Andy had zero expectations. He flipped the page, his mind already formulating the polite, constructive criticism he would use to let the kid down gently without crushing his spirit.
"What the...?"
Andy's breath hitched. His eyes widened, bulging slightly behind his reading glasses as he stared at the panel. A shiver ran down his spine—not of fear, but of sheer, bewildered shock.
He muttered to himself, "You missed a page. You had to have missed a page."
He flipped back to the previous sheet, then forward again. Back. Forward. The paper crinkled under his rough, ink-stained fingers. His brows knitted