At nine o'clock in the morning, in the largest conference room of the Hoshimori Publishing Group Editorial Division, the curtains were drawn, and the room glowed softly under warm lighting.
In the center stood a huge, aging oval wooden table that had clearly seen better days. Surrounding it were thirteen equally old wooden chairs.
Beside each chair was a tall stack of photocopied manga manuscripts submitted for review.
Large publishing companies tended to indulge their mid- and senior-level staff with such sentimental artifacts, nostalgic relics from the company's early days, like the founder's ashtray, a retired typesetting tool, or, in this case, the old round table of the editorial department. It had been used for nearly thirty years and had witnessed the rise and fall of hundreds of manga serialized in Hoshimori Comic.
Though outdated and inconvenient, no one dared suggest replacing it.
Even Han, the Editor-in-Chief, found that the cramped wooden chair pressed uncomfortably against his hips. But he endured it. If he showed even the slightest unwillingness to sit there, countless people beneath him would be eager to take his place.
Han glanced at the people seated below.
The seven directors of the editorial division were all present:
Moriyama Kaito, Director of Sakura-iro Weekly
Shidō Ryōichirō, Director of Mirage Weekly
Ichinose Kei, Director of Ametsukage Weekly
Along with five veteran "gold-tier" editors of Hoshimori group, each with many years of distinguished performance.
Including Han himself, these thirteen individuals made up the attendees of this serialization meeting.
Unlike the serialization meetings of other magazines, the editors directly responsible for the submitted works were not allowed to attend.
No one in the room could have any professional or personal ties with the authors whose manga were up for consideration.
The meeting followed a voting system: after reading the plot of each submitted manga, attendees could cast a vote of support or choose to abstain.
There was no "reject" button.
Each vote was worth one point, while Editor-in-Chief Han's vote was worth three.
At the end, the manga with the highest total score would be selected for serialization in Dream Comic. If multiple works were tied, the manga supported by Han would win.
If Han supported all tied entries, then the final choice was entirely his.
In other words, a manga could theoretically receive a maximum total of 15 points, twelve from the other attendees, plus Han's three.
Han held considerable authority, but even he could not completely dictate a work's fate.
"The meeting will begin," Han announced, his calm voice steady.
The first manuscript opened was a horror-thriller titled "Jurei Paradise" (Cursed Spirit Paradise).
Its author, Yuasa Fumiki, had previously serialized a horror manga in Monogatari Comic, one of the six major national magazines. Though it was eventually cancelled due to overly grotesque content and low weekly rankings, its tankōbon had still averaged 1.4 million copies sold per volume, marking him as a creator with notable past achievements.
Now, with his new work on the table, the editors' expressions naturally grew serious.
There was always a clear gap between seasoned manga artists and newcomers, better plots, cleaner art, richer detail, tighter dialogue, and these factors often created overwhelming advantages.
And Yuasa's new manga was indeed interesting.
Five minutes later, Han gently reminded everyone, and the editors returned to focus.
"It's somewhat interesting, but nothing exceptional," Shidō commented first.
"The horror market is already small," said Hayama Akito, one of the senior editors. "And we're already serializing a horror series in Dream Comic. Wouldn't readers experience fatigue if we ran two at the same time?"
"I actually think it's quite good," another editor countered. "Horror fans may be few, but their loyalty is incredibly strong."
"But the merchandise won't sell," someone else protested. "And horror series barely make money once adapted into anime."
Within moments, the room had turned into a lively debate.
The argument lasted barely a minute before Han spoke again.
"You may vote now."
At once, all attendees pressed a button on the information devices beside them.
Only two options existed:
Support
Abstain
There was no button for opposition.
In the past, the editors collected paper forms and counted votes manually, but in the modern era, no one wanted to waste that kind of manpower. Everyone preferred relying on technology.
Soon, the voting results for "Cursed Spirit Paradise" were projected onto the screen behind Han Esumi.
Four votes.
Out of thirteen people, only four supported the manga.
No one commented after seeing the number.
Four votes meant that the chances of the manga passing the serialization meeting were essentially zero.
Normally, a work needed at least eight votes to secure a serialization slot, and anything above eleven votes was considered stable.
As for a manga receiving unanimous approval… that happened maybe once every several years.
It was nearly impossible for a single work to match everyone's taste. Even if its plot and art were solid, there would always be people who disliked certain genres by default.
Soon, the second submission, a fantasy-romance titled "Shadow of the Mermaid," received seven votes.
The third manuscript, a battle-shounen inspired by traditional Eastern folklore received five votes.
One after another, the works followed the same pattern: five minutes to read the first three chapters, one to two minutes of discussion, and one minute to vote.
The goal was to keep the review time for each work under eight minutes.
Even so, with a total of nineteen submissions, finishing in less than three to four hours was impossible.
And although the physical effort required was minimal, the mental strain was enormous, intense reading, intense discussion, and constant critical evaluation. In terms of cognitive load, it was comparable to taking a college entrance exam.
An hour and a half later, everyone already looked exhausted.
Then, a new manuscript appeared before them, this one noticeably thicker.
