Parallel World Light Novelist

Chapter 124: Chapter 124: When a Simple Conversation About Manga Opened a New Path [BONUS]

Some creators are incredibly stubborn; they refuse to let anyone interfere with their vision. Even if a professional editor suggests a minor plot adjustment, they won’t listen.

If Shizuru possessed that kind of temperament, then the conversation was effectively over.

Collaborating on a manga is like sharing a single bowl of rice; both parties have to grind through the process of coordination and compromise. Some people can stomach it, while others simply cannot.

Shizuru spent a long time in deep thought before she finally looked up to address him.

”I am not actually against the idea. My goal is simply to become famous as a manga artist. Whether that fame comes from my storytelling or my artistic technique, I think I can accept either path,” Shizuru said, blinking as she processed the concept.

”However... I have never really considered this direction before. In the manga industry, there aren’t many examples of top-tier artists who only handle the drawing without any input on the script. Is that even a viable career path?”

”Why wouldn’t it be? It is a matter of effort. Someone has to be the pioneer,” Haruto replied.

”That is easy to say, but according to your suggestion, where would I even find a partner whose storytelling matches the level of my art?” Shizuru asked. The thought made her head ache even more.

Her gaze drifted toward Haruto.

At the same time, Haruto shifted his eyes toward her. He saw the look of realization in Shizuru’s eyes. Over the past few days, he had gotten a good handle on her personality: she was lively, cute, and remarkably blunt. She wasn’t the type to hide what she was thinking.

Haruto felt a slight chill run down his spine as she stared at him. A few seconds later, he realized exactly where her train of thought was heading.

”Senpai, stop right there. I have my own novels to update and my own anime to produce. I do not have the time or the mental energy to partner up and become a manga creator with you,” Haruto said, immediately cutting off her fantasy. His voice acted like a splash of cold water on Shizuru’s rising excitement.

”So you are saying you have no intention of ever entering the manga industry?” Shizuru asked. Her expression stiffened, and she looked a little dejected.

She knew her thought had been a bit delusional. She and Haruto were just ordinary university classmates. A manga collaboration is a commercial venture. Studying illustration and music together in the club was a way to cultivate their hobbies and enrich their minds. But when business and money were involved, things were never that simple.

Who was Haruto? He was a star author with Kiyozawa Library and the gold medalist of the Ascent of New Gods competition. If light novel writing were a subject on the national exams, Haruto would be the number one student in the country over the last two years. Any one of his works could generate millions in profit as a novel. Why would he bother collaborating with a university student who hadn’t even debuted in the manga world?

However, she noticed that Haruto had fallen silent after her question. He didn’t say anything for a long time, which she found strange. Looking closer, she saw that he was actually lost in thought.

’You have no intention of ever entering the manga industry?’

Shizuru’s question had actually triggered a major debate in Haruto’s head. In the media landscape, light novels, manga, and anime were all deeply intertwined.

For a property to truly become a blockbuster, it had to be adapted across all three mediums to capture every segment of the otaku audience.

Anohana manga rights had already been sold, and several companies were currently negotiating for the To the Moon manga adaptation. The answer to whether Haruto would ever enter the manga industry was a resounding yes. He almost had to.

Stories like Parasyte could technically be adapted into prose. However, Haruto had already run into issues while writing the novel version. The text could never be as clear or visceral as the original manga and anime. Certain moments of high visual tension simply didn’t translate perfectly into words; the effect was always a few degrees weaker than the original source material.

If he knew how to draw, he wouldn’t have turned Parasyte into a novel at all. He would have serialized it directly in a manga magazine. Parasyte was manageable because the story was strong enough to carry the weight. But what about the other masterpieces in Shiori’s memory?

Take Slam Dunk or Hikaru no Go.

How do you describe a complex Go board with hundreds of stones and the specific tactical positions of the players?

How do you describe the positioning, the defensive rotations, and the fast breaks of ten players on a basketball court? Words were insufficient. Some legendary works were simply not meant to be read as prose. Haruto wasn’t about to abandon those masterpieces just because they didn’t fit the light novel format. He realized that while his advice had been for Shizuru, he was essentially describing his own future needs as well.

He looked up after a long silence. Both he and Shizuru now shared the same expression.

Shizuru could tell from his hesitation that he wasn’t entirely uninterested in the manga medium.

It made sense; why would he join the Manga Club if he had zero interest?

As far as she was concerned, Haruto was the best storyteller she had ever met. To the Moon had completely conquered her heart. Last year, she had sat in the clubroom with the seniors and cried her eyes out while reading the weekly Chapters.

If she were to find a partner, Haruto was the strongest candidate she could possibly imagine.

But she couldn’t bring it up. She was aware of the massive status gap between them in the industry. Why would a genius of the light novel world want to partner with a total amateur who had nothing to her name?

As November arrived, Haruto’s life in Tokyo finally settled into a steady rhythm. He attended lectures during the day, dropped by the clubroom for activities when his schedule allowed, and spent his nights working on his manuscripts.

With the serialization of Parasyte underway, the process of investing in Yukino’s studio also began in earnest.

Without fresh capital, the studio would have been forced to dissolve. However, its infrastructure, the high-end equipment, the specialized software, and the remaining lease on the office space, was appraised at a very high value. As for the production of the Puella Magi Madoka Magica anime, Haruto hadn’t finished the screenplay yet, so a detailed budget was impossible to finalize.

However, the studio’s lead director, Takeda, gave Haruto a very blunt breakdown of the industry.

”Animation production has a low-budget way and a high-budget way,” Takeda explained. He was a middle-aged man who had put on a bit of weight over the years.

”Generally speaking, a small studio like ours rarely spends more than two hundred million yen on a single project,” the director continued. ”Established mid-sized studios usually work with three hundred to five hundred million yen for a single-season series. The major powerhouse studios operate on a completely different scale. Some projects can exceed one billion yen if international distribution is secured.”

Haruto had visited the studio, which occupied a third of a modern office floor in the Tokyo suburbs, and talked with Takeda Yasuo for hours. He finally understood the reality of the situation.

It all boiled down to a single principle: you get what you pay for. In anime, the visual and overall viewing experience were directly proportional to the amount of money thrown at the screen.

”I understand,” Haruto said after a moment of reflection. His bank account currently held enough for a high budget production, and he was receiving substantial passive royalties every month from his previous works. But Haruto wasn’t a gambler.

He never liked to go ”all in” on a single hand.

”In that case... I am prepared to invest three hundred and sixty million yen into our next project.”

Haruto stood before the studio’s key leadership, Director Takeda, Music Supervisor Rin Aizawa, and Lead Animator Mori, and opened his laptop. He brought up the project proposal for Puella Magi Madoka Magica that he had spent three days drafting.

After he spent ten minutes explaining the vision, a heavy silence filled the room.

”So, boss...” Takeda finally spoke. ”You are planning to invest three hundred million yen to produce an original magical girl series written by yourself?”

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