I felt the story was dense, and the worldbuilding might be too niche. But after realizing she completed it all in two days — and still delivered that — I'm reconsidering. That work ethic and creative spark shouldn't be dismissed."

A third editor added, "I say yes. There's a strong lead heroine. Aoki's paneling and pacing are much improved from her previous serialization. If this runs alongside more stable series, it might attract a different kind of reader."

Not everyone agreed.

"I'm still unsure," said one of the more senior editors. "The art feels inconsistent in some areas. And while the character arcs show depth, I worry about sustainability beyond five chapters. The concept is bold, but also risky."

A woman at the far end nodded in partial agreement. "I agree with that. But it's also why we should consider testing it. A serialized run will show us how she handles deadlines while being consistent with her art."

The back-and-forth continued. Some compared it to the top series currently running.

"Compared to the top ones, 'The Flower of Margaria' is more subdued," said another editor. "But subdued doesn't mean weak. It's closer to what Epitaph Parade was like in its first arc."

"Let's not forget that Aoki Itsumi was once one of our top 10," Kana added.

Takagi had heard enough. He closed the file.

"Seems we're split. It's close to a tie. That leaves the final verdict to me."

All eyes turned to him.

He didn't rush his words.

"We've seen her rise, fall, and return. This version — the one she bled out in two days shows she still has something to give."

There was a long silence.

Then: "Thank you. I'll notify her editor shortly."

___

In the hallway outside the boardroom, editors split off to discuss the results with their teams.

Kana Ishida walked toward Takeru and Aoki, who had just arrived.

Takeru glanced over. "How did it go?"

Kana took a breath.

"Well... the vote was split. Chief gave the final say…"

Aoki stiffened. "And?"

"He approved the serialization for 'The Flower of Margaria'."

Both Takeru and Aoki exhale—then Kana adds: "But there's a condition."

Aoki looks up.

"If 'The Flower of Margaria' doesn't break into the Top 5 in Shōnen Black's main serialization rankings within three weeks... not only will the series be axed, Aoki—but you'll be done with the Shōnen Black. Completely."

There was a heavy silence. Even Takeru said nothing.

Aoki stood still, her gaze steady. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was quiet but firm.

"I'll make it to the top of the rankings. If that's what it takes… I'll do it."

She looked up at them—not desperate, but determined.

[ POWER STONES = AOKI'S SUPERCHARGE! Drop one to help her draw the ultimate manga! 💎]