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"By the way, brother, when are you going to submit your manuscript?"
Yuiga Mizuki pursed her soft pink lips, a hint of anticipation shining in her eyes.
She hadn't felt this way for a long time. For the past few years, her life had felt like being trapped in a stagnant, dark pool of water. But now, she could feel a ripple of excitement again.
Ryuo Tenshin thought for a moment.
There were several ways to submit a manuscript. For example, entering one of the recent newcomer awards. Or, if you had the connections, you could hand it directly to a publishing editor. You could also mail it in.
Another route was through bookstores. Publishing house editors often visited to check sales trends, and if you knew someone in the store, you could get your manuscript passed along.
Of course, none of these methods were as potentially rewarding as winning a newcomer award.
The Dengeki Bunko Newcomer Award, for example, offered not only the usual publishing royalties but also a substantial prize. The rewards were far better than what came from a regular submission. Naturally, that meant fierce competition every year.
"Your lie in April" was originally a Kodansha work, and Kodansha also had a light novel division. In terms of style, the manuscript matched perfectly. It should have the best chance there.
"I'm planning to submit for the Dengeki Bunko Newcomer Award," Ryuo said with confidence.
It was the most famous newcomer award in the industry, with the highest prize money—naturally, the competition was brutal. But Your lie in april wasn't just another run-of-the-mill, disposable isekai or sugary rom-com.
As a masterpiece in its original manga form,Your lie in April had sold over four million copies across eleven volumes. The TV anime and movie adaptation had brought countless viewers to tears, becoming a gateway into anime for many.
Even Eiichiro Oda, the author of One Piece, once admitted in an interview that the work he was most jealous of was Your Lie in April.
The reason?
"Your lie in april" not only had masterful plot and structure but could also convey the sound of music through the stillness of manga panels. That, Oda said, was truly remarkable.
Leaving aside the tragic ending, Naoshi Arakawa's storytelling was exceptional—elegant yet deeply emotional. The work had been hailed online as a masterpiece, and even though Dengeki Bunko usually leaned toward fantasy, sci-fi, and adventure, Ryuo believed his manuscript had a shot.
"Even if it doesn't win the grand prize or gold," he thought, "I can at least aim for bronze or silver."
Dengeki Bunko's lineup was diverse. While fantasy titles like Sword Art Online, A Certain Magical Index, and Shakugan no Shana often topped sales, school romance hits like Toradora! and Oreimo had also made their mark.
"That's decided, then," Ryuo concluded.
The first six and a half volumes of Your lies in april were structurally complete, and the word count fit the award's requirements.
In the first volume, Kousei Arima finally broke free from his mother's "curse" during a music competition after two years of struggle. He showcased his talent once again, winning the applause of the crowd and the tears of his friends.
Ryuo planned to submit just that first half. To hint at the story beyond, he would include a small Easter egg at the end—introducing Ari Nagi, the "samurai's sister," and showing an invitation to another piano competition.
Hook the readers first, then let the second volume hit them hard with the emotional weight.
They'd be crying and complaining while he'd be collecting manuscript fees with a smile.
Those fees, of course, would go toward practical things—like paying his little sister Yatsuki's kindergarten tuition. Maybe buying Mizuki a new set of underwear, pajamas, and a school uniform. If there was enough left, perhaps he could finally replace their cramped bathtub.
Ah… money… I need money so badly.
The thought made Ryuo's chest tighten with anxiety.
---
While Mizuki and Kawasaki Saki continued reading the manuscript, Ryuo quietly filled out the contest registration form. It was already late at night, and they all had school tomorrow.
After walking Kawasaki Saki to the door, she suddenly said she wanted to go for a stroll.
Ryuo considered it. They were in Tokyo, in a familiar neighborhood. There were no suspicious figures—no Shinigami-grade elementary school detectives lurking about.
He glanced at Saki, who was wearing a light nightgown, and walked with her along the inside of the road for safety. She smelled faintly of shampoo, the fresh scent from her recent shower lingering in the warm night air.
The streets were quieter than usual, but the izakayas still had their share of noisy drunkards.
Unlike the proud boasts of the bubble era—when someone might drunkenly claim Tokyo could buy out the entire U.S.—now the intoxicated muttered complaints about the prime minister or slumped alone on the curb, clutching cheap bottles of sake.
Not far away, some middle-aged men sat in the park, briefcases by their sides, not yet ready to face their families after losing their jobs. In the morning they had left as if going to work; in the evening, they still pretended to be "working overtime."
Such sights had become common since the bubble burst.
One silver lining to the economic downturn, however, was the boom in Tokyo's street-stall culture. By six in the evening, vendors lined the streets—even near their neighborhood—selling all kinds of food.
"Hey, Saki, do you have any money? I'm getting a bit hungry," Ryuo asked shamelessly.
"I've got 500 yen… I was going to buy a hairband," she replied.
Remembering how Ryuo often looked out for her, she handed him the coin without hesitation.
"Perfect."
Ryuo bought a small portion of takoyaki and a German sausage from vendors he knew. He even helped himself to a lemonade, courtesy of their neighbor.
Saki didn't usually eat at night to maintain her figure, but she helped by holding the drink and sausage while occasionally feeding him a bite of takoyaki with a mock-annoyed roll of her eyes.
"Kawasaki-san?"
A surprised voice suddenly came from the side. A boy was approaching quickly.