MUSTAFU, JAPAN
WEDNESDAY— End of School Period
Ken leaned against the classroom window as the final bell rang, sunlight slanting through the dusty glass and painting golden streaks across his desk. Students burst into motion with the usual clatter of chairs, slamming of textbooks, and the excited chatter of weekend plans.
But Ken didn't move.
He stared out at the school courtyard below, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded in thought.
Ken's POV:
It had been a Two and a half months since the "Bakugo Incident," as people had quietly taken to calling it. The first week afterward was a circus—rumors spreading, students whispering like they were in some slice-of-life anime arc, speculating what exactly my Quirk was, my relationship with Bakugo and the result of the fight in general.
As an old friend of Bakugo, Izuku became famous for a day or two as people hounded him, asking questions.
But like most high school drama, the hype died out quickly. Turns out teenagers have the attention span of a goldfish in caffeine withdrawal.
Bakugo himself had been... quiet.
Surprisingly so.
No explosions, no barking in the halls, no brash call for a rematch after his confidence returned extremely inflated. I was very much expecting the last part, but no.
The death glares in my direction whenever we passed each other was still there though.
He wouldn't say anything. Just a sort of simmering silence, like a volcano choosing not to erupt.
Looks like he was stewing. My take, he probably figured there was no point in challenging me with his current strength, or he was waiting till it actually mattered. U.A, or maybe both. With Katsuki Bakugo, you never know.
The rest of class life went on.
Junior High was surprisingly enjoyable.
Turns out, being older, powerful and more capable in ... Well, almost everything meant that even if you didn't go out and hang a lot, you were very popular.
I had been roped into after school basketball Matches more than once. My team winning every time of course. It couldn't be helped.
My 'natural athleticism' was just too hardcore. People always complained that My powers gave an unfair advantage to whichever team I was on.
Please, you're all using your Quirks yourself. It's not my fault I can't turn my strength off.
"Yo, Takumi!" one of the guys from class, Kondo maybe? leaned over with a grin. "Arcade today? We're finally dragging Bakugo into Tekken 8. You in?"
Huh? Does he know I will be invited?
Guy might lose his cool if he did.
Of course, it's not like we hadn't spoken to each other. He had been on the opposing team most times when I was free to play basketball. Well, I was the one doing the talking.
He was mostly yelling at his teammates.
"Rain check. Got plans."
"Again? Bro, you're always ghosting," the guy laughed, not pushing further as he turned to leave with the others.
I smiled a bit. I appreciated the attention, really. But I really did have somewhere important to be.
Boy hangouts weren't the only things that had gotten included in my life.
Love letters were apparently another.
Yep, you heard me right.
Not gonna lie, they were a surprise, though.
Not because they existed—I still looked like a goodlooking 17-year-old after all—but because some of them were surprisingly bold. One even had a lipstick mark and the words "I'll wait behind the gym." Yeah, no thanks. I had actual places to be.
I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, exiting the classroom while the others were still sorting themselves out.
"Hump." Seeing me leave, Katsuki who was surrounded by friends snorted and turned away.
---
Outside, parked near the school gates, was a silver hybrid sedan. The moment I approached, the passenger window rolled down.
"Get in, Mr. Celebrity," my mom called out with a smirk.
---
"Alright, young man," she said once I buckled my seatbelt. "Would you bother explaining this to me properly aside from just saying it's not a scam?"
She gave me a side-eye so sharp it could've sliced a tomato.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Right. So... remember when you told me not to touch another textbook for a while and do something else instead?"
"I told you to take a break, not get yourself a Job," she muttered.
I chuckled.
Basically, by now, all the results from my ATLA Manuscript had rolled in a week after I received that confirmation email.
Out of the seven, Five responded.
Two were generic rejection emails.
One asked if I would be willing to collaborate with an in-house editor but offered garbage royalties and zero upfront.
One—SunSpear Publishing—replied that they thought my work was truly promising but weren't ready to take the risk of a novice author with a premise that greatly drifted away from the current ones.
In short, they recommended me one of their websites and told me to go the old fashioned way, posting chapters and to call again once my book had a certain standing.
This was harder than I thought.
Thankfully, one went through saying they were extremely interested. They requested a virtual meeting, sent sample contracts, and laid out the most promising deal of the bunch.
Their offer? A 7% royalty on physical and ebook sales, potential manga adaptation under a sister company, and an upfront signing bonus.
All under the condition that I remain anonymous for the first volume's release.
Which suited me perfectly.
Back in the car, I told Mom most of that—leaving out the part where I basically plagiarized another universe material.
