While Seiji was enjoying Utaha's service, the outside world was thrown into chaos.
The first-month sales of A Certain Magical Index volu one:
—400,000 copies!
That number hit the industry like a depth charge, blasting apart the calm surface in an instant.
Forums, ssage boards, online communities, social dia—everywhere exploded into frenzy.
In an era where even averaging fifty thousand copies per volu qualified soone as a "professional light novelist," Index had debuted with four hundred thousand copies, instantly landing near the very top of Japan's light novel sales history.
At Fushikawa Bunko's headquarters, it was nothing less than a festival.
Editor-in-Chief Ryuji Aida clutched the sales report, laughing so hard his voice echoed across the floor.
His fellow editors cheered like it was New Year's, high-fiving, hugging, celebrating a record that would be rembered in company history.
Seiji Fujiwara wasn't even one of their in-house authors.
But this unprecedented achievent would still pad their bonuses at year's end.
"Warukawa-sensei… the best!"
"Crushed Dengeki Bunko beneath our heels!"
"Standing above them all—only Warukawa-sensei!!"
The halls of Fushikawa roared with manic joy.
That very day, the news was officially announced.
How could Fushikawa resist boasting about four hundred thousand copies in a single month?
…
…
In Seiji Fujiwara's luxury apartnt—
"Four hundred thousand in the first month!?"
Utaha Kasumigaoka nearly dropped her phone as the news alert popped up.
[Phenonal newcor Seiji Fujiwara sets a record! A Certain Magical Index breaks 400,000 copies in its first month!]
Four hundred thousand…
Her mind buzzed, the number blurring her thoughts.
This so-called "toilet paper literature"—with its simple prose, wild plots, pandering shalessly to market tastes—had sold in terrifying numbers.
anwhile, her own blood-and-tears effort, Love trono, couldn't even make it to print.
Once again, Utaha felt the crushing gap between herself and Seiji Fujiwara.
In sheer reading ti, he completely and utterly overwheld her.
"…Hah."
With a small sigh, she slipped her phone away.
Her pride had long since been worn down to nothing.
…
…
But unlike Fushikawa's carnival, the atmosphere in the boardrooms of Japan's other major publishers was grim.
Kadokawa. Dengeki. Shueisha.
The titans of the industry stared at their charts, their sales curves brutalized under Index's teoric rise, and not a single face looked good.
The Japanese light novel market was only so large.
And Seiji Fujiwara was a prehistoric monster that had just swallowed a quarter of it in one bite.
That left the rest starving.
Countless titles in the sa genre had seen their numbers plunge, so falling below ten thousand—a death sentence in the field.
Apprehension spread through the industry like wildfire.
"We can't let him keep this up!" a Kadokawa executive slamd the table. "One more book like this and we'll all be bankrupt!"
"But what can we do? In terms of quality, we can't compete!"
"If you can't beat him on quality, then attack elsewhere!" said a Shueisha editor, eyes narrowing coldly. "Light novels are already mocked as lowbrow, pandering trash, aren't they? That's the perfect target."
"You all have plenty of writers on your payroll, don't you?"
At that, the room fell into thought.
Soon, a calculated sar campaign was underway.
Major publishers tapped their networks, pulling in newspaper columnists, TV pundits, and critics from the so-called "high literature" faction.
Respected but outdated literary scholars. Professors obsessed with lecturing youth about morals. Educators self-styled as guardians of tradition.
Driven by money and influence, they ford a united front.
Overnight, the tide of public opinion shifted.
Articles, interviews, and op-eds rained down in every outlet.
[Professor Hiroshi Suzuki, Waseda University Faculty of Letters: Certain recent light novels have no literary rit whatsoever. They are filled with violence and unrealistic fantasies—an insidious poison to the minds of our youth!]
[Education critic Akira Watanabe: We must guard against the spread of this "otaku-pandering culture"! It lures young people into virtual escapism, away from real-world responsibility. Left unchecked, it will erode the very foundations of our society!]
[Literary Journal columnist Minoru Tanaka: Seiji Fujiwara's so-called success is nothing less than comrce trampling art. A tragedy for Japanese letters!]
