Back at the apartnt.
Seiji Fujiwara pushed the matter with Utaha out of his mind and refocused on what was really important.
—Making money.
He powered up his beat-up secondhand computer and began typing out 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns straight from mory.
The system's gift pack had provided everything: outline, character sheets, even the creative spark.
Once he absorbed it all, it was as if he had personally written the book himself.
Every detail was crystal clear.
Clack, clack, clack—
The sound of his keystrokes echoed through the apartnt.
Before long, a full manuscript and outline were complete.
Stretching, Seiji saved the files onto a floppy disk and went to rest.
The next day, he brought the disk, printed out the manuscript, and headed to Fushikawa Bunko to submit it.
Fushikawa Bunko, Editorial Departnt 3.
The mood was heavy.
The annual Newcor Award had drawn in thousands of submissions.
Every editor was swamped with endless reviewing, many of them camping at the office, working nearly twenty hours a day.
Among them was Sonoko Machida—yet another overworked wage slave.
Her desk was buried under a mountain of manuscripts.
"'About How I Reincarnated Into Another World And Built a Harem'... another harem."
"'My Yandere Childhood Friend Loves Too Much'... another childhood friend story."
"'There's No Way My Little Sister Could Fall in Love With '... that's illegal!"
Sonoko Machida felt like her brain was being force-fed garbage by the flood of submissions. Her spirit was numb, on the verge of collapse.
She lifted her coffee and stared blankly out the window, even questioning her life choices and the aning of this job.
At that mont, a polite voice at the office door broke the silence.
"Excuse , is this where I can submit a newcor manuscript?"
A clear, youthful male voice.
Listlessly, Sonoko raised her head and glanced over.
With just one look, her dull eyes brightened.
Standing at the doorway was a tall boy, easily over one-eighty, with a lean, upright build.
A plain white shirt and jeans gave him a clean, refreshing aura.
His features were strikingly handso, but it was his jet-black eyes—bright and sharp—that drew her in.
What a handso guy.
Even soone like her, who'd seen countless pretty-boy idols, couldn't help but praise him inwardly.
But in the next mont, her years of professional experience quickly sobered her up.
Along with that ca a trace of wariness and resignation.
Because experience told her: the better-looking the normie, the emptier their writing.
Light novels catered to readers who were losers in real life.
They were otaku fantasies.
And normies couldn't grasp that. Their writing never matched the market.
Ugh, why do handso guys even bother writing light novels?
Sonoko silently groaned.
Guided by the receptionist, Seiji Fujiwara soon stopped in front of her desk.
"Hello, Editor Machida. I'm here to submit a manuscript." Seiji placed the printed stack on her desk.
"Nice to et you. I'm Sonoko Machida," she replied with her professional editor's smile, accepting the papers as routine.
She glanced at the title, and her elegant brows knit together slightly.
6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns.
Just as she feared.
From a comrcial standpoint, that title was a disaster.
A light novel title had to be straightforward—tell the reader exactly what the story was.
Of course a normie wouldn't understand that.
She sighed inwardly.
"All right, I'll take the manuscript." Her smile remained polite and formulaic. "Please leave your na and contact information. If it passes the first review, our editorial departnt will give you a call."
Her words revealed nothing.
But having lived two lives, Seiji picked up on her subtle cues.
Still, he said nothing.
Calmly, he gave his na, his pen na "Warukawa-denka," and his phone number. Then he turned and left without hesitation.
Watching his tall, handso figure exit, Sonoko couldn't help but sigh with regret.
Such a waste of that face. He'd have a brighter future as an idol or a model than as a writer.
With that thought, she tossed 6 Days, 6 People, 6 Guns into a nearby cardboard box without hesitation.
That box was where she dumped manuscripts she considered unworthy of attention.
Only after she was done with the submissions that showed promise would she maybe "dig for gold in the trash."
"Machida-san, another 'masterpiece'?" A pudgy man in glasses at the neighboring desk—Yamada—leaned over, teasing.
Sonoko rubbed her throbbing temples, her expression lifeless. "Don't even start, Yamada-san. Just another worthless submission. I swear, I'm turning into a garbage collector."
Pff—
Yamada nearly spit out his coffee. "You're as savage as ever, Machida. But hey, that's the Newcor Award for you. Better brace yourself for a feast of trash."
"Yeah…" Sonoko gave a bitter smile and shook her head. "I just don't get young people these days. Can't any of them write sothing decent?"
Her words sparked nods of agreent from the other editors around her.
"Tell about it. The quality this year's submissions is a nosedive off a cliff!" one female editor complained. "This morning alone, I read five. Three were incoherent, two dumped all their setting in the first thirty thousand words without any plot. I swear my blood pressure spiked."
"Sa! I feel sick from reading them."
"When will we finally get a truly good manuscript?" Yamada sighed, his voice full of longing. "Please, Light Novel Gods, bless us—for the sake of my salary and bonus."
His plea echoed what everyone else was thinking.
For editors, discovering a breakout author ant real money and career advancent.
"Dream on, Yamada-san." Sonoko refilled her coffee, her tone resigned. "A monster-level rookie like that might appear once in ten years, if that. Let's just dig through this trash pile and hope sothing stinks a little less."
The office filled with a chorus of weary sighs.
User Comments
0 comments from readers