Chapter 11: Ink-Stained Hands, Quiet Rewards
The smell of roasted peanuts drifted in through the open window.
Outside, the rhythm of the city pulsed gently—rickshaws rattling over cobbled roads, vendors calling out modest deals, and children laughing somewhere beyond the alley. But inside his small room, Abid sat in perfect stillness.
His pen scratched slowly across a page. Not for a new manga, nor a system-upload. This was just… a drawing.
A memory.
He was sketching his father.
The lines were faint at first, more hesitation than confidence. His father's smile always appeared clearly in Abid's mind, yet capturing it on paper was another matter. He could recall that warm, quiet strength—how the old man would hum softly while wiping his dusty book covers. Or how he never raised his voice, even when the rent collector knocked twice in a week.
\[User Emotion Detected: Reflective. Bonus Ink Efficiency +5%]
Abid blinked at the message. He had gotten used to the system's quiet presence by now, though it still startled him when it chimed in during his most intimate moments.
He laid his pen down, gently brushing away the eraser crumbs that had built up along the paper's edge.
\[System Notification: "Death Note" Sales in Otherworld Bookstore: +74 copies]
\[Total Revenue: 740 Gold (Fantasy World Denomination)]
\[Auto-Converted: 6,320 Taka added to your Dhaka wallet]
\[Reward Unlocked: 'Brush of Precision' – Increases detail when inking by 15%]
\[Would you like to claim? Y/N]
Abid smiled faintly. "Yes."
The tool materialized before him—a real brush, its handle a deep varnished black and bristles made of some silken fiber that shimmered faintly in the light. It was weightless yet firm in his hand.
"Beautiful…" he murmured. Not because it looked expensive, but because it reminded him of an old calligraphy set his mother once owned. She used to practice Bengali lettering while humming Rabindranath Tagore poems.
The memories were thick today.
Too thick.
Abid stood, stretched slowly, and made his way to the sink. He washed the ink off his fingers, staring at the swirl of black water that flowed down the drain.
He still lived in that same tiny apartment, with the ceiling fan that clicked on every fourth rotation and the water pressure that required patience. But everything felt different now.
Even the silence had a warmth to it.
\[Reminder: "Fullmetal Alchemist" upload scheduled for approval. Upload now?]
Abid hesitated.
He had finished preparing the first volume just last night. Each panel had been resized and reformatted meticulously for Otherworld compatibility. The cover art gleamed with clean lines, and he had translated all the speech bubbles using the system's built-in converter.
He wasn't sure why he was holding back.
Maybe because "Fullmetal Alchemist" was a favorite. Not just his. His parents had read it with him, once upon a time. It wasn't just manga. It was memory.
"Alright," he whispered, "Let's do it."
\[Uploading "Fullmetal Alchemist" Volume 1…]
\[Progress: 18%... 59%... 100%]
\[Upload Complete. Available now in Otherworld Manga Bookstore.]
\[Projected Impact: High. Genre: Fantasy, Brotherhood, Philosophical]
\[Bonus Forecast: Chance to spark philosophical debate in high-tier magical academies: 67%]
Abid chuckled softly at that last line.
He imagined a group of robed young mages sitting in a circle, arguing about the Law of Equivalent Exchange like it was sacred scripture. He didn't know why the thought warmed him, but it did.
He made tea.
The routine was simple: heat the water, steep the leaves, add just a little sugar—not too much. Sip slowly.
Today, he let the tea sit longer than usual. He sat by the window, brush in hand, sketchbook resting on his lap.
He didn't draw anything grand.
Just a young boy with wild hair standing beside his armored brother, the background a rough sketch of a temple-like ruin. The two faced the horizon, as if they had a long way to go.
A knock interrupted the calm.
Abid opened the door to find the neighbor's son—little Junaid, a sixth grader with curious eyes and mismatched flip-flops. He held up a package.
"Post office guy dropped this. Your name's on it!"
"Thanks, champ."
Abid gave him a playful salute and unwrapped the parcel.
Inside was a thin rectangular crystal encased in smooth bronze. At first, he thought it was a decorative item. Then he noticed the words etched faintly along the rim.
\[Manga Viewing Crystal – Otherworld Export License Approved]
"Export license?" Abid whispered.
\[Explanation: Due to your rising popularity, a certified viewer device has been granted. It allows designated readers in the fantasy world to project manga images in higher resolution. It will also display author notes.]
\[Optional Feature: Insert personal comments between chapters. Builds reader loyalty.]
He turned the crystal over in his hands, marveling at the design. It shimmered like glass but pulsed like something alive. Somewhere out there—in a different world entirely—someone might be holding a similar device, waiting for the next installment.
For a moment, the weight of it all hit him.
Not just the gold. Not the tools. Not even the success.
It was the connection.
The knowledge that his work, born in a dim, rented room in Dhaka, was being read, felt, maybe even loved—across worlds.
He set the crystal on his shelf, next to his cup of brushes.
Then he picked up his pen again.
---
\[System Message: "Fullmetal Alchemist" sales exceeded projections by 24%]
\[Bonus Unlocked: 'Emotional Resonance Filter' – View reader emotional trends in real-time]
\[Would you like to activate? Y/N]
Abid paused.
It was tempting. To know what others felt. To see which scenes made them cry or laugh or pause in wonder.
But for now… he shook his head.
"No. Not yet. Let them feel without me watching."
He smiled.
There was still ink on his fingers.
And many stories left to tell.