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Chapter 1
IKEDA DAIKI tugged his fox hat down on his head. Shutting the window, he hoped to block out the noise of Tokyo waking up.
He stared
at the sketch pad. The first character he ever drew—his nameless
love—smiled back at him in a way that still turned him inside out. Daiki
had been drawing him since he was twelve years old.
No one
else had ever laid eyes on him. He was Daiki’s precious secret. Daiki
had a treasure trove of pages and pads filled with sketches, all for
himself.
The
bookcases that lined one wall of the main space of his apartment were
filled with the creations he shared with the world—mangas, from his
one-offs to his series to his weekly serials—all neat and tidy on the
shelves.
He had
turned his living room and dining room into a working manga studio that
fit him and his four assistants. Daiki was living his artist fantasy.
All the things he’d ever wanted had come to pass.
Gently, he
traced his finger over the lines that depicted the character’s sexy
half smile, the one that haunted his dreams… well, haunted almost
everything.
If only he
could chase away the loneliness with someone a little more
three-dimensional, but deadlines gave him little time or opportunity to
meet anyone.
His cell phone buzzed, reminding him his assistants would be here in another two hours.
Daiki
needed to put away his special one, but doing so was always hard. Easing
himself past the loss, he flipped through one of the sketchbooks. He
hesitated on the picture of him holding his beloved tight.
The
background of the sketch was a simple black sky with a huge moon. They
hugged on the roof while looking at the stars. He caressed the dark hair
made by his pencils as he imagined they were talking about the future
and what plans they wanted to make. All the big things, like where they
would live or what vacations they would take, and the small things too,
like what to have for dinner.
To share his life with someone….
He flipped through the pages, drawing after drawing, and he needed to stop.
“I’m
Pygmalion,” he mused, tracing a finger once more over the full lips he’d
drawn. He must be crazy to have fallen in love with a picture based on
someone who didn’t exist.
It
probably wasn’t healthy, but like many twentysomethings, he hadn’t found
his special someone… outside of two dimensions. To get to where he was
in his career, he’d needed to stay laser-focused, so dating wasn’t drawn
into his storyboard. Though even the people he did meet, no one could
compare—maybe he didn’t want them to.
Letting
his finger follow the gentle wave of the image’s hair, he imagined this
man would be smart, kind, and eager to change the world. Help Daiki
explore things he’d only drawn, things like—
Work!
He
gathered his drawing supplies and put them all away, then slipped the
sketch pad back into the locked fireproof drawer of his desk on top of
over thirty would-be mangas.
Switching to digital mode, he turned on his computer and morphed from fantasy to real life—make that as real as a mangaka could get.
The first
of his four assistants walked in. Kobayashi Hikari was always early. She
bowed and greeted him, “Good morning, Sensei,” then disappeared into
the second bedroom. He had designed the room for his assistants. There
were bunk beds for napping or late nights, privacy to change clothing,
and a closet to store their things.
She reappeared in a ninja costume.
“Morning.”
Since Daiki wore his fox hat to work, he could hardly criticize anyone
else’s method for sinking into their artistic zone.
“Who are you working on?” she asked.
“Hironori.”
“Oh, I
love him. I’m partial to the enemies-to-lovers trope anyway. Tie that in
with a big boss falling in love with the head of a rival company… I’m
all in.” Her soft tone suggested she was smitten completely. His
character certainly lived up to his name, which meant “benevolent
ruler.” Daiki had leaned into that in last month’s manga.
Daiki
chuckled. He couldn’t deny his wish to be more like this character.
Taking what he wanted in business and having no problem demanding more
in love.
Hikari
sighed. “You’ve got to love Hironori’s bold ways and determination that
always gets him what he wants. Though this month it looks like who he wants.”
Brave Hironori accepted who he was, took risks, and was never lonely. “He does. You want to—”
“Yes, please.” She jumped at any chance to work on this manga.
“It’s just the dialogue.” He needed to work on delegating, but it was hard for him not to do everything.
Hikari laughed and made grabby hands, so he sent her the files.
He scrolled through the storyboards on the screen and started to work on his edits.
His
assistant Ito Rei, who seemed to have no interest in anything other than
drawing, strolled in with Takahashi Ichiro, a new graduate who wanted
to burn down the manga world one storyboard at a time. Sounded like they
were still debating sekkusu-banare.
“But
sekkusu-banare literally means drifting away from sex, so if that
happens—” Rei interrupted herself to greet them. “Morning, Sensei.
Hikari.”
Ichiro followed suit and then trailed after Rei. “But how can the impact be negative on manga?”
“Later.” Rei rushed to her seat and started to work.
Sighing, Ichiro gave Rei a pointed stare, but she ignored him, so he sat down.
“Greetings,
Sensei. I picked up tea and soda.” Last to arrive was Sato Akihiro,
Daiki’s high school pal, who usually worked far into the night. He
should have his own studio, but their friendship caused neither to
discuss it.
“Morning, Akihiro. Thank you. I forgot.” Thankfully, one of Daiki’s assistants always remembered.
“No problem, Sensei.” Akihiro gave him a nod before ducking into the assistants’ room.
Hikari
popped up from behind her monitor. “I’ll set up a delivery with the
market down the street so the staples Sensei generously keeps on hand
for us will arrive on Wednesday afternoons. Everyone get your lists to
me after lunch.”
