All Beautiful Girls Want to Stick with Me

”Izumi Ki’s Twitter popularity is really high right now. At this rate, she might surpass one million followers by the end of the year.”

Yuko Hiratsuka let out an awkward laugh. As a middle-aged woman who had weathered many storms, she could tell at a glance that Izumi Ki was starting to cry for candy.

Authors who had worked with a publishing imprint for a long time might tolerate dissatisfaction once. They might even tolerate it a second time. But by the third time, they would explode and start demanding a bigger slice of the cake.

When she first signed Izumi Ki, Yuko Hiratsuka had already anticipated this possibility. What she had not expected was that Izumi Ki would erupt so quickly—without even asking a single question, she had directly posted a tweet loaded with undercurrents.

And in such a short time, it had already reached terrifying levels of engagement.

Now, even if they wanted to call Izumi Ki and ask her to delete the tweet—telling her that any dissatisfaction could be discussed privately—they could no longer do so.

On the contrary, with such massive attention on the post, if Izumi Ki were to quietly delete it without a word, the readers’ fury would instantly crash into Dengeki Bunko’s official Twitter account.

If they failed to come up with a perfect solution, this year’s Dengeki Festival might even be forced to shut down.

The most frustrating part was that, at least for now, Dengeki Bunko truly had not treated Izumi Ki unfairly.

Yuko Hiratsuka was not a fool. How could she possibly mistreat an author who had debuted and immediately dominated the best-seller rankings?

If she had wanted to shortchange Izumi Ki, she would not have given her such a prime opportunity as the Dengeki Festival.

But could they blame Izumi Ki?

Not really.

After all, Yuko Hiratsuka had never told her about these opportunities. When Haruno had asked whether they should inform Izumi Ki in advance about the signing event, Yuko had refused, wanting to give her a surprise.

Now that the participation list had been made public, Izumi Ki saw that her work was missing. Not knowing that the limited signing event at the Dengeki Festival was being prepared specifically for her, and unaware that works participating in the limited signing event had to remain confidential beforehand, she naturally assumed she had no place at the festival.

Seeing that her work was still ranked number one on the best-seller list, how could she not feel psychologically unbalanced? How could she simply let it go?

The more Yuko Hiratsuka thought about it, the more she realized she could only blame herself.

A surprise, a surprise—now it had turned into a shock for the entire editorial department.

”Holy crap.”

Just as Yuko Hiratsuka furrowed her brows and began thinking through possible solutions, Haruno Yukinoshita suddenly exclaimed, abruptly breaking her train of thought.

”Haruno, is there a problem?” Yuko Hiratsuka sighed helplessly.

As far as editing went, Haruno Yukinoshita was not particularly outstanding. But because she was the daughter of an old friend, Yuko Hiratsuka had allowed her to work at Dengeki Bunko as a junior editor for the time being, letting her take it easy while figuring out her future path.

Unexpectedly, although Haruno had previously spent her days coasting at work and leaving on time, her skills were average but her luck was exceptional. She had met Izumi Ki—and become her assigned editor.

Although Haruno was only responsible for Izumi Ki as an author and Hana Yui as an illustrator, considering the current monthly sales of Sword Art Online, to put it bluntly, Haruno already had the qualifications to compete for the position of deputy chief editor.

In another year or two, if Haruno wanted to become chief editor, Yuko Hiratsuka might genuinely have to make room for her.

”I just checked Kotomi—cough, I mean, Izumi Ki’s other two tweets from today...”

Before Haruno could finish speaking, Yuko Hiratsuka quickly lowered her head and began scrolling through the other posts. The other editors in the meeting room did the same. Earlier, their attention had been completely focused on Izumi Ki’s most viral tweet, and they had not noticed the others.

After reading them, the room instantly erupted into discussion.

”Holy crap!”

”That move from Izumi Ki is ruthless.”

”Kadokawa Bunko are such bastards. Not only did they like it, they even replied.”

”They tried to poach Izumi Ki before but never found the right opportunity. If they let a chance like this slip by now, we’d have to wonder whether their entire editorial department had been replaced.”

”Killing the body and attacking the heart... terrifying. Kadokawa Bunko really has no intention of playing nice. Those replies are practically mocking Dengeki Bunko to our faces.”

”To be fair, when we poached people from Kadokawa Bunko back then, we did the same thing...”

”At least when Jing Ke tried to assassinate the King of Qin, he hid the dagger inside a map. Kadokawa Bunko isn’t even pretending to hide the blade—they’ve drawn it outright.”