"So we're going to meet the Everblue Press rep in person?" she asked.
"Yeah. A Junior editor named Hoshino Aya. She wants to do the final signing face-to-face."
She shook her head in disbelief, smiling. "Seventeen years old and already attending business meetings. I feel like I should've brought a lawyer."
"We don't need one. I went through the contract in detail. Twice. Plus, I cross-checked everything against three legal resource sites."
She gave me a long look. "You really did your homework."
"Photographic memory. I got it all from you. Give me a year and I can become the greatest lawyer/Novelist/Hero you ever did see."
---
EVERBLUE LITERARY PRESS — LATER
Everblue's regional office sat on the eighth floor of a nondescript corporate building in downtown Mustafu. The lobby smelled like printer ink and citrus air freshener.
My mother and I were led to a sleek meeting room with wide windows and a small tea set already waiting.
Then she entered.
Aya Hoshino, tailored suit, tablet in hand, she looked young. Late twenties maybe, slightly tired eyes, red hair, an blue skin. My eyes widened a bit.
Raven, is that you?
Probably not. She greeted us with a polite bow and a brisk smile.
"Takumi-san. Thank you for coming."
"And Akira-san, we appreciate your time. It's rare to meet the guardian of such a mysterious author."
Mom blinked. "Still can't believe I'm not here for a school suspension."
We all laughed. Even I cracked a smile, albeit with a throbbing vein almost unnoticeable.
We sat. The paperwork was already on the table.
Aya scrolled through her tablet. "I wanted to go over a few more things before finalizing the paperwork. Our legal team has approved your pen name registration. Your manuscript passed the editorial board last Thursday. Once again, thanks for making the time. I'll be brief and honest. We didn't expect to like your manuscript. Most unsolicited fantasy submissions are... let's say, ambitious."
"I can imagine," I said with a chuckle.
"Indeed. Fantasy stories do not usually perform as well as hero-centric ones in this Quirk Age. But... your story is something else."
She looked at me
"A story with no powers. No heroes. No Quirk systems. And yet — real characters. Deep themes. War. Loss. Growth. That's rare. The prose flows well, the character voices are distinct, and most importantly—it feels like a full world. The Bending system, the mythology, the pacing... It's rough, risky sure, but it's publishable with work."
Akira raised a brow. "So... how rare and how risky?"
Aya smiled. "Let's just say our marketing team is already arguing over how best to position it. It won't be sold as a power fantasy. We're aiming literary fantasy meets coming-of-age. And we're betting it hits hard."
I didn't smile, but I nodded slowly. Calm on the outside. Screaming inside.
She continued. "That being said, we have a few hurdles. You're an untested writer. We typically reserve fantasy publication for authors who've either serialized online or published short fiction. You have no prior work?"
"No," I said honestly. "This is my debut."
She clicked her tongue thoughtfully. "You're making this hard for me, Takumi-san."
Then she smiled.
"But I want to back this. I think the structure could work well as a three-volume release or a 24-chapter web serialization through our digital imprint. We'd start with Book One, of course. If response is positive, the other arcs follow."
"What are the terms?" I asked.
She handed over a slim folder. Inside: the contract.
---
They offered:
Initial digital serialization, weekly chapters (split from the full manuscript).
Fixed advance: modest, but more than I expected for a rookie.
Revenue share for digital and print sales (with bonuses based on performance).
Creative control, but with editorial oversight—mostly to tighten descriptions and adjust for local cultural references.
They also wanted me to submit concept art for the cover and major characters. I'd either need to draw or approve a contracted artist.
I skimmed the contents once, twice, thrice. My enhanced perception slowing down everything around me to achieve bullet time while I went through over and over my analysis went I over each word, looking for potential contract loopholes while my photographic memory matched thus to all other contracts I had researched online.
These terms ... They were good shit.
I nodded.
Aya leaned forward. "If you're comfortable with the advance, sign here."
I passed the pen to my mom, which was 90% of the reason she was here. I couldn't sign this by myself. Japanese law stated that I was still a Minor until I turned eighteen which wasn't for another Ten months.
She signed.
Too easily, showing her trust in me.
It warmed me heart (My best Mr Krabs Impression).
I took the book and put my name on it as well. Co-signed.
"Wonderful." Aya tapped a final line on her tablet, then reached into the slim folder beside her.
"Well then, Takumi-san. Akira-san. That concludes our contract signing."
She slid a small envelope across the table toward us, crisp and white with the Everblue logo stamped in silver foil.
"This contains your signing bonus. A total of ¥1.5 million. Consider it an investment in your future brilliance."
