Parallel World Light Novelist

Autumn had arrived, and the temperature in Tokyo remained pleasantly warm. Haruto returned to the city at the end of September.

For the past few years, he had been constantly juggling his academic life with his career.

Although he had finally managed to leave the ranks of the single during the tail end of his university days, his schedule had been far more grueling than the public imagined.

To everyone in the industry, Haruto was the definition of a wunderkind.

At just twenty-one years old, he was already an established success who had founded Haru-Yuki Animation. On his own, he single-handedly propelled the influence of Prime Manga and the Kiyozawa Library to the top of the national rankings.

He was currently the record holder for Blu-ray sales and viewership ratings in the anime world, as well as the leader in per-volume sales for both the manga and light novel industries.

Of course, such triumph meant his personal life was exceptionally monotonous. If Haruto ever found himself working a standard nine-to-nine shift six days a week, it actually meant his workload for that period was relatively light.

After years of being suppressed by a relentless schedule, he was finally experiencing a bit of a rebound.

Although his planned three-month vacation had been cut short by Yukino’s persuasion, his return to Tokyo only meant resuming the serialization of Sword Art Online and Hunter x Hunter.

Producing a weekly light novel update and a single chapter of manga storyboards was a simple task for someone of his caliber.

As for the four anime projects currently in production, Haruto no longer felt the need to micromanage every detail.

However, for iconic scenes in Slam Dunk and Fullmetal Alchemist, he insisted on providing the classic background music himself. He brought over legendary tracks from his memories of the parallel world, such as the hauntingly beautiful ”Brothers” from the older version of Fullmetal or the unforgettable themes from Slam Dunk.

The music team he employed would likely struggle to surpass the original masterpieces, and the chance of them creating something even better was statistically slim. Since the original tracks were already legendary, Haruto saw no reason to gamble on a tiny possibility of ”perfection” when he already held the gold standard in his hands.

While he claimed to give his staff creative freedom, he had personally arranged at least a third of the musical score for the two projects he valued most.

Then there were the character designs. He decided to tweak the art style for the Fullmetal Alchemist anime to make it slightly more aesthetic.

He kept the original designs for the protagonists, Edward and Alphonse Elric, but he had some reservations about the supporting cast. In the original version, many characters had notably round faces.

Even Winry, the obvious female lead, sometimes looked like a background character compared to the random passersby. Haruto believed a heroine should look the part, so he implemented several adjustments to ensure the character designs matched their narrative importance.

For everything else, including storyboards and pacing, he left the work to the top-tier animation team he had scouted. He didn’t pay them millions of yen a year just to produce a carbon copy of the original works. He expected them to take what he gave them and elevate it to an even higher level of quality.

Deep down, Haruto also didn’t want to overbear his subordinates. As the owner of a multi-billion yen company, there was no need for him to do everyone’s job for them. Constant interference would only put undue pressure on the staff.

When it came to the production schedule, Haru-Yuki Animation was unparalleled. Haruto provided ample funding and generous bonuses.

Of course, with a team of only a few hundred people, the total bonus payout was around eight hundred million yen, which was a drop in the bucket compared to the projected twenty billion yen in licensing revenue from the series.

However, not everyone was as generous or as capable as Haruto.

From investment to promotion, Haruto funded everything personally. Even if he hadn’t given out bonuses, no one would have complained given the success of the project, yet he chose to reward them handsomely anyway.

This generosity ensured that the employees were incredibly motivated. While Haruto didn’t advocate for ”death by overwork” or toxic corporate culture, the company was well-staffed. If the workload became too heavy, they had the budget to outsource portions of the work to other top-tier animation studios. For those who chose to work extra hours, the overtime pay was substantial, leading many to voluntarily stay late to boost their earnings.

These efforts had significantly accelerated the production timelines for several of his projects.

By October, the promotional campaign for Fullmetal Alchemist, which was scheduled for a January release, had already begun.

As for Haruto himself, after returning to Tokyo, he spent his time either working on his series or relaxing at home. He caught up on the anime, novels, and manga that he hadn’t had time to enjoy over the last few years. Occasionally, he would go out in full cosplay to attend various conventions. To avoid causing a scene or disrupting the events, he always chose characters that wore masks or full-body mascot suits.

If he were to show his face at these venues, the organizers and exhibitors would never be able to focus on their own promotions. The next day’s headlines would be entirely about him. Despite his relatively quiet life lately, people from all walks of life still tried to reach him through various channels. Domestic and international media companies offered him millions of yen just to appear at their events for a single day, and variety shows were equally desperate to book him for similar astronomical fees.

Because of his fame, the rights to the two series he had written during high school for Crimson Maple Literature, Blue Spring Ride and Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day, became the center of a bidding war. Most of Haruto’s current works were either his sole property or co-owned with Prime or Kiyozawa. He had no intention of selling the live-action film, television, or gaming rights to his self-owned titles like Puella Magi Madoka Magica.

Given his popularity and the reputation of the series among fans, a live-action film adaptation of Madoka Magica could easily earn billions of yen at the box office worldwide. The same applied to Code Geass and Cyberpunk.

These properties still had massive commercial potential, and Haruto wasn’t about to give that away. He knew that when the time was right, he could simply establish his own live-action and gaming departments within the company.