”Damn... the quality of the spicy illustrations Izumi Ki retweeted is insanely high. Save, save, save!”

”I think someone among us has a slightly questionable aesthetic.”

The editors’ strong reactions were not unwarranted. Kadokawa Bunko’s official Twitter account had shown absolutely no restraint.

Izumi Ki had retweeted two posts in total. It would have been one thing if Kadokawa Bunko had merely liked them. The key point was that they had also replied under each retweet.

[Izumi Ki retweeted Kadokawa Bunko: Looking forward to it! The visuals are amazing. When will the theme song be released? I can’t wait to loop the single!]

Kadokawa Bunko replied: [This time, the theme song is written and performed by Myth & Roid. We’re delighted that Izumi Ki likes it. Could you please send us a shipping address via direct message? In a while, Kadokawa Bunko and Myth & Roid will release a limited edition album featuring this song. We hope to send it to you as a gift!]

[Izumi Ki retweeted Fujimi Shobo: The first light novel I ever read as a child was by Iruma-sensei. Congratulations on the anime adaptation. Looking forward to it!]

Under this tweet, not only was there a reply from Kadokawa Bunko, but also from the Iruma-sensei Kotomi had mentioned—Iruma Hitoma.

Iruma Hitoma: [Thank you for your support, Izumi Ki. It’s a great honor that my light novel was the first one you ever read. I’ve already previewed the anime during production—it definitely won’t disappoint fans who love the series. I hope that one day we’ll have the chance to collaborate creatively!]

Izumi Ki replied to Iruma Hitoma: [I’m looking forward to that too!]

Kadokawa Bunko: [Kadokawa Bunko will be holding the Kadokawa Festival on March 3rd, 4th, and 5th. The limited signing event at the festival will feature Iruma Hitoma. If Izumi Ki has time in March, we sincerely hope you can attend as a guest.

What flavor of cake do you like? We’ve learned that March 3rd happens to be your birthday. Kadokawa Bunko would love to send you a cake and a commemorative gift. It’s our tradition to celebrate the birthdays of our best-selling authors with cake, presents, and heartfelt wishes!]

Izumi Ki replied to Dengeki Bunko: [I don’t like chocolate, so please don’t put any chocolate on the cake!]

On the surface, the comment interaction looked friendly and enthusiastic. But in Yuko Hiratsuka’s eyes, Kadokawa Bunko’s mockery value was practically maxed out.

First, they told Izumi Ki that the theme song for their upcoming anime adaptation was written and performed by Myth & Roid. The message they were conveying was obvious: Our anime production strength is formidable. Not only is the animation quality guaranteed, but the story adaptation and music composition are also top-tier.

Their second comment went even further. Announcing that they would hold the Kadokawa Festival next March was one thing. But inviting Izumi Ki to attend as a guest was essentially a veiled message:

Dengeki Bunko didn’t invite you to their festival. We, Kadokawa Bunko, will.

As a chief editor, Yuko Hiratsuka could immediately see the implication behind inviting Izumi Ki to serve as a guest at Iruma Hitoma’s signing event.

At signing events, if the author is willing, the imprint often invites a highly popular writer from a different genre to appear as a guest. This both boosts the event’s popularity and avoids overshadowing the main author due to genre overlap.

Iruma Hitoma specialized in delicate, everyday romance stories. Izumi Ki specialized in flashy, invincible power-fantasy novels. Their creative directions were completely different. Not only would there be no risk of stealing the spotlight, it could even create mutual benefit.

For example, Iruma Hitoma’s fans might become interested in Izumi Ki after seeing the collaboration and buy one of her novels while continuing to read Iruma’s works.

Or Izumi Ki’s fans might grow curious about Iruma Hitoma after seeing the interaction and purchase one of his novels while reading Izumi Ki’s.

What unsettled Yuko Hiratsuka the most was that Kadokawa Bunko had openly stated that Izumi Ki’s birthday was March 3rd, and even talked about sending her birthday gifts, cake, and blessings—as if Izumi Ki were not an author under Dengeki Bunko, but under Kadokawa Bunko instead.

Just reading Kadokawa Bunko’s comments, Yuko Hiratsuka could practically smell the overwhelming smugness seeping through the screen.

After the editors had finished their heated discussion, Yuko Hiratsuka spoke again. This time, her words were far less civilized.