“Sounds great.” Less time on the day-to-day and more time to focus on drawing. His assistants really were outstanding.
Wearing
his favorite maid’s costume from Daiki’s first spy manga series, Akihiro
took his seat. He said her character was powerful and understated,
exactly the way he wanted to draw, conveying much with little.
Glancing at the schedule, Daiki reminded the group, “We still have twelve days before the ne-mu is due on the monthly series, but it’s Tuesday, so the final sketches are due on the weekly serials.”
“Yes, Sensei,” they each muttered.
Luckily,
he didn’t cut things close. He had storylines and rough sketches months
in advance, and in some cases years. Whole series were just waiting for
an editor’s markups and a publisher’s go-ahead.
He had two
editors with different publishers catering to his distinctive brands
and vastly unique audiences. The editors knew of each other and of his
immense catalogue of unseen work that, unless he died an untimely death,
he would bring forward at a slow but consistent pace. To flood the
readership would overfeed them and then leave them wanting. Plus Daiki
liked to imagine having time off. If he had something to do with free
time, he might actually take it.
Drawing
had always been his go-to. Even back when he was living with his
grandfather in Inari. His grandfather ran one of the souvenir tea shops,
so growing up meant every Monday began before dawn. He helped haul the
supplies up the mountain, and then he’d run down the steps to get to
school on time. When Daiki was old enough, his grandfather would usually
stay the week. Daiki had been lonely until he found drawing and an
entire world opened to him.
He adjusted his fox hat to cover his ears and allowed himself to sink deeper into the storyboards.
BEEP! BEEP! Beep!
It couldn’t be time already. How was that possible? The day had flown by.
Daiki stopped the alarm and gathered his things. “I’m off to meet with the editor. Tonight at dinner, please order without me.”
“Don’t forget this.” Akihiro rushed to the door, and handed Daiki his brand-new electronic drawing pad.
Daiki
slipped the device into his messenger bag, next to other drawing
supplies. “The train ride would have been long without a drawing app on a
screen larger than my phone. Thank you.”
When Daiki
caught the train, the car wasn’t crowded, so he sat down. He had made
this trip many times over the last decade, but what if the publisher was
meeting to tell him they were cancelling his series? Storyboards of how
the event would play out flashed before him. The end scene was him
leaving the meeting and walking home in the rain.
Then before he wrote The End,
an imaginary Hironori leaned against the wall of his mental storyboard.
His dialogue bubble said, “Let them. There’s a ton of other publishers
and editors who want you.”
In the
next story window, Hironori took a long drag on a cigarette. The cut of
his chin was a bit too sharp, but the cigarette dangling from his lips
gave the image a hazy sexual look. Lower on the page, Daiki envisioned
Hironori staring at him. The dialogue bubble said, “Business is
business. Your mangas sell.” The final picture read, “But check your
investment and savings accounts.”
He shook himself. His life was not a manga, but somehow that’s how he saw it… and someone else was drawing his story.
The train
arrived at the station. As he passed the station restaurants and food
shops, his stomach growled. Did he forget to have lunch? He turned at
the newspaper stand and zigzagged up the steps to the street level,
avoiding people.
The bustling road was filled with people hurrying home from their long day.
Daiki made
the quick trip down the street, past the shopping center and an office
building. He ducked his head as he entered a restaurant, then headed
straight to the back room where the editor held her meetings. The only
thing that changed was the prices on the menu. Now that he was a brand,
each of his publishers treated him to nicer meals when they met.
“Nice to see you,” he greeted her.
Saito Azami, who liked cats more than people, welcomed him with her attempt at a friendly smile. “And you.”
He acknowledged her assistant, who gestured to the far chair. “Please.”
After
sliding past both of them to get around the table, he sat down. He’d had
hundreds of these meetings over the last decade, but each time worry
skittered through him.
After they ate, Azami-san held out her hand. “Let’s see this week’s work.”
He pulled out his final sketches.
She
skimmed through the pages with her red pen and gave him a few comments.
Her assistant took a pass and asked a question or two. The editing ended
with him having about an hour of additional work to do.
When he didn’t move to leave, she asked, “Is there something else?”
“Yes. We’ve talked before about the direction I want to take.”
Her quiet sigh indicated her frustration at his insistence. “It’s almost the start of the new year.”
Not for
weeks, but he couldn’t give up on this. “All the more reason to clear
the slate. I want to move away from outdated tropes. Drawing past the
titillation of a gay romance to what it means to be gay in Japan. I want
to use my stories to give validation and visibility to those who need
it.”
She stood. “Give me some time. Let me see what’s out there.”
Standing, he gave her a more formal goodbye than usual or necessary.
It had
started to drizzle, but at least the air wasn’t cold enough to turn the
sidewalks into ice. He tightened his scarf and meandered back through
the crowds and neon.
Should he
have been firmer? No, he’d been clear, and she did say she’d look for
something. That wasn’t a guarantee, but this exchange was the furthest
he’d gone.
On the way
to the train, he passed a semicrowded bar. People were smiling and
laughing; he was tempted to stop in. Maybe he could…. But his assistants
were waiting for him.
He hurried to enter the station and jogged down the stairs to the underground.
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