The title was "0.01 Second Heartbeat."
It was the comeback work of the renowned romance-sports mangaka Aoi, her first new series in two years. Her previous manga had achieved an average tankōbon sales of 3.2 million copies per volume, with cumulative sales exceeding 70 million.
While this was not record-breaking in the history of the Japanese manga industry, it was an exceptional achievement within the romance genre.
This new manuscript centered around sprinting as the main theme, paired with a romance subplot.
After reading the three chapters, several editors visibly brightened.
Reading too many battle, horror, or psychological stories had worn everyone out. This refreshing, emotionally warm story instantly cleared their minds.
"Interesting… the art style is really good."
"The title is clever too, it hints both at sprint racing and the boy's quickened heartbeat when interacting with his senior."
"I like it. Aoi has a strong track record. None of her previous three manga were ever cancelled or ended poorly, and she has an excellent reputation among readers."
"And track-and-field themes sell well too…"
Once the group stumbled upon a manga they genuinely enjoyed, conversation naturally opened up. Every person in the room was a seasoned professional with more than a decade of experience.
The ceiling for this manga might not be incredibly high, but its floor was unquestionably solid. At worst, it would land in the mid-tier of the magazine's rankings after serialization.
When the voting results came out, the outcome was exactly as expected:
12 points.
Because Han also supported it.
"All right, next," Han Esumi said.
A thick stack of manuscripts was handed out next.
"Hikaru no Go?" Han's eyes narrowed.
As Editor-in-Chief, he naturally knew all the submissions in advance, including the one from the genius young manga artist Rei Kirishima, who had recently caught his attention.
A Go-themed manga.
Hikaru no Go.
He sighed silently to himself.
Go was an extremely niche theme. The group of veteran editors sitting beneath him would undoubtedly evaluate it with extra harshness.
With the exact same plot, if Go were replaced with shōgi or chess, the manga might receive ten votes.
But with Go? It might struggle to get six.
Moreover, he personally didn't understand the game. And among the thirteen attendees in the room, only two senior editors actually knew how to play.
Those two often played Go together during lunch breaks at the company, but the rest of the editorial staff had no interest in even watching.
This was the inherent barrier of Go: it was simply too hard to learn.
"Let's read it first…"
Han opened the pages of Hikaru no Go.
Everyone else in the room opened their photocopied manuscripts as well.
The two editors who understood Go immediately perked up at the theme. They exchanged glances, their expressions turning serious in an instant.
Good lord, after twenty years as editors, this was the first time they had ever seen a Go-themed manga submitted to one of the six major magazines.
As for the others, they frowned at first.
But soon, all distracting thoughts in the room faded away.
Sai, the ancient Go master bound to the Go board.
His encounter with the protagonist, Hikaru Shindō.
Hikaru being dragged to a Go club and meeting the genius young player Akira Tōya.
Hikaru, who knew nothing about Go, who even picked up stones incorrectly with his index finger and thumb, defeated Akira under Sai's unseen guidance.
Guided play…
After finishing the first chapter, everyone quickly turned to the second.
The second chapter served as a setup.
But they still read it with great focus.
This chapter introduced crucial characters: the modern Go legend Koyo Tōya, and his disciple Ogata.
During a children's Go event, Hikaru caught the attention of both men due to a strange problem in his game. Near the end of the chapter, Akira Tōya, who had been desperately searching for Hikaru since losing to him, finally found him again…
Then came chapter three.
Because of Hikaru's arrogant claims, believing that with Sai's help, he could casually win world championships among professionals and achieve financial freedom, Akira overheard him.
For someone like Akira, who had loved and revered Go since childhood, such arrogance was unforgivable.
The two boys began their second match.
But this time "…Sigh."
One of the two Go-knowing editors let out a pained breath.
He deeply empathized with Akira Tōya.
A boy who had trained relentlessly from childhood, taking his father Koyo Tōya as his role model. A boy aiming to become a top professional. A boy who, even at twelve, already had the strength to challenge adult pros…
Yet the first boy to ever give him a proper, soul-crushing guided game, was Hikaru Shindō.
In the second match, Akira pushed with all his might, trying to force Hikaru's true ability out. In response, Sai, moved by Akira's determination, played at full strength, crushing him completely and shattering his spirit.
The harsh reality of Go burned through every page of the third chapter.
When the editors looked at Akira kneeling before the Go board, tears falling after his defeat, the devotion and reverence for Go portrayed in the manga seemed to pass directly into their own hearts.
When they finally came back to their senses…
The five-minute reading limit had long passed.
It had taken nearly nine minutes to finish just the first three chapters, and not one of the thirteen editors had noticed.
They were completely absorbed.
Even Han, who didn't understand Go at all, found himself reading with deep concentration.
He glanced around the table.
The two Go-knowing editors were still studying the record of moves, admiration written all over their faces.
They could fully appreciate the exquisiteness of Sai's play.
As for the others, every single one of them was lost in thought.
"I don't think it will work. A Go manga is far too niche," said Shidō , one of the editorial directors.