Jingū Akira stepped out of the subway, checked the map on his phone, and strode confidently toward his destination.
This was Roppongi, Minato Ward—one of the most glamorous areas in central Tokyo. Home to numerous multinational corporations and a magnet for foreign residents, Roppongi was especially famous for one thing above all: its nightlife. Its clubs rivaled the red-light allure of Kabukichō. For those seeking a decadent taste of capitalist excess, this was the place to be.
Naturally, property prices here were sky-high, second only to the Chiyoda district. And the restaurants? All top-tier, high-end establishments.
Today, Akira had been invited to one such place—a Michelin three-star restaurant in the heart of Roppongi.
Globally, there were only about a hundred restaurants with that coveted three-star designation. To be awarded such status by Michelin was to be recognized as offering an exceptional dining experience worth traveling for. Naturally, the prices matched the prestige.
In his previous life, Jingū Akira would've never stepped into a place like this. A single visit could have condemned him to days of instant noodles and pickled vegetables. But now, with his new background and the scattered memories he had inherited, such a setting barely fazed him. He walked in as naturally as if he were stopping by a local ramen stand.
"Jingū-sensei! I didn't expect we'd be meeting again so soon!"
Ogata, who had reserved the private room in advance, stood up the moment Akira was led in by a waiter, his tone brimming with enthusiasm. Unlike their first meeting—where the "sensei" was little more than polite flattery—this time the honorific came from genuine respect.
"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it either. Good to see you again, Editor Ogata."
They shook hands and sat down together. The interior was elegant and warm, a French restaurant that exuded luxury without feeling cold.
A waiter brought the menus. Akira flipped through his with a practiced air and ordered a balanced selection—just enough to satisfy, not to impress.
"You seem pretty familiar with this place, Jingū-sensei."
Ogata raised an eyebrow at Akira's ease and decisiveness.
"I've been here once before," Akira said with a modest smile, offering no further explanation.
The truth was, everything he knew about high-class dining, etiquette, and social grace came from the unfortunate soul whose body he'd inherited—the rich kid who died from an overdose. Without those memories, he might've embarrassed himself badly today.
By now, the two souls had fully merged. Even Akira's demeanor had gained an upper-class refinement.
"I knew from our first meeting that you weren't ordinary, but now I'm even more convinced."
Ogata chuckled as he placed his own order, clearly in good spirits. But he didn't pry into Akira's background—this was a professional relationship, after all.
"Haha, well, as long as I'm not paying for this meal, I'm good. I'm broke as hell right now."
Akira laughed, shrugging with mock helplessness.
"You're too modest, sensei. Of course this meal is covered by Shueisha! I should be thanking you—thanks to you, I get to enjoy a Michelin-starred lunch for free!"
Ogata was a deputy editor at one of Shueisha's branches and made a decent living, but even for him, dining here was a rare luxury.
Their casual banter gradually dispelled any lingering formality between them.
"First of all, I want to apologize for dragging you all the way out here at noon. I know it's a bit sudden."
Ogata bowed slightly, then continued, "Honestly, I had high hopes for you from the start, but I never imagined your very first submission would land a serialization. I heard the final nod came from the Editor-in-Chief himself. Congratulations—you've made history. First submission, youngest serialization in Weekly Shōnen JUMP's history. You're going to be in the spotlight, no doubt."
"Oh, I just got lucky."
Akira gave a humble smile—but the confidence in his eyes told another story.
Because let's be real: with a cheat-like brain and memories from another life, if he couldn't make something of himself, he'd be an embarrassment to all the other isekai protagonists.
"Haha, you're too humble. Really."
Ogata leaned forward slightly, voice more serious now.
"You probably already guessed the reason I asked you here. Since Naruto has officially been greenlit for serialization, we've got everything set—except one thing: your contract. HQ's been pushing hard, and my boss, Chief Editor Kitagawa, said I'm not allowed to go home today unless I get it signed!"
Ogata laughed, but his eyes showed he wasn't entirely joking. "So, Sensei, would you prefer to go over the contract after lunch? Or shall we do it now?"
"Let's do it now. Business first, meal second—makes the food taste better. After all, chances to eat like this don't come every day."
"You really have a sense of humor, Sensei. Alright, here's the contract—two copies. If everything looks good, all you need to do is sign. Oh, and one thing: do you want to publish under your real name, or use a pen name?"
Ogata pulled out a thick stack of documents from his briefcase and handed them over.
"My real name's fine. Too lazy to come up with a pen name."
Akira flipped through the pages casually. He wasn't a lawyer, and these kinds of contracts were dense and hard to read. Still, this was just a formality to him.
"I'm sure you've heard about the exclusive contract terms…"
In the past, manga artists could serialize in multiple magazines at once. But Shueisha had long adopted exclusivity clauses: once you sign with them, you can't publish anywhere else. Unfair? Maybe. But with Weekly Shōnen JUMP's industry clout, authors were still lining up to sign.
"Yeah, I know… The signature goes here, right?"
"Right here, yes. Are you sure you don't want to read the fine print?"
"No need. This is a country governed by law. If there's anything truly unreasonable in there, it won't hold up in court anyway."
With that, Akira pulled out his fountain pen and, with a flourish, signed both copies.
One copy for each party. Ogata finally relaxed—his mission was accomplished.
"After I get back, I'll email you a simpler breakdown of the revenue sharing and contractual details—same as what we send to all serialized authors. From today onward, I'll be your dedicated editor. You can come to me for anything. And, well… I'll also be in charge of nagging you for manuscripts."
Ogata scratched his balding head and laughed.
"Then I guess you've got it easy. I never miss deadlines."
Hell, with everything already mapped out in his head, what was there to delay?
With the contract out of the way, the two finally turned their attention to the exquisite dishes laid out before them. And with nothing left hanging in the air, the meal turned out to be an unreserved success.