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Chapter 4: The Submission [2]
On the afternoon of the fourth day, Alex was working on page eleven—the birth of piglets. It was a delicate scene, requiring a balance of biological accuracy and emotional weight.
"Al! Mail's here!" Sarah's voice rang out from downstairs.
The pen tip skidded, leaving a jagged black line across the paper. Alex cursed under his breath, grabbed the white-out, then paused. His heart did a double-thump against his ribs.
He walked downstairs, trying to keep his pace casual. Sarah was standing in the living room, holding a white envelope.
"Postman just dropped it off," she said, handing it to him. "It's from the city."
The envelope was standard business size. In the top left corner, a printed logo: NextGen Manga Monthly - Editorial Dept.
It was stamped "Postage Paid."
Alex took it. It was thin. Flimsy. Usually, a thin envelope meant a rejection letter—a single sheet saying, "Thanks, but no thanks."
"Well? Open it," Sarah urged.
Alex slid his finger under the flap and tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of folded A4 paper. He unfolded it.
The header featured the bold magazine logo. The text was standard typewriter font:
Dear Mr. Walker:
RE: Submission #2023-0478 - "Silver Spoon"
We have received your manuscript. Your submission has been entered into our First Round Review process.
Initial review results will be finalized within 15 business days. Please keep your contact information current.
Thank you for thinking of NextGen.
— The Editorial Team
It was just a receipt. A standard, automated "we got it" acknowledgement. No feedback. No promise of publication.
Alex refolded the paper and slid it back into the envelope.
"What's it say?" Sarah asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Just a receipt. They said they'll have a decision on the first round in fifteen days."
"Fifteen days... that's a long time," she mused.
"Standard industry practice," Alex said, keeping his voice neutral.
Sarah looked at him for a moment, perhaps looking for disappointment or excitement, but finding neither. "Well, supper's almost ready. Wash up."
Alex went back upstairs. He placed the letter on the corner of his desk. He sat down, looked at the jagged line ruining page eleven, and picked up the white-out.
He had work to do.
The wait was harder than he expected.
It wasn't anxiety, exactly. It was a feeling of suspension. Like holding your breath underwater. His manuscript was out there, sitting on a desk in a skyscraper, being judged by strangers, while he was here shoveling manure and erasing pencil lines.
Day 7: He finished inking Chapter 4 and started applying the screentones (using cheap adhesive sheets he'd cut himself).
Day 10: Chapter 4 was done. He started storyboarding Chapter 5.
Day 12: He went into town for more ink. He passed the post office but didn't go in.
Day 15: Afternoon.
He was sketching the layout for Chapter 5.
Rrrring. Rrrring.
The shrill, mechanical bell of the rotary phone downstairs shattered the silence.
Alex's hand froze.
He stared at the door.
He heard footsteps. Then Sarah's voice.
"Hello? ... Yes, this is the Walker residence. ... Oh! Yes, he's here. Just a moment."
Heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door swung open.
Sarah held the portable receiver—a brick of beige plastic with a long antenna—toward him. Her eyes were wide.
"It's for you," she whispered, covering the mouthpiece. "A lady from the magazine."
Alex stood up. He took the phone. His palm was sweating.
"Hello? This is Alex."
"Good afternoon. Is this Mr. Alex Walker?" The voice on the other end was professional, crisp, and sounded busy.
"Speaking."
"Hi, Alex. My name is Alice Vance. I'm a First Round editor at NextGen Manga Monthly. I'm calling regarding your submission, Silver Spoon."
Alex gripped the phone tighter. "Yes?"
"I'm pleased to inform you that your manuscript has passed the First Round of review," Vance said. "It has been forwarded to the Second Round committee."
Alex let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"A Senior Editor will be reviewing the material and will contact you within three business days to discuss the next steps," Vance continued. "Please keep this line open."
"I passed?" Alex asked, needing to hear it one more time.
"Yes, First Round cleared. Congratulations." Her voice softened slightly, losing a bit of the corporate edge. "It's quite unique work. Good luck with the next stage."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
"Have a good day, Mr. Walker."
Click. Dial tone.
Alex slowly lowered the phone. Sarah was still standing in the doorway, wringing her hands.
"Well?" she asked. "Did you get in?"
"I passed," Alex said quietly. "First round is done. They said a Senior Editor will call in three days."
Sarah stared at him, stunned, and then a wide grin broke across her face. "You passed! Oh, Al!" She clapped her hands together. "I have to go tell your father. He's down in the south pasture."
She turned and hurried down the stairs, the screen door slamming shut a moment later.
Alex sat back down in his chair. He looked at the storyboard for Chapter 5.
He had passed.
The first gate was open.
He knew this was just the beginning. There was the Second Round. Then the Serialization Meeting. Then the contract negotiations. Then the hell of weekly deadlines.
But he had made the first step.
He picked up his pencil. He hovered it over the paper, but he didn't draw immediately.
Memories from his old life flooded back. Interviews with famous manga artists talking about their first acceptance. Some cried. Some got drunk. Some called everyone they knew.
Alex felt... calm.
Strange. He felt remarkably calm.
Maybe it was because he had waited a lifetime for this. Or maybe it was because he knew, with the certainty of a time traveler, that the work was good. It wasn't arrogance; it was just a fact. Silver Spoon was a masterpiece. All he had to do was not screw up the delivery.
Outside, a cow lowed, a deep, resonant sound drifting across the fields.
Alex took a deep breath.
Chapter 5.
Theme: The conflict between efficiency and life.
Hachiken begins to learn how to raise chickens. The industrial reality of the coop versus the individual life of the animal. The paradox of loving something you intend to eat.
Alex narrowed his eyes and began to draw. The panels formed under his hand, one by one. The dialogue bubbles filled up. The background details—the wire mesh, the feed troughs—emerged from the white space.
By the time the sun went down and the room was swallowed by shadows, he had finished the first page.
He closed his sketchbook. Tomorrow, the real work began. Tonight, he would sleep like a log.
(To be Continued)