Parallel World Light Novelist

Chapter 113: Chapter 113: How the Industry Really Works

Although Haruto had held Aika’s contact card for nearly a month, he had never reached out to her. The reason was quite simple: no matter how much she claimed to admire his work, they were essentially rivals. One had taken the gold in the Ascent of New Gods competition while the other had claimed the silver.

Haruto believed that mutual respect between rivals was possible; his relationship with Reina Fujimoto was proof of that. However, he knew nothing about Aika’s character, so he had avoided making any deep connection with her. But now, circumstances demanded a change of pace.

He entered her LINE ID into his phone. He didn’t receive an immediate notification that she had accepted, which wasn’t surprising; she likely had her own schedule to maintain. Haruto didn’t dwell on it.

Instead, he sat at his desk and began mentally reviewing the two stories he had gained from the memories of Shiori.

Parasyte and Puella Magi Madoka Magica.

Parasyte was originally a manga series spanning ten volumes. In the parallel world, it had achieved a total circulation of over ten million copies.

This put it in the category of a million-seller per volume, which was the standard benchmark for a high-popularity hit in the manga industry. In that market, a series moving over a million copies per volume was considered a top-tier masterpiece. Once a series surpassed the two million mark, it entered the realm of legends like Hunter x Hunter, Rurouni Kenshin, or Fullmetal Alchemist. The truly astronomical heights of three million copies and above were reserved for cultural phenomena like Dragon Ball, Naruto, and One Piece.

While sales figures were a reliable indicator of success, a work’s prestige and influence couldn’t always be measured by numbers alone. For instance, Slam Dunk, with five million copies per volume, was arguably more of a timeless classic than Demon Slayer, which moved six million. Similarly, a series like Devilman might have higher per-volume sales than Dragon Ball, yet it could never match the latter’s global impact. Differences in eras and marketing power often meant that commercial success didn’t perfectly align with narrative quality. However, based on both its commercial performance and the critical acclaim it received in that other world, calling Parasyte a ”near-masterpiece” was an assessment most people would agree with.

As for Puella Magi Madoka Magica, its reputation could be summed up in one sentence.

It was one of the most decorated TV anime in the history of animation. That alone defined its status. It was a universally acknowledged masterpiece. While it might not be the undisputed king of all anime, it achieved a perfect harmony between commercial appeal and artistic innovation. It was a show that earned both critical praise and massive profits, putting it in a completely different league than the generic ”trash” light novel adaptations that flooded the market.

After a long silence, Haruto let out a heavy sigh. Parasyte was well-suited for a light novel adaptation; the strength of its narrative could be effectively translated into prose. But Madoka Magica presented a unique challenge. While it could be adapted into a novel, doing so would inevitably strip away a significant portion of its emotional power. Much like Anohana, Madoka Magica was designed for the medium of animation.

The synergy between the visual storytelling and the haunting musical score created an effect where the whole was far greater than the sum of its parts. Haruto had serialized Anohana as a light novel only because he lacked the capital and reputation to produce an anime at the time.

Now, however, things were different. If he was going to introduce Madoka Magica to this world, he wanted it to be an anime from the very beginning.

Between his earnings from Blue Spring Ride and the massive success of Anohana, his personal wealth had swelled to over one hundred million yen.

Anohana had been a particular gold mine. Driven by the popularity of the anime, the light novel’s per-volume sales had already surpassed four million copies and were expected to hit five million in the coming months.

Combined with the upcoming release of To the Moon, Haruto had enough capital to personally invest in a production if he spent his money wisely.

The commercial value of Madoka Magica was so immense that Haruto would rather hold onto it than hand it over to another studio to profit from. But there was a glaring problem: he knew nothing about the animation industry.

He had no connections, no influence, and no understanding of the complex production pipeline. Diving into that world with nothing but a bag of cash was a recipe for being swindled. His mind immediately went to Yukino. She was currently setting up her own studio, but she already had one project on her plate. Even if he approached her now, she likely wouldn’t have the bandwidth to manage two productions simultaneously. As he was weighing his options, his phone chimed. Aika had accepted his friend request.

”Hello, Takahashi sensei. Did you finally remember me today? I am honored you added me,” she messaged. They exchanged small talk for a while, with Haruto being somewhat vague about his intentions. Eventually, Aika ran out of patience and asked him directly if there was something he needed.

”I am sorry to be so blunt, but I actually have something I would like to ask you about,” Haruto replied, finally steering the conversation toward his true purpose. He felt a bit guilty for being so pragmatic, but he promised himself he would find a way to repay the favor in the future.

In Tokyo, Aika was resting in a lounge after a fan meeting. A smile spread across her face as she read his messages.

Ten minutes later, she understood exactly what he was after. Haruto was interested in joining one of the Big Three: Kiyozawa Library, Hoshizora Novels, or Seisawa Books. However, he had total confidence in his own potential. He felt that an exclusive long-term contract with any of them would be a loss for him in the long run.

