The working hours of a manga artist tend to be flexible, and Haruki adjusted his based on his university schedule.
After Naoya Fujimoto and Kenta Hoshikawa discussed their working hours with Haruki, they left at a signal from Haruka.
After all... what came next wasn't for their ears.
"What's with the secrecy?" Haruki glanced at Haruka curiously. "Why'd you rush them out?"
"Come on, don't tell me you forgot already."
Haruka folded her arms. "I'm talking about Anohana."
At her words, Haruki's pulse quickened.
After working with Haruka a few times, he had a good sense of her personality. If she was using phrases like "eyebrows raised," it meant something serious was in motion.
"What's the situation?" Haruki kept his voice steady, though he was clearly on edge.
"A few days ago, I submitted Anohana to Kazanami Animation Studio."
Kazanami!
Haruki's expression changed. Of course he knew the name. Aside from being a manga artist, he was also a long-time anime fan.
In Japan, companies like Kazanami, Kyron, and Delta Edge had produced series that defined the childhoods of his generation.
"They're... thinking of animating it?" Haruki asked, taking a breath.
"Pretty much." Haruka nodded. "Originally, decisions like this take time. But I happened to show the draft to a producer at Kazanami, and he was immediately impressed. He said he didn't have final say, of course, but he'd pass it to the higher-ups."
She paused, watching Haruki's reaction.
"And now? The execs seem really interested. It's only been a few days, and they already got back to me. They've invited you to visit their studio this Sunday to discuss details."
"Sunday... two days from now?" Haruki nodded slowly. "Got it."
"Just remember," Haruka said firmly, "this is all contingent on you sticking to your manga schedule. The meeting with Kazanami isn't directly part of my role at Echo Shroud Publishing, but the sooner we get this sorted, the sooner you can return to focusing on your drawing."
She adjusted her bag strap. "So I'll go with you."
"Understood." Haruki nodded again, more confidently this time. "Don't worry about the manga. The deadline for chapter four is still a while off, and I've already almost finished it."
Two days later, Sunday.
Haruka had swapped her usual professional suit for a casual outfit. Her hair, typically tied back for work, now flowed freely behind her shoulders.
Haruki rode in the passenger seat of her car as they made their way to Kazanami Animation Studio.
The receptionist at the entrance didn't stop them. Haruka led Haruki through the hallways confidently, stopping in front of a modest office.
She reached for the doorknob, then paused.
"This is your meeting, not mine," she said with a half-smile. "Go on."
Haruki nodded. He took a breath and knocked.
"Come in!"
Haruki pushed the door open.
Inside, the office was neat and sparsely decorated—a few filing cabinets, a desk, and little else.
Behind the desk sat a man in his late thirties, dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt. He wore black-rimmed glasses and gave off a sharp, efficient vibe.
"You must be Mizushiro-sensei. A pleasure to meet you."
The man rose from his seat and extended a hand.
"I'm Haruki Yuuki, though Mizushiro is my pen name. Feel free to call me Haruki." He managed a polite smile despite his nerves.
"Sounds good. 'Sensei' always feels a little stiff." The man chuckled. "I'm Kazuya Mori, producer at Kazanami."
Haruki, Haruka, and Kazuya took their seats. A staff member brought them tea and quietly exited, closing the door behind them.
Since Haruki had come to Kazanami Animation Studio today, it was clear he already had some understanding of the situation.
"Then I'll get straight to the point," said Kazuya , his tone business like as he leaned forward slightly across the conference table.
"Your submission, Anohana, has been reviewed by all the major departments in our company over the past few days. Among everything we've received, your project is the one that aligns best with what we're looking for."
He looked Haruki square in the eye.
"The reason we asked you here today is simple. We'd like to discuss the adaptation rights and contract terms for turning your work into an anime."
That blunt?
Haruki was caught off guard.
Were they seriously planning to sign a deal right now?
This was an anime adaptation.
Some artists spend their entire careers chasing that opportunity—and never get close.
"Ah… please go ahead," Haruki replied, trying to keep his composure.
"Alright then, I'll be direct," Kazuya said. "The maximum we're prepared to offer is 10 million yen for the adaptation rights."
Ten million.
Haruki had no real reference for that number. In Japan, adaptation fees for serialized manga or light novels typically ranged between one to two hundred thousand yen per episode. That meant one to two million yen for a full season. In recent years, the rate had crept higher for popular titles—but still, ten million was high, especially for something unproven.
Kazuya wasn't lowballing him. That was clear.
But Haruki looked toward Haruka anyway. This wasn't something he had any experience negotiating.
"Fifteen million," Haruka said evenly, understanding the glance immediately.
"That's not possible," Kazuya said, cracking a polite smile.
"Judging by the draft you submitted, this is a 10-episode series. At fifteen million, you're asking for rates typically reserved for well-known, serialized works."
"You know as well as I do that this manga hasn't been published anywhere," he continued. "It's still completely unknown to the public. The fact that we're offering ten million is already generous—largely due to Haruki's Aurora Award and the following he's built across the country."
Haruka's expression didn't change.
"Spare the sales pitch, Kazuya. That may work on others, but it doesn't fly with me."
"The quality of the manuscript speaks for itself. Sure, there are popular titles out there, but many of them don't translate well to animation, and most don't match what your studio was looking for in the first place."
"And let's not forget—this story hasn't been published. That means no spoilers. Audiences will go in completely blind, and the emotional payoff will hit even harder. That kind of structure gives you an edge you don't get with well-known series."
She leaned back slightly.
"Put simply, this work deserves to be priced based on its quality—not its current popularity."
It was an aggressive argument. A bit of a stretch in places, but not without merit.
Kazuya couldn't immediately refute her.
"…Twelve million?" he offered after a pause.
He already knew Haruka's style—she was the kind who loved to haggle, so he'd deliberately started low just to give her room to "win."
"Fifteen," Haruka replied flatly.
"Thirteen?"
"Fifteen."
"…Fourteen?"
"Fifteen."
"…Alright, fine! Fifteen million yen. That's our ceiling. If you're still not happy with that, we're walking away," Kazuya said, a little exasperated.
What happened to the usual back-and-forth? Wasn't it supposed to go: I say twelve, you say sixteen, we settle at fourteen?
Why wasn't she playing the game?
(TL:- if you want even more content, check out p-atreon.com/Alioth23 for 50+ advanced chapters)