Aoki kicked off her shoes the moment she got home, slumping onto the floor by her desk. Her eyes immediately darted toward it. The fountain pen wasn't there.
She raised her head and checked again. It still wasn't there.
She stood up quickly, pushing her chair aside. The pen had been right there on the table. She remembered placing it down when she was done drawing the night before. Her hand had been cramping after inking the final page of The Flower of Margaria, and she was too tired to even put it back in the case. It hadn't left the room and she was sure of it.
But now? Now it was just… gone.
She tore through drawers, lifted her art books, flipped the mattress, even checked the fridge on impulse. Nothing. She couldn't even find the case.
She bit her lip. That pen wasn't just smooth—it was like it moved ahead of her, inking as if it knew what she was thinking. She picked up regular G-pen, but felt it like a twig in comparison.
Her phone buzzed, interrupting her downward spiral.
She wiped her hands on her shorts and picked up.
"Hello?" she said, trying to sound casual.
"Aoki," Takeru said, his voice tight. "I showed your Flower of Margaria draft to some of the other editors."
Her heart stopped.
"And what did they think?"
"They loved it," he said quickly. "Everyone agreed on the fact that you're still one of the best we have and you still got that fire burning in you."
She sat back down gently. "So, now what?"
"Well, we're going to submit it to NEXT STAR," he said confidently.
"NEXT STAR?"
Takeru's voice came through casual, but teasing. "Wow. Three serializations and you forget how NEXT STAR works?"
Aoki scoffed, still digging through her drawer for the missing fountain pen. "I didn't forget. I just didn't think mine would end up there."
"It's where we spotlight potential," he said. "Editors pitch standout one-shots, readers vote weekly, and stores report feedback. It's fast, public, and if something hits hard... we push for serialization."
She paused, heart ticking faster. "And mine… hit hard?"
"Yeah," Takeru replied, scratching his head like he knew she'd react that way. "You know how it works. One-shots get thrown into the fire, reader votes, store surveys, online buzz — all that pressure in just one week."
Aoki leaned against her desk. "I started there. You really think it's still the right fit?"
"You shined there," he said, his voice steady. "That ranking chart—it's not just for rookies. Even seasoned artists go back to it to test something bold. And this one? Margaria hit different. You know it."
She paused, eyes on her discarded storyboard.
"Besides," Takeru added, "NEXT STAR isn't just a foot in the door anymore. Editors watch it closer than ever. If it makes waves, it opens doors fast. Like… next-serialization-meeting fast."
Aoki bit her lip. She remembered when her first and second debut one-shot ranked #7, and the third was #5 in that very same section.
"Plus, draw a new name for Saint ♰ Rewind end, fusing the remaining chapters. Just in case. Bye."
"Okay sir," she said as she hung up.
When the call ended, she stared at the blank manuscript for Saint ♰ Rewind on her desk. Her old G-pen lay beside it, feeling heavier than ever.
She picked it up anyway and started sketching the new name for Chapter 22. Even if it wasn't as effortless as the fountain pen, she needed to prove something to herself. That she was the one drawing these stories—not just some mysterious pen.
But even as she sketched, part of her still wondered—where had that pen gone?
______
One Week Later.
The air outside was crisp as she zipped her hoodie and headed out, both names safely tucked in her portfolio. Her neighborhood convenience store was still putting up the new issue of Shōnen Black. She waited at the counter, heart pounding.
The NEXT STAR page was always near the front. Itprinted in bold silver text across a black strip, like a badge of honor. She thumbed through quickly.
There it was.
#1 — The Flower of Margaria by Aoki Itsumi.
She froze on seeing it.
Right under it, a short reader comment box read:
~"Tragic and beautiful. I didn't expect a story about a dying florist to move me this much.
~"Those expressions… that panel on page 17 hit like a truck."
~"This art is too good to be through, I hope it gets serialized like Blade Ceremony.
She was a bit pissed by the mentioning of Blade Ceremony because it was Saroshi's but the joy she felt felt too good.
Her knees buckled, and the clerk gave her a strange look as she stood frozen, mouth open, before bolting out without buying anything.
She quickly took a bus to the HQ. The moment she pushed open the door, Takeru turned from the elevator, phone in hand.
He blinked. "I was just about to call you!"
She held up the magazine, the ranking circled in red.
Takeru smiled. "I told you I had a feeling."
From the hallway, Kana stepped out of her cubicle. "So you're the one who took the top spot this week," she said, arms crossed and grin wide. "Guess I owe Hikaru lunch."
Speak of the devil—Hikaru Nitta leaned over from his corner desk. "Next time warn me before you drop something that heavy. I was emotionally unprepared."
She gave a small bow, flustered.
"Let's just hope Satoshi doesn't see this," Kana added. "He'll burst a blood vessel."
"He already has," Hikaru said, smirking. "I think he's redrafting his manuscript."
Takeru tapped her gently on the shoulder and led her toward the conference room.
"Now that you've got people talking," he said, "it's time to make this real. You need to submit a 3-chapter storyboard for serialization by next week and submit them to me. The serialization board meets every Thursday. I want Margaria on that table."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"You think I'm letting someone else pick you up first?" Takeru said, almost possessively. "You're with me now."
They entered the small meeting room and he shut the door behind them. The buzz of the office faded, replaced by quiet focus.
"You've got a voice," he said, "and it comes through in your pages. It's not just the plot or the characters—it's the rhythm, the panel flow, the composition. Every page was cinematic."
She felt her cheeks heat up.
"I won't be able to recreate the same flow because I lost the pen," she wanted to say, but stopped herself.
Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out her old G-pen.
"I'll make it work," she said.
Takeru smiled.
And for the first time, so did she.