Heavy hats, all slamd onto his head.
…
…
[TVS Television · Midnight Sharp Talk Production Office]
Producer Makoto Ito's phone rang. On the other end was a Kadokawa executive.
"Producer Ito, there's a newcor in the light novel scene—Seiji Fujiwara. He's disrupted the market, left everyone else bleeding.
"We'd like your program to run a special. Discuss the dangers this lowbrow culture poses to the youth. Naturally, production costs and ad funding—we'll cover everything."
When Ito hung up, his face was alight with excitent.
He'd done plenty of jobs like this.
"Team, we've got work!"
He strode into the conference room, clapping his hands to grab everyone's attention.
"Next week's the changes. The new title—'The Future of Literature: Entertainnt to Death, or Holding the Line?' And our target—A Certain Magical Index."
His staff erupted.
"This'll blow up for sure!"
"Yeah, the fans and haters are already at war online!"
"Perfect! We'll move the battlefield to TV! For the pro side, invite so crusty old professors. As for the con side… we'll play that role ourselves. Just phrase the questions sharp enough."
"The title has to be sensational. How about—'One Light Novel Is Destroying Our Next Generation?'"
"Bring in a couple of 'concerned parents' to cry about their kids losing interest in school after reading it. That'll seal the deal!"
"Ratings will skyrocket!"
Ito listened to their sches with satisfaction.
…
…
At another TV station, a producer with similar instincts also jumped on the trend.
He greenlit a debate special titled The Future of Literature: Entertainnt to Death, or Holding the Line?, inviting "experts" to denounce Index and the cultural rot it symbolized.
Their very first invitation went out to a conventional novelist—Osamu Ono.
…
…
At Ryūun Publishing, Osamu Ono frowned at the offer letter.
"Midnight Sharp Talk? They want to go on air and criticize a light novel?"
"This is heaven-sent, Ono-sensei!" his editor's eyes glead. "Haven't you been fretting about the lack of promo budget for your new book, Tears of Tokyo? Here's your chance!"
Ono looked tempted, but hesitated. "Still… I'm a senior. Wouldn't it look bad to stomp on a newcor like this?"
"Sensei! It's the modern era—good work dies in the dark without exposure!" the editor pressed eagerly. "And co on—light novels? They don't deserve to be called literature. How could soone like him be considered your junior?"
"You are the real thing. You represent justice. Depth. Culture."
"Criticizing him isn't petty—it's guidance. A veteran teaching the child what literature should be!"
Leaning closer, the editor lowered his voice. "Besides, this isn't just you. Kadokawa, Dengeki, Shueisha—they're all behind this. You'll be perfectly safe.
"Use the show to promote Tears of Tokyo. Show the world what true literature looks like. All that buzz will be yours."
Ono's hesitation lted. Greed glimred in his eyes.
He thought of his last flop. Then of this "Prince Warukawa" selling four hundred thousand copies in a month.
Envy and desire boiled inside him.
"Fine!" He slapped his thigh. "Tell them I'll do it. Polish my draft—make sound heartbroken but dignified, a senior guiding the wayward youth."
"Leave it to , Ono-sensei!" the editor thumped his chest.
…
…
Soon after, the recording began.
On the set of Midnight Sharp Talk, the caras zeroed in on Osamu Ono.
His expression was grave, his tone righteous.
"I've read Warukawa-kun's work. Frankly, it has no literary value whatsoever.
"That such trash sells is a disgrace to us, the true creators of literature. It will only make our readers shallower, stupider!"
"I urge everyone—open your eyes! Read real books. Works like my new novel, Tears of Tokyo, that touch the soul and provoke genuine reflection on society."
With every word, he ground Index into the dirt—while not-so-subtly plugging himself.
It was a shaless performance.
And yet, when the program aired, it drew nods of agreent.
"That's right. Light novels aren't real novels."
"They have no literary rit at all!"
"Garbage like this is ruining the next generation!"
"For the sake of raising healthy, responsible youth, the governnt should outright ban light novels!"
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