The email arrived at 2:17 AM, its notification cutting through the dim glow of Aiko's tablet like a scalpel.
Subject: Serialization Canceled.
Aiko Shirai's fingers hovered above the screen, her thumbnail catching on a crack in the tempered glass. She'd dropped the tablet last week after seeing the weekly rankings. Crimson Requiem, her third manga that year—and only hope to keep drawing for Shōnen Black had fallen to 10th last week, while Demon's Crest- that soulless, derivative trash sat comfortably in the top three. Rumors of it's anime announcement had come yesterday.
She didn't open the email. She already knew what it said.
The train ride to Shueisha headquarters was always the same.
Aiko Shirai clutched her leather portfolio against her chest, the weight of her latest
Crimson Requiem chapters pressing into her ribs like a dull knife. Around her, salarymen dozed against the windows, their briefcases slack in their laps. One of them snored with his mouth open. She stared at the way his lower lip quivered with each exhale.
"I could draw that," she thought. The way exhaustion makes people ugly.
Her phone buzzed. A notification from Shōnen Black's app:
TOP 20 MANGA THIS WEEK
1. Blade of the Forgotten
2. Demon's Crest Vol. 3
3. Neon Ronin
4. Demon's Crest Vol. 2
5. Demon's Crest Vol. 1
...
15. Crimson Requiem Vol. 4
...
20. Crimson Requiem Vol. 3
Aiko swiped it away.
"It's lower again," she sighed.
Across from her, a teenage boy in a Demon's Crest hoodie played the mobile game adaptation, thumbs flying across the screen. The protagonist's voice - that same smirking tone Kaji had insisted on for the adaptation - chirped from the speakers: "Is that all you've got?"
Aiko's knuckles went white around her portfolio.
The bell jingled as she pushed into Shōnen Black headquarters, her portfolio clutched like a shield. The lobby was crowded with assistants rushing color proofs to the printer. None of them looked at her.
As she entered the elevator, she could tell bad news awaited her.
"Shirai-san! Just the person I wanted to see!"
Kaji Ryunosuke leaned against Matsumoto's doorframe, already wearing his Demon'sCrest anime announcement t-shirt. The design was garish - all neon colors and exaggerated sword slashes. Exactly like his manga.
Aiko tightened her grip on her manuscript. "Congratulations on the adaptation."
Kaji's grin widened. He'd gotten veneers since their college days. "Heard you're wrapping up Crimson Requiem soon. Shame." He plucked a page from her portfolio.
"Still drawing bloodflowers? Readers think they're pretentious."
She snatched it back. The edge sliced her finger.
"Careful," Kaji laughed, "wouldn't want to ruin your masterpiece."
She slowly walked in to see her editor - Matsumoto.
Matsumoto's office smelled like stale coffee and the floral air freshener the cleaning staff used. He didn't look up when she entered, his attention fixed on the color proofs spread across his desk - Demon's Crest Volume 4, the special edition with holographic foil.
"We're canceling Crimson Requiem, " he said, as casually as someone might comment on the weather.
The words didn't register at first. Aiko focused on the Demon's Crest clock above Matsumoto's head. The second hand stuttered every time it passed the 4.
"Readers aren't connecting with your protagonist, Kurenai," Matsumoto continued. "The rankings—"
"I agree the rankings aren't that good but..." Her voice sounded strange. "...If we just—"
"Tokyo Death Game is taking your slot."
A parody manga but a high school duo. A literal joke.
Aiko's fingers found the edge of her manuscript. The paper cut matched the one on her thumb. Twin wounds.
"Kaji's series launched four months after mine," she said carefully.
"His Volume 3 outsold both your Volume 4 and 3," Matsumoto sighed. "I've been offered to be his sub-editor twice but I refused because I believed in you and was confident the Volume 4 of Crimson Requiem would do the trick but it didn't."
Outside, someone laughed. She definitely knew it was him — Kaji.
A notification buzzed in her pocket.
Latest Rankings - Shōnen Black
1. Demon's Crest Vol. 3▲1
...
18. Crimson Requiem ▼3
Her thumbnail found the crack in her phone screen - the one from when she'd thrown it against the wall last Tuesday. Eighteenth. Again.
This was the same thing that happened to her previous manga which meant only one thing.
"Wrap everything up in two chapters, after that — you'll no longer draw for Shōnen Black, it has been decided by the committee." Matsumoto broke the silence.
Aiko's mouth went dry. She knew this was going to happen but it still came as a shock, still she couldn't just accept defeat again.
"The Bloodflower Pact arc starts next chapter. Readers just need to-"
"Readers don't care." Matsumoto finally looked up, his glasses reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights.