He wanted to remain a free agent, collaborating on a project-by-project basis.

The Big Three had been the titans of the industry for decades, and they had various ways of nurturing talent. In fact, many of Japan’s top-tier authors operated under exactly the kind of arrangement Haruto was proposing.

”It is not impossible to work that way,” Aika messaged back. ”But you have to realize that even if your work has the potential of a perfect score, you will likely lose out on resources to someone who only has a score of eighty but is signed to an exclusive deal with the publisher.”

In the world of online fiction, writers fought for placement on a website’s homepage. But in the physical light novel industry, authors fought for marketing budgets and placement in the most prestigious magazines.

The Big Seven each had a flagship publication. For Seisawa Books, it was Seisawa; for Hoshizora Novels, it was Hoshizora; and for Kiyozawa Library, it was Kiyozawa.

Every single issue of these three magazines had a nationwide circulation exceeding ten million copies. Hoshizora currently holds the crown, moving between eighteen and twenty-one million copies per issue. Seisawa followed with fourteen million, and Kiyozawa sat at twelve million. Compared to the seven hundred thousand copies moved by a regional player like Crimson Maple Literature, the gap was astronomical.

These three magazines were weekly publications, and each only had ten coveted serialization slots. Given his rank as the number one newcomer, Haruto would have a seat at the editorial table for his next work if he signed an exclusive deal. Of course, he would be competing for those slots against the legendary veterans of the industry, authors who had produced series with over five or ten million copies in circulation. Even for him, the odds of being selected over such titans were slim.

Those thirty slots across the Big Three represented the absolute pinnacle of the light novel world. Securing one of those spots and maintaining a high popularity rank until the story reached its natural conclusion was enough to cement an author’s legacy as a household name.

It was a direct path to the top.

But by choosing not to sign an exclusive contract, Haruto’s chances of competing for those prime slots dropped to nearly zero.

”I understand,” Haruto replied. ”So, if I choose a non-exclusive partnership, what does the path look like for my next serialization?”

Aika had a good impression of Haruto, so she didn’t mind being honest. ”If the quality is high enough, you would likely be placed in one of the secondary magazines. For example, Below the Stars, Seisawa Rain, or Azure Kiyozawa.”

”Why do the names sound so similar?” Haruto asked.

”Because the stories in Below the Stars are usually those that lost their popularity in the main Hoshizora magazine and were moved there to finish their run. The relationship between the others is the same,” Aika explained.

In a top-tier magazine like Hoshizora, a story that failed to perform was immediately removed to make room for new blood. There were only ten slots, and the publisher couldn’t afford to waste them on underperforming titles. However, even a ”failing” story in the main magazine was still a top-tier work compared to the rest of the market.

They were far too valuable to simply cancel, which is why the secondary magazines existed. These secondary publications had a circulation of about forty percent of their parent magazines, which still meant they moved five to eight million copies per issue.

”The reason I am considered the best newcomer in Tokyo is because my last work was serialized in Azure Kiyozawa and ranked third out of twenty titles,” Aika noted. ”Because of that, I have the right to have my next work considered for a slot in the main Kiyozawa magazine, though I will likely be rejected in favor of a veteran.”

”So you are saying that if I want to be in the Big Three flagships, I almost certainly have to sign an exclusive deal? And even then, I will probably be crushed by the old authors during the editorial meetings?” Haruto asked.

He was beginning to realize the sheer ferocity of the competition. The top writers from regional prefectures who moved to Tokyo to test their luck were often treated as nothing more than cannon fodder. Of course, the only reason the regional level was so weak was because everyone with real potential, like him and Reina, eventually moved to Tokyo. It was a completely different world.

”That is generally how it works, but there is an exception,” Aika replied. ”Just as there is a mechanism for demoting a story from Kiyozawa to Azure Kiyozawa, there is a mechanism for promotion. But the requirements are incredibly harsh. Your work has to show such massive potential and perform so exceptionally well in the secondary magazine that the editors have no choice but to move it up to the flagship.”

’A promotion between magazines based on performance?’ Haruto’s interest was piqued. If the results were good enough, anything was possible.

Aika shared more details about the industry before finally offering a piece of advice that Haruto found truly valuable.

”If you can accept that you won’t be the publisher’s top priority for marketing resources, there are plenty of managers who would be willing to sign you. For example, my own manager,” Aika suggested.

She was being remarkably open and helpful, mostly because she genuinely liked Haruto’s writing and didn’t mind spending her time helping him navigate the industry.

”My connections are mostly within Kiyozawa Library. I cannot help you with Hoshizora or Seisawa. But if you really want to join the Big Three, I recommend Kiyozawa. While the other two are technically larger, they are also the ones with the most entrenched nepotism.”

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