My mom blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…I'm sorry, what?"
"One-point-five million yen," Aya said, as if repeating a weather forecast. "It will be transferred to your designated account as soon as you provide banking details. This is just the notice."
Mom slowly picked up the envelope and peeked inside. There was a breakdown slip, cleanly printed: Advance for Publication Rights: Volume 1.
"This is more than I earned my first year as a doctor," she muttered, staring like she'd just been handed a black-market organ.
Aya chuckled. "It's industry standard for promising new properties. Slightly elevated due to certain considerations."
My mom turned slowly to me. "How many words did you *write* to earn this much again?"
"About a hundred and twenty thousand."
I scratched my cheek. "Yeah. Publishing's wild."
"Right" she muttered. Carrying an expression that seemed she was still wondering whether this was a scam.
"Alright then. With that all sorted, we'll begin preparations for serialization immediately. Welcome aboard. We'll be in touch next week to begin editorial revisions. Please enjoy the rest of your day."
"Thank you so much. It's been a pleasure." Mom said, rising from her seat. I did the same while hiding the twitch of a triumphant grin.
Let's go!!!!!!
___
### LATER – THE BANK, DOWNTOWN MUSTAFU– 40 MINUTES LATER
Let's go!!!!! ..... To The Bank apparently.
The automatic doors hissed open as the mother-son duo stepped into Seigi First Bank. Air-conditioned chill. Muted elevator music. The unmistakable scent of bureaucracy and patience
"Why do banks *always* smell like photocopy paper and adult responsibility?" I muttered.
"Because that's exactly what you're here for," Mom replied, dragging me toward the reception desk like a woman on a mission. "Congratulations. You're now a working citizen."
"I thought this part would be cool. It's... weird."
"Oh, please. You just cashed a check worth more than my first year of internship. You'll live."
We reached the counter. A polite woman in her thirties, bowing at a perfect 30-degree angle, greeted them.
"Welcome to Seigi First Bank. How may we help you today?"
Akira smiled. "My son would like to open a savings account. And maybe something a little more business-oriented. He's, um... a published writer now."
I gave a small wave. "Hi. I make words turn into money."
The clerk paused. Blinked. "Ah. Congratulations, young sir. Do you have your ID, school card, and the guardian form ready?"
"All in the folder," I said, pulling out a neatly organized document pouch. My mother gave him a side-eye. "What? I researched the process."
---
### FORTY MORE MINUTES LATER (Best Spongebob SquarePants Reporter Impression I can muster)
I scribbled my signature onto a final form and slid it over.
"And... done," said the clerk. She smiled and handed me a fresh bankbook. "Congratulations, your accounts are now active."
I held the passbook up like it was a rare trading card. "Does this mean I'm officially part of the capitalist machine now?"
For that, I received a good old snack to the noggin.
"Ow."
"Behave. You're legally handling money now. That means taxes."
'..... ????'
Hold on ... What?
My Face dropped. "Wait. 'Taxes'?" Eyes going wide.
Mom just smiled sweetly. "Welcome to adulthood, baby."
I was speechless for a moment before groaning. Death and Taxes. Two things no man can escape from. But to think my hard earned money would go into the hands of a bunch of fat, greedy people as "Tax". People who didn't move an inch yet managed to legally pull such an elaborate scheme off by calling themselves "The Government"
Seriously?
I ran a hand through my hair, eyes narrowing into slits.
'No matter. It seems I must take on another mentor to handle this new burden. Eccentric billionaire Elon Musk Template. And if that can't be accomplished, I guess I'll just have to go full on Red Hood mode and ...'
SMACK!
"Ow!"
I yelled as another smack landed on my head.
"What the hell was that for?" I asked, distancing myself from my mom who was observing me with narrowed eyes and a sweet smile.
"Nothing sweetie. You just looked like you were thinking of doing something illegal."
Me: "???"
"The account is linked to your digital wallet, and you'll receive your physical card within 7–10 business days. Do you want to set up notifications for large incoming deposits?"
The clerk added at that moment.
"Yes," Mom said before I could speak. "Absolutely. Without question."
"Yes mam."
I raised a brow. "You don't trust me?"
"I don't trust the world," she said. "Also you once ate two tubs of ice cream in one night and blamed it on 'metabolism training.' You can be tempted."
".... Touche."
---
Ken's POV:
So yeah.
First manuscript. First contract. First signing bonus.
Not bad for one afternoon.
But this... this was just the beginning.
I had a hundred more stories to tell and a world finally ready to hear them.
Well, I definitely can't put all of em out there, but it's a start I guess.
____
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