He had never had that look on his face —not even when her serialization got cancelled twice before the middle of the previous year. This time he didn't believe in her manga like he used to.
The Demon's Crest clock on the wall ticked loudly.
"End the series by next week and submit it to Ayoko"
"That won't be necessary," she bangs her manuscript on his table. "I quit!."
She picks up her contract at the corner of his office — it was lying there like it didn't hold any value. She angrily ripped it to sheds.
The ripped contract fluttered to the floor like wounded birds. Matsumoto stared, mouth slightly open, as Aiko turned on her heel. The door slammed behind her with finality that echoed through the editorial floor.
Kaji leaned against the water cooler, sipping from a Demon's Crest promo mug. "Quitting before the axe falls? Smart move for once, Shirai." He gestured at her bleeding thumb. "Though you might want to bandage that before you start job hunting at convenience stores."
Aiko didn't break stride. "Enjoy your plastic victory, Kaji. When your manga crashes and burns next season, remember this moment."
He blocked the elevator, his veneers gleaming under fluorescent lights. "Still delusional, I see. My Crest merch outsold your entire print run last week." He lowered his voice. "Want a real tip? Switch to drawing hentai. At least you'd finally connect with an audience."
Her portfolio edge jammed into his ribs. Hard. "Move. Or I'll show you how Kurenai handles trash obstructing her path."
The elevator doors slid open. As she stepped inside, Kaji called after her: "Two weeks from now, no one will remember Crimson Requiem ever existed!"
The doors closed on his smirk.
Rain streaked the windows as Akihabara blurred past. Aiko traced the blood welling on her thumb.
"Third cancellation this year."
The salaryman beside her snored, head lolling. She imagined drawing him: *
"Chapter Title: The Walking Dead of the 7:15 Express."
Her phone buzzed. A new ranking notification:
19. Crimson Requiem ▼ 1
It was like watching your own funeral procession for her.
She opened her portfolio. Kurenai stared back from page one - jaw set, eyes burning with the fire readers called "unrealistic." Aiko's finger smeared blood across her protagonist's cheek.
"Should've listened to them, Kurenai. Real heroes don't bleed. They sparkle and sell lunchboxes."
At her apartment, the manuscript pages covered every surface. Twelve months of work reduced to paper corpses.
Aiko picked up Chapter 15 - Kurenai's broken sword scene.
A reviewer's note fluttered out: "Overdramatic. Readers want triumph, not fragility."
She laughed, the sound jagged in the silent room. "You were right, Matsumoto-san. Should've made her invincible. Should've made her like Noboru Yamada - Kaji's protagonist."
The scissors felt cold in her hand. Methodically, she began cutting through all her manuscripts and throwing them into her wastebasket.
The wastebasket filled with the mangled heart of her world.
The lighter clicked once. Twice.
"Third time's the charm, right?" Aiko whispered to the pile. "First manga canceled at Chapter 10. Second axed mid-arc. Now you..."
She touched Kurenai's severed face. "You lasted longest. Eighteen weeks in the rankings. Eighteen weeks of Kaji's sneers and Matsumoto's 'patience."
Rain lashed the windows. Somewhere, a Demon's Crest merch commercial jingled on TV.
"You were supposed to be different. The bloodflowers... they weren't just decoration. They were her pain given form. But readers called them 'emo confetti.'"
Her thumb found the crack in her phone screen. The ranking notification glowed: #19.
"The committee was right. This industry devours real stories. Only plastic survives."
The flame kissed Kurenai's eye.
"Burn bright — one last time."
Smoke coiled into impossible shapes - a rearing horse, a screaming face, a door where her kitchen wall should be.
Brass handle. Ice-cold.
The plaque: Sakura Rei Library - Est. 1999
Aiko didn't understand what was happening and thought it was her imagination.
"S-a-k-u-r-a r-e-i l-i-b-r-a-r-y." She read out, "Oh well, what do I have to loose."
She opens the door to find a library-like setting. Inside, a girl sorted books with ink-stained fingers. Her school uniform was stitched from manga pages.
"You're late," said Sakura Rei without looking up. "I started shelving Tokyo Death Game proofs ten minutes ago."
Hearing the parody manga name tingled her abit. Aiko's throat closed. "What is this place?"
Rei held up Crimson Requiem Vol. 1. Kurenai's face had been replaced by a generic knight. The title now read: The Coward's Tale.
"Fix ten abandoned heroes," Rei said. Ink dripped from her smile. "Maybe then..."
The book fell open. Pages writhed like living things.
"...you'll earn back your own ending."