Three days passed after Seiji Fujiwara hung up on the Editor-in-Chief.
From Fushikawa Bunko, not a single word of follow-up arrived.
It was as if that heated, gunpowder-filled phone call had never even happened.
To Utaha Kasumigaoka, this was completely expected.
That Ryuji Aida clearly decided on the "cold treatnt" strategy.
You're arrogant, aren't you? You said you're writing a long novel, didn't you?
Fine. Go write it.
We won't ask, won't push, won't care.
And once you've wrung yourself dry drafting tens of thousands of words of outlines and settings, bored out of your skull and unable to keep going, you'll realize just how stupid your decision was.
By then, you'll co crawling back, tail between your legs, begging to write short stories again.
During those three days, Utaha kept up her maid act while quietly watching her "master."
What surprised her was how unbothered Seiji looked. No frantic struggles over outlines, no pacing in frustration.
His daily life was infuriatingly leisurely.
Sleeping in till late morning, spending the afternoon in his study typing away, then tornting her at night in various ways.
It looked less like work and more like he was on vacation.
"Putting on a show," Utaha scoffed inwardly.
That calm, unhurried face had to be fake. He was obviously forcing himself to act composed, secretly regretting all those big words he'd thrown out.
Just imagining that always-in-control man scratching his head in front of a blank page filled Utaha with wicked delight.
But that little fantasy didn't last long.
On the afternoon of the fourth day—a weekend—Seiji stretched in his study with a satisfied, lazy grin.
"All done," he said casually.
Then he sat down at the computer, packed a file, and smoothly sent it off to Sonoko Machida's work email.
The subject line: ["A Certain Magical Index" Volu 1 – Complete Manuscript]
After hitting send, he picked up the fresh black tea Utaha had brewed, took a sip, and leaned back comfortably on the sofa.
Utaha's pupils shrank.
Wh… what?
Complete manuscript?!
You've got to be kidding. Three days?!
Wasn't he supposed to submit an outline and setting docunt for evaluation first?
How could he dare send a finished draft straight to the editor?!
For the first ti, doubt flickered in her heart.
Could he… have actually finished it?
No, impossible. Absolutely impossible.
It had to be garbage—sloppy filler he threw together to fool the editors.
Yes, that had to be it!
Her fingers clenched the hem of her skirt tight as her breathing grew shallow.
anwhile, at Fushikawa Bunko's editorial departnt.
"Ding."
A new email popped into Sonoko Machida's inbox.
Sender: [Prince Warukawa].
Her eyebrows twitched. She sighed inwardly.
Probably just a few thousand words of outline he's rushing to brag about. Kids these days really can't sit still.
Muttering to herself, she opened the email.
And froze.
Subject and attachnt: ["A Certain Magical Index" Volu 1 – Complete Manuscript]
Machida rubbed her eyes, thinking she'd misread.
Complete manuscript?
Her eyes flicked to the file size—350KB.
Not too big, not too small. Exactly the size of a standard light novel volu.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"No way…"
Her first reaction wasn't joy, but suspicion.
Was this a joke?
Writing an entire volu of a novel in three days? Even a top-speed writing machine couldn't do that.
Could the quality even be worth looking at?
Skeptical, she downloaded and opened the file.
The mont her eyes fell on the opening lines, she froze.
[Midsumr. The scorching sun beat down on the earth, as though igniting the very air.]
[Academy City. A massive city covering one-third of western Tokyo, ho to 2.3 million residents—eighty percent of whom were "students."]
[A seemingly ordinary boy lay across the balcony of his dorm room, crying out in despair—"Such misfortune!"]
Just the opening—its vivid setting, its bold premise—knocked the breath from her lungs.
Academy City? Eighty percent students?
Such scale! Such an intriguing world!
Her fingers moved on their own, scrolling downward. Her eyes were glued to the screen.
A silver-haired, blue-eyed girl in a pure white nun's habit, like she'd walked out of a fairy tale.
"Magic" and "esper powers" colliding within the story.
A boy calling himself Kamijou Touma, wielding a right hand that could nullify any supernatural ability—his "Imagine Breaker"—easily shattering the defensive magic cloaking Index…
Machida's scalp tingled.
She lost track of ti, lost all sense of her surroundings. Her soul was swallowed whole by this bizarre, dazzling world.
Science versus magic, clashing and intertwining!
A powerless Level 0 boy hiding a mysterious right hand that could overturn everything!
It was nothing less than the work of a genius.
By the ti she reached the final page, she finally exhaled, as though waking from a dream.
Looking around, dazed, she realized most of the office was empty. Outside the windows, dusk had fallen.
She had… read for two hours straight, without once looking away.
"A monster…" she whispered, her body trembling with excitent.
Shock. Overwhelming shock!
Not just from the sheer quality—but from the terrifying potential of a massive comrcial IP.
Manga adaptation. Ani adaptation. Gas. Figures. rchandising.
An entire industry chain exploded into her mind at once.
"Chief Editor!!"
In the next instant, she grabbed her laptop and stord into Aida's office like a whirlwind.
Ryuji Aida, startled mid-task, frowned. "Machida! Must you always be so flustered?"
"I'm sorry, Chief, but—Seiji-sensei! His manuscript!" she blurted, too excited to string words together.
"Oh? He actually sent it in?" Aida raised a brow, more amused than impressed. "And? Quality? Or is it unreadable garbage? I told you, young people need to hit a wall. Let him stumble a bit."
"No! You don't understand!!" Machida shook her head furiously, slamming the laptop onto his desk. "Look! Please, just look!"
Eyebrows climbing in surprise, Aida glanced at the screen.
"'A Certain Magical Index'? Hmph, let's see what kind of groundbreaking masterpiece you can churn out in three days…"
And then his words stopped.
Line by line, his expression shifted—from disdain, to disbelief, to gravity, and finally, to utter shock.
The office went silent.
Ti itself seed to freeze inside the Editor-in-Chief's room.
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