At first glance, Takeda Jun focused on the manga's art style.
As a newcomer's work, he expected to find plenty of flaws he could easily tear apart.
But after flipping through a few pages, his expression gradually stiffened.
While no manga was flawless, the art in 5 Centimeters per Second was undeniably above the standard of most titles serialized in Sakura-iro Weekly, perhaps even far beyond it.
Unwilling to concede, Takeda kept reading.
Like always, he skimmed quickly, but skimming didn't mean he wasn't absorbing anything.
Years of professional experience had trained him to read fast and accurately.
Within moments, he understood the flow of the chapter.
After turning twenty-something pages…
He reached the scene where Takaki, while switching trains, accidentally pulled out the handwritten letter he meant to give Akari, only for it to be blown away by the howling wind.
And when Takaki bowed his head and cried on the empty train platform, the emotions built up across the earlier pages finally exploded.
'This level of immersion… from a new artist?'
Takeda's eyes filled with disbelief.
It was true that the plot so far wasn't filled with dramatic twists.
Makoto Shinkai's early works never relied on complicated plots.5 Centimeters per Second could be summarized in a single line:
A story of childhood sweethearts slowly drifting apart under the weight of time and distance.
Hundreds, thousands, of romance manga in Japan tackled similar themes.
But the experience of reading 5 Centimeters per Second, the delicate details and emotional layering, was completely different from ordinary works.
As he read further, he saw the scene of young Akari waiting alone in the empty station lobby, head lowered, trembling anxiously until late at night.
Something in Takeda's chest tightened.
He was in his thirties. He had lived through several unforgettable relationships.
For students who had never been in love, the story would feel painful and suffocating.
For adults who had been in love…
It was painful too, but also nostalgic, bittersweet, and achingly beautiful.
Like the tears that fell on Akari's hand as she clutched Takaki's sleeve.
There were no words in that panel, but her feelings were unmistakable:
The fear that he wouldn't come. The dread that a year of exchanged letters was about to end.
The sinking realization that this missed meeting could be their last chance.
But when he arrived, those fears melted into relief, warmth, and joy.
Those tears must have been burning hot.
A nighttime walk.
Bare branches sparkling under falling snow, appearing like cherry blossoms drifting in spring.
A perfect echo of their promise to see the cherry blossoms together again next year.
A kiss beneath snowlit sakura.
Later, at the station, as the train pulled away, Akari reached into her pocket and pulled out her own undelivered letter.
At that moment, Takeda felt something click.
The boy lost his letter. The girl never delivered hers.
What was the author implying?
'If neither letter reached its destination… what would have changed?If they had exchanged them, would the future have been different?'
He turned the page.
The second chapter, "The Astronaut," used the launch of a space probe as a metaphor for life, loneliness, isolation.
Even if one traveled impossibly far into the universe, it was still nearly impossible to touch even a single hydrogen atom.
Kanae's confession ended before it could even begin.
Knowing their relationship was impossible, she and Takaki watched the rocket ascend into the cold night sky.
That rocket was about to embark on its loneliest journey.
And what about Kanae and Takaki?
Jun Takeda's emotions churned violently.
He forgot entirely about competing with Misaki. He simply kept turning pages, unable to stop himself.
A quiet anticipation stirred within Takeda Jun.
If even Kanae couldn't enter Takaki's heart, then surely someday, Takaki would seek out Akari again.
A girl like her… unforgettable to the point of pain.
No matter how many years passed, wouldn't he one day want to see her again?
Holding onto that hope, Takeda turned to the third chapter.
This section focused heavily on the inner reflections of the two protagonists.
Both had forgotten the details of that meeting more than ten years ago.
Yet each of them, in their own lives, dreamed of blurry scenes… shadows of emotions once so fierce they had carved themselves deep inside their hearts.
And then, Takeda reached the moment where Takaki and Akari walked toward each other from opposite sides of the railway tracks, cherry blossoms drifting in the wind.
But in the final, frozen moment, a train rushed past.
The other side of the tracks was empty.
Jun Takeda's face remained neutral, but inside, a deep, indescribable sadness spread through him.
He looked around at the other editors. He wanted to say something, to criticize, to dismiss the manga. But every word he had prepared died in his throat.
What was the point of saying anything?
Everyone here had a trained eye. They could see the truth just as clearly as he did.
The heavy silence in the room, the subdued, reflective expressions on the editors' faces…The way several of them gazed at the pages with a faint melancholy.
All of it revealed the same thing:
This short manga had hit them hard.
"Alright, everyone may begin commenting," Director Moriyama Kaito finally said.
He paused, then looked at Misaki.
"The creator of this short story… they're a newcomer?"
"That's right. Still a high school student," Misaki replied.
A small ripple ran through the room.
Everyone knew that in the past two years, the company had begun supporting exceptionally young manga creators.
This was because several rival publishers had found surprising success promoting college-aged manga artists, branding them as "genius prodigies," which drove sales sky-high regardless of literary depth.
Moriyama considered this carefully. Then, with a small gesture, he signaled the editors to begin discussion.
"Impressive."
"I think it's very well done."
"It's just that the ending is too sad. It might not match the usual tone of Sakura-iro Weekly," Takeda tried to argue.
But before Misaki could even respond, several editors countered immediately.
"There have been plenty of serialized romances with bittersweet endings. It's not a problem."
"Exactly. The 'second-female-lead wins' trope has been common for years. No need to restrict ourselves."
"Even though it's short, the ending is emotionally powerful. And the artwork is exceptional."
"I agree. It really moved me. It reminded me of things I had nearly forgotten."