The following morning arrived far too quickly.
"Aoyama-sensei, you're here!" Ayumi Ito called out, a bright smile lighting up her face as she spotted him approaching the gleaming glass entrance of the Manga World headquarters.
But her smile faltered almost instantly, transitioning into a look of pure, frozen bewilderment.
Traipsing along beside Aoyama, tethered to a bright nylon leash, was a golden-furred, barrel-chested dog. Pochita.
Pochita was no longer the tiny, shivering pup they'd pulled from the rain a year ago. He had filled out into a sturdy, energetic juvenile, his muscles rippling under a thick coat of sunset-orange fur. He didn't fit in a pet carrier anymore, so Aoyama had decided it was time for him to experience the world on his own four paws.
"Aoyama-sensei..." Ayumi managed, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "Did you... did you seriously bring Pochita to a copyright negotiation?"
Aoyama blinked, looking down at his companion who was currently sniffing a decorative potted plant with intense curiosity. "Ah. Is that a problem? I figured the office might enjoy a bit of morale-boosting energy. Does the building have a strict 'No Dogs' policy?"
"It's not that... oh, never mind. You can't take him into the meeting room, Sensei. I'll ask the receptionist to keep an eye on him."
Aoyama nodded, perfectly content with the arrangement. He didn't want Pochita getting bored in a stuffy conference room anyway. The receptionist, a young woman who looked like she'd been carved out of professional stone, melted the moment Pochita looked up at her with his wide, pleading eyes and gave a single, polite wag of his tail.
"He's very well-trained," Aoyama assured her. "Just give him a head-scrub every ten minutes and he'll be your best friend."
With the dog settled, Ayumi led Aoyama toward the elevators. As the steel doors hissed open on the editorial floor, Aoyama felt the air change.
It was a physical weight: the 'Corporate Aura.'
The temperature was five degrees colder than it should be. The air smelled of ozone, burnt coffee, and the faint, bitter scent of ink. He heard the rhythmic thwp-thwp-thwp of high-speed printers, the aggressive clacking of mechanical keyboards, and the hushed, urgent murmurs of editors arguing over deadlines.
He saw people in stiff suits power-walking through the maze of cubicles, their eyes glued to folders, their faces set in masks of grim professional determination.
Aoyama felt his skin crawl. His breath hitched. It was like stepping back into a nightmare he thought he'd woken up from.
Workplace PTSD, he thought, his pulse quickening. This is why I draw at home. This is why I chose the path of the mangaka.
"Sensei? Are you alright? You look a bit... pale," Ayumi whispered, leading him toward a small breakroom.
"Just... the atmosphere," he muttered, gripping the edge of a table. "Give me a minute."
Ayumi brought him a cup of lukewarm tea and waited until his breathing leveled out. Once he looked marginally less like he was about to faint, she led him down a long corridor to a heavy oak door marked 'Conference Room B.'
She pushed it open, and Aoyama stepped inside.
The room was filled with over a dozen people, split neatly into two opposing ranks across a long, polished mahogany table. On one side sat the 'Home Team,' the suits from Manga World's legal and business departments. On the other sat the 'Visitors,' the tech-savvy crew from the game development world.
A middle-aged man with sharp features and a tailored suit stood up from the Manga World side, his hand extended. "Aoyama-sensei! A pleasure to finally meet the man behind the masterpiece. I'm Saito Michio, from the Business Department. I'll be handling the contractual side of your IP sale today."
Aoyama shook his hand, his grip loose and disinterested. He was already scanning the other side of the table.
"And this," Saito said, pivoting toward the visitors, "is Mr. Ryo Shien, the CEO of LightSpeed Interactive. They're the ones interested in bringing Edgerunners to the digital stage."
Aoyama looked at Ryo. The man was young, probably not much older than Aoyama himself, and wore a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses that gave him an air of intellectual intensity. He was dressed in a sleek, modern blazer over a dark turtleneck, looking every bit the visionary tech entrepreneur.
Ryo, in turn, was studying Aoyama.
He saw a young man who looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, his hair a chaotic mess of dark strands, his eyes reflecting a strange, restless energy. There was something... unsettling about him. Aoyama looked less like a professional author and more like a high-functioning psychiatric patient who happened to be very good with a pen.
It made sense. Only a mind that touched the edges of madness could have conceived a world as visceral and unforgiving as Edgerunners.
"Hello," Aoyama said, suddenly flashing a wide, bright smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was a nervous, slightly manic expression that made Ryo take a half-step back.
But Ryo was a professional. He gathered his composure and offered a firm, respectful handshake. "A pleasure, Aoyama-sensei. To be honest, I'm a huge fan of your work. I don't usually read manga, but Edgerunners... it's the first series that's made me buy a magazine subscription in over a decade."
"Glad to hear it," Aoyama said, his smile softening into something more genuine.
"Please, let's sit. We have a lot to discuss," Ryo said, gesturing toward the chair opposite him.
But Aoyama didn't sit. He stood there, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and stared directly into Ryo's eyes.
"Before we talk numbers or contracts," Aoyama said, his voice suddenly dropping its playful edge, "I want to know one thing. You want the rights to my world. So... what kind of game are you actually planning to build?"
The room went dead silent. The legal teams looked at each other, confused. This wasn't how these meetings usually started.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]