”Damn it. They’re holding the Dengeki Festival and signing event starting on March 3rd—aren’t they clearly targeting Izumi Ki’s birthday? In previous years, the Kadokawa Festival was always held in December without fail. The moment they saw friction between Izumi Ki and Dengeki Bunko, they eagerly shifted the festival date from December to March. They’re really eager to play the bootlicker, aren’t they?”

Her anger was not unfounded. After all, Kadokawa Bunko had only announced the change of their festival date to next March about an hour ago.

It was practically stamped across their faces that the Kadokawa Festival was prepared for Izumi Ki.

Fujimi Shobo and A Bunko also wanted to poach Izumi Ki, but at least they maintained some restraint. On the tweets Kotomi had posted, they had only liked them and refrained from leaving comments.

Only Kadokawa Bunko behaved as if they wanted to sign Izumi Ki tomorrow, showering her with attention in the comment section to the point that one might suspect it was the editorial department—not the operations team—running their official Twitter account.

After venting her anger, Yuko Hiratsuka let out a long sigh and turned to Haruno.

”Editor Yukinoshita, does Izumi Ki have any particularly deep obsession with signing events?”

Haruno Yukinoshita thought for a moment, then shook her head.

”She doesn’t have a strong obsession with signing events. Maybe because she’s just debuted. When I asked her before, her attitude was always that it would be great to have one this year, but if not, she wouldn’t be envious.”

Yuko Hiratsuka nodded. Izumi Ki’s meaning was already clear: This year I just debuted, so it’s understandable if there’s no signing event. But starting next year, I must have one.

”In that case, we’ll continue keeping the signing event a mystery and announce on the day the Dengeki Festival begins that the signing event is prepared for Izumi Ki. For now, let’s ease the atmosphere.

”I know it’s almost time to get off work, but this is urgent. Have the design team work overtime and produce an exquisite promotional poster within three hours. Use the same specifications we use when releasing a new tankobon volume.

”As for the poster copy and accompanying tweet, Haruno, you’re Izumi Ki’s assigned editor, so you’ll draft it. The general idea should be that Sword Art Online will release a venue-limited edition of Volume 1 at the Dengeki Festival.

”That way, readers will understand why Sword Art Online wasn’t listed on the previously announced participation roster. After all, not only is it participating, it’s also releasing a venue-limited edition. That’s not treatment ordinary participating works receive. Naturally, it shouldn’t be placed on the same ordinary list as the others.”

As expected of Yuko Hiratsuka. Not only did she defuse the crisis, she also seized the opportunity to launch a limited edition.

Of course, as clever as the method was, it also meant the staff would be working overtime.

Haruno Yukinoshita could not help but complain.

”The Dengeki Festival is only a few days away. The poster is easy enough to make, but what about the venue-limited edition? Even if we ask Hana Yui to draw a special box illustration now, there wouldn’t be enough time to produce it. And the bonus merchandise would require commissioning new illustrations before manufacturing, right?”

Yuko Hiratsuka chuckled, giving Haruno a look that said you’re still too inexperienced.

”Who said we need to commission new illustrations? We still have the high-resolution original character designs and illustrations from Volume 1 of Sword Art Online saved, right?”

”Yes.” Haruno nodded, still unsure what Yuko was planning.

”Then that’s enough. Just pick an illustration that wasn’t used when we made the first-print limited bonuses for Volume 1. Turn it into an acrylic stand or a keychain. If that’s still too troublesome, make it a bookmark.

”We don’t need to produce many. Just one type is enough. It’s a venue-limited edition. If there are too many, it loses its meaning. As long as it’s a new bonus item, we can call it a venue-limited edition.”

”Th-That’s enough for a venue-limited edition?” Haruno asked, stunned.

”What else did you expect? Even if the bonus items lack sincerity, readers who live too far away to attend the festival will still pay several times the original price to buy the venue-limited edition of Volume 1 from resellers.

”If Volume 1 had a special edition box to begin with, it would be even easier. We’d only need to change the color of the box. We wouldn’t even have to change the artwork printed on it.”

Haruno twitched her lips. But after thinking it over carefully, she realized there was no better solution.

”Alright, meeting adjourned. Before leaving today, the finance team should calculate overtime pay for every member of the design department.”

With a calm smile, Yuko Hiratsuka declared the meeting over.

After watching all the editors leave the conference room, she did not rush to leave. Instead, she remained seated, crossing her legs as she dialed the number of Chiaki Yukinoshita.

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