The autumn wind was freezing, but it didn't give me the shivers nearly as much as that pissed-off voice screaming in my ear through my cell phone.
—I'm serious Ryuuji, don't you come trying to push more of that intellectual crap of yours on me!
I pulled the device away from my ear and let out a tired sigh. It was so cold that my breath immediately turned into vapor in front of me. On my cracked screen, the name appeared: Chief Sato.
—Right, I got it, Chief. — I replied with a voice already drained of energy, probably from having spent the entire previous night awake. —But give it a chance, come on. Taniguchi has a ton of potential, his work is a really good psychological seinen, it talks about the moral ambiguity of the modern era...
—NO ONE GIVES A DAMN ABOUT MORAL AMBIGUITY! — His scream this time was so loud that a guy in a suit gave me a dirty look. —Look at the numbers, man, you're a freelancer! You only eat when you hunt, and in the last few months, only skinny rats have fallen into your net!
I pressed my palm against my eye, frustrated and already with a headache.
—I know, Chief.
—I'm pissed, but it's because I want to help you. You've been working in this market for a while, and I know you're good, but you need to open your mind. Your only success was "PsycoLove: I Became the Protagonist of an Otome Game in Another World".
—But "PsycoLove" was intelligent and deep...
—Yeah right, but nobody cares about Hana's fatalistic madness, the audience was interested in frilly dresses, afternoon tea, reverse harems... That's what sells!
Nothing irritated me more than when Sato was right. And the old man was ALWAYS right. My empty wallet and the negative bank account practically begged me to agree with him.
—You're right, Chief, as always.
—And I hope you have an ace up your sleeve soon, son. You're on thin ice and I won't be able to keep the big bosses off your neck for much longer...
—I'm waiting for Hana right now. — I interrupted, deciding to show my ace in the hole.
On the call, only silence. Hana's name always had that effect.
—Wait, Hana? Your Hana?
—The one and only. She sent me a message yesterday saying she wanted to show me a new idea. She said something about "divine inspiration"...
Before he responded, I could see the greedy smile forming on his face, even from the other side of the city.
—Ah, my boy! Why didn't you say so sooner? Do you just like hearing me yell at you for nothing?
I laughed.
—The truth is, I just didn't want to count on it before talking to Hana.
—My boy, when she signed with the competition, she put a noose around our necks. This is your chance. If you have to, lock that woman in your basement and don't let her out without the storyboard for at least 3 chapters!
—Okay, I'll try. I have to hang up now, she just arrived.
I hung up the phone before Sato could continue telling me to prostitute other people's art. I shoved the phone into the pocket of my worn-out coat as the black sedan pulled up to the curb in front of me.
The window with black tint rolled down smoothly with an electric sound, revealing that face I knew so well.
Hana.
She was wearing a bubblegum pink dress, a white cardigan with heart-shaped buttons, and a headband with a bow so big it looked like it had jumped straight out of a shoujo manga page.
She looked at me through her round-rimmed glasses and smiled. I saw the dark circles of someone who had probably spent the night writing tragedies and listening to true-crime podcasts. The contrast was comical, but by now, I was used to it.
—Ryuuji, you look wrecked. — She said, closing the car door.
—And you look like you got lost on the way to a candy commercial shoot. — I retorted, pointing at the exaggerated colorfulness of her look. —Coffee? I'd treat you... if I had any cash.
She laughed and pointed to her car.
—Let's go, I have a place to show you, I'll show you the idea there.
I sat in the passenger seat. The interior smelled of a mix of lavender and printed paper. The smell of success.
As she maneuvered the car away from the curb and onto the avenue, curiosity got the better of me.
—So... This idea... — I looked at her, trying to glean some reading from her expression. —Tell me it's commercially viable, for the love of god. Sato won't accept anything too crazy, he wants another isekai, a villainess one if possible.
Hana drummed her slender fingers on the steering wheel, and I already knew what she was going to say.
—You know me, Ryuuji. — She turned to look at me for a second — Do you really think I'd drive all this way to show you some generic garbage just because it sells?
—For the love of god, Hana, don't tell me you're going to try to kill the heroine with tuberculosis in volume 3 again?!
—Well, death IS the only certainty in life, but... no, I thought of something much better. You'll see, it's going to be unforgettable.
We stopped at a traffic light, and while Hana adjusted the rearview mirror, silence hovered. It was a slightly weird silence, but familiar. I stretched, and when the car started moving again, I spoke.
—You've been MIA. Since you signed with the competition, you haven't released anything else. How have you been paying the bills? This car definitely wasn't cheap.
—Royalties. — She answered without hesitation. — They approved two seasons for the anime adaptation. I had no idea how well they paid.
I paused, studying her profile. That explained a lot, but not everything.
—Okay, I get it. — I said, risking a guess. — You didn't like your new editor. I heard he's big in the industry.
—He is... too permissive. — Her tone was a complaint, almost whiny. — He never questions anything I propose. If I said to kill the story's mascot in chapter one, he'd probably just clap and say: "bold, genius"! It annoys me so much, seriously!
She signaled right and slowed down.
—There's no challenge, no debate... No one to tell me when I'm making a fool of myself. Seriously, I prefer working with someone...
The sentence died incomplete in her mouth as she concentrated on parking in front of a...
—Magic Spark Maid Café? Seriously, Hana? — I asked, incredulous at the establishment that I can only describe as being on par with Hana's clothes.
—Immersion, Ryuuji, it's for immersion! — She pulled the handbrake and started unbuckling her seatbelt. She turned to me, softening her expression. — I have my preferences, I know I'm difficult, and that's why I called you. I prefer working with yo...
She stopped speaking, surprised by the high beam headlights suddenly in our faces. When the light dimmed, I saw the pickup truck.
Heavy. Dented.
The same one I had seen in the rearview mirror for the last four blocks.
Only now... it wasn't passing.
It was coming straight at us.
—Hana, watch out—!
Through the pickup's windshield, I saw a silhouette at the wheel. Wide eyes, a twisted smile of ecstasy and pure hatred fixed on us — or rather, fixed on her.
—Sa... Sasaki?! — Hana's voice trembled beside me, a whisper of terrified recognition.
The pickup's engine roared, accelerating at point-blank range.
Then, the world was reduced to twisted metal, shattered glass, and a sudden, absolute, and silent darkness.
Sato said I was short on time, I just didn't expect the deadline to be literally...
Now.