The capital market saw Haruto as a literal money-printing machine, but he left them no openings to exploit. He had a perfect credit rating, an excellent reputation, a thriving business, no debt, no investors to answer to, and no scandals.

Those who wanted to trap him in a bad deal found themselves with no leverage.

Consequently, the industry turned its ravenous attention to his early works at Crimson Maple. The anime rights for both had been sold years ago; in fact, the Blue Spring Ride anime had finished airing four years prior. However, the production quality back then had been poor. The characters were often off-model, the voice acting was stiff, and the animation was plagued by technical issues. At the time, Haruto hadn’t yet revealed his identity as the Warrior of Love, so the show had only managed a mediocre ranking.

Now, however, the film and television rights were the most sought-after commodities in the entertainment industry. Out of the top ten major film studios, seven entered a fierce bidding war. In the end, the winner secured the rights for both titles for a staggering 1.5 billion yen.

The reason these rights were still available was that Crimson Maple had recognized Haruto’s potential early on and held onto them, waiting for the perfect moment to sell. According to the original contract, Crimson Maple held the primary negotiating rights and a small portion of the revenue, while Haruto received the lion’s share. This resulted in another massive windfall of hundreds of millions of yen for him, years after the works were first published. This was the reality for a creator of his stature; as long as he had a back catalog, he would continue to receive unexpected surges of income.

The studio that purchased the rights wasted no time capitalizing on the public’s attention. Just a few days after the deal closed, they announced the simultaneous launch of four separate projects: a film and a television series for each title. The announcement sent shockwaves through the acting world. Up-and-coming actresses, idol stars, and popular leading men swarmed the casting calls like sharks scenting blood.

None of them could ignore the fact that Haruto had tens of millions of fans willing to spend money on anything associated with his name. When it came to cultural influence and raw ”traffic,” the most famous idols in the country couldn’t even begin to compete with him. If Haruto ever decided to act himself, his drawing power would eclipse any A-list celebrity.

This was the status Haruto now held in the industry. Although he operated primarily in the world of anime and manga, the film and television sectors viewed him as a figure radiating pure gold. This news dominated the headlines of the entertainment industry throughout October. Even though these were his early works with relatively modest initial success, the name ”Haruto” alone was enough to command a premium price.

From novels and manga to anime adaptations, and then onward to games, movies, and TV shows, a massive industrial chain was forming, with Haruto as the unshakable center, radiating outward into every corner of the cultural market.

As November began, the weather turned cold. Haruto spent his days at home watching anime and politely declined an invitation from Kiyozawa Library to appear on a variety show in Kyoto.

However, he did agree to their proposal for a nationwide book signing tour the following month. He had no interest in letting variety shows use his fame for their own gain, but he made it a point to hold at least a few signing events a year to stay connected with his fans.

”It feels like life has actually gotten more boring since graduation,” Haruto muttered to himself in his empty villa.

Yukino had been buried in work. A mountain of international licensing contracts required her personal attention, and she had already been out of the country for three days.

Shizuru, his partner had become the ”face” of Hunter x Hunter. Because of Haruto’s desire to remain out of the spotlight, Shizuru handled almost all the public appearances and creator meet-and-greets. .

As for Reina, she seemed the same as always, but Haruto could sense a subtle, unsaid tension whenever they were together. She was currently busy promoting her own new novel, which had already reached a per-volume sales record of 18 million copies. She was now the undisputed second-ranked author at Kiyozawa Library.

While she was still a far cry from the 28 million per-volume sales of Haruto’s Sword Art Online, she was working tirelessly to close the gap.

Kiyozawa Library was also careful not to put all their eggs in one basket. While their relationship with Haruto was excellent, there was always the risk of him being poached by rival publishers.

They needed Reina to be ready to lead the charge if that ever happened, so they were pouring significant resources into her promotion. Consequently, she had barely been home for the past two weeks.

Now that school was over, everyone seemed to be diving deeper into their careers. Haruto let out a long breath, staring at the ceiling.

”It’s really quiet in here,” he said with a wry smile.

November passed in a flash. The autumn air grew sharp and cold. On the streets, summer clothes were replaced by long sleeves, coats, and dark tights. But just as the temperature began to drop toward the freezing point, Haru-Yuki Animation decided to drop a bombshell.

There was no massive marketing campaign.

Instead, at four o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday, a ninety-second trailer was quietly uploaded to the Haru-Yuki Animation official website without any prior notice. It was the first look at the series everyone had been waiting for, set to premiere in January.

Fullmetal Alchemist.

At 4:00 AM, a few night owls browsing the site out of habit were stunned to find the new content.

What had started as a quiet, ordinary morning quickly transformed into an earthquake that shook the entire anime community.

Fan groups that had been relatively quiet for the past six months suddenly exploded with activity. Chat logs that usually saw only a few messages a night were now scrolling so fast they were impossible to read. Links were shared frantically across social media. By 5:00 AM, the video on the official site had already surpassed 1 million views.

Gojo, a hardcore fan of Haruto for over six years, woke up in the middle of the night. He grabbed his phone to check the time and noticed his fan group had over two thousand unread messages. He blinked, his vision blurry, until he saw the words that made his heart skip a beat.

The Fullmetal trailer was out.

The wait was over. One of the four new projects from Haruto was finally show

ing its face to the world. A rush of excitement flooded his brain, and any lingering traces of sleep vanished instantly.

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