For a titan like Kiyozawa Library, the process for launching a series in a niche magazine might be relatively simple, similar to the procedures at a regional firm like Crimson Maple Literature. However, when it cos to the crown jewels of the company, specifically the flagship magazines Kiyozawa and Azure Kiyozawa, the selection process is far more rigorous and complex.
For a newcor author to successfully pitch a debut serialization for these magazines is a feat of nearly impossible difficulty, unless their opening chapters are so earth-shattering that they strike the editors like a bolt of divine inspiration.
In almost every other case, a writer must first build a track record of success, establish a partnership with a senior manager within the firm, and then rely on that manager to lobby the internal board just to get their manuscript onto the eting table.
In late August, Haruto's latest work, Parasyte, was submitted for the first ti to the high-level serialization committee at Kiyozawa Library.
This month, there were only three candidate manuscripts vying for a slot, which ant every mber of the review board had ample ti to scrutinize the opening chapters. This thorough vetting was designed to weed out "one-trick ponies" who could write a flashy beginning but lacked the stamina to maintain quality, ensuring only the most robust stories made it into the top-tier periodicals.
Haruto's competition consisted of two veteran writers who had already signed long-term exclusive contracts with Kiyozawa Library.
One was nad Danzo and the other Satoshi. Both were in their late twenties and were well-established nas in the Japanese light novel industry. While their past performances were respectable, with their best-selling volus moving about 1.3 million copies, they were nowhere near the league Haruto had reached.
Compared to Anohana surpassing five million copies and To the Moon breaking 4.1 million in its first month alone, their track records were a world apart from his. Despite the obvious disparity in talent, a heavy silence settled over the editorial eting room.
"Alright, I assu everyone has had the chance to read all three manuscripts by now. Let us begin the discussion," the Editor-in-Chief of Kiyozawa Library announced. He was a man in his late forties with a sharp, observant gaze. He looked around the room at the gathered managers and editors, waiting for soone to take the initiative.
"In my opinion, Parasyte is overwhelmingly more interesting than the other two candidates," an editor said while adjusting his glasses.
"I have to agree. It seems his victory in the Ascent of New Gods competition was no fluke. This concept of man-eating monsters masquerading as humans is fascinating, and the nature of the setting is a breath of fresh air. I believe it will find a massive audience the mont it hits the stands," another editor added, prompting a wave of supportive comnts from several others in the room.
"I must disagree," a different editor spoke up, his tone cold. "The idea of cannibalistic monsters hiding in plain sight in our cities is far too distrubing."
"Furthermore, the author describes the gory details of these creatures feeding with such precision that it borders on the grotesque. This feels more like a niche horror novel and does not align with the established aesthetic of our company's flagship magazines."
"What year are you living in?" a colleague retorted. "Aesthetics and tradition an nothing if the story is boring. Readers want sothing that grips them. If a story is interesting, they will read it. If we have a 'pure' story that nobody wants to buy, why would we even consider serializing it?"
"Regardless of its quality, we must consider the author's stance. Shiori Takahashi has refused every attempt we have made to sign him to a long-term exclusive contract. We all know exactly what that implies," Ms. Sato who had previously tried to recruit him said, her voice sounding deceptively casual as she interjected.
The room grew tense at her remark, and several editors frowned. Refusing an exclusive contract despite the high-tier benefits offered by a giant like Kiyozawa only ant one thing: Haruto was suprely confident that he would beco a superstar. He knew that the standard newcor deals would eventually beco a shackle once his fa reached the top level of the industry, so he was protecting his future interests.
It was a natural human instinct to prepare for success, but the editors saw it differently.
To them, he wanted the prestige and the market reach of their platform without sharing the long-term risks. From their perspective, no author could reach the pinnacle without the company's backing, so it was only fair to trade ten years of loyalty for the resources they would invest in him.
It was a classic "chicken or the egg" debate with no right answer. The publisher had its corporate logic, and Haruto had his personal vision.
"But over eighty percent of the authors we collaborate with are not on exclusive long-term contracts," Ms. Hi interjected, coming to Haruto's defense. "We have perfectly healthy relationships with those creators, so why should his case be treated differently?"
"Those authors are mid-tier writers who lack his explosive potential, so the company doesn't care to bind them," Ms. Sato replied with a thin smile directed at Hi. "Shiori Takahashi is a completely different story, and you know it."
Haruto had originally been that manager's lead. When he walked away from her and went to her rival, Ms. Hi, it had been a stinging blow to her pride.
She had intended to play a ga of psychological warfare, assuming the teenage boy would lose his nerve and co crawling back to her after a month. Instead, Haruto had been decisive and found his own path, leaving her looking foolish. The resentnt had been festering inside her for days. Whether she was acting for the good of the company or out of personal spite, she had no desire to see Haruto's work succeed under another manager's watch.
In her mind, if she couldn't have him, no one should.
The eting turned into a heated exchange between Hi and Sato while the other editors mostly watched from the sidelines, unwilling to step into the crossfire.
That evening, Haruto received a ssage from Hi.
"The process is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated," she wrote.
"Both of your rivals are exclusive contract authors, and the board is showing a clear bias toward them. The Editor-in-Chief will announce the final decision tomorrow morning, but to be honest, I do not believe the odds for Parasyte are very high this ti. The next editorial eting for Azure Kiyozawa is scheduled for early September."
She hesitated for a mont before adding a follow-up.
"The reality is that if you agreed to sign an exclusive contract now, I could practically guarantee that your work would be selected tomorrow morning without any debate. The company would also grant you an incredible marketing budget to ensure its success."
"There is no need for that. But thank you for the suggestion, Ms.Hi," Haruto replied calmly.
He was not about to trade his freedom just to rush a serialization. If he tied himself to Kiyozawa for a decade, his plans for Puella Magi Madoka Magica would be in jeopardy. He would be an employee of the firm, and he wouldn't have the autonomy he needed to produce his own projects.
He wasn't about to turn his most valuable intellectual property into a light novel just to satisfy a corporate contract.
He understood Kiyozawa's corporate greed, but he also knew his own worth, and he refused to be short-sighted.
"I understand. I will not bring it up again," Ms. Hi replied after a brief silence. "Two other series are scheduled to conclude in early September, which will open up more slots. I will submit your manuscript again for the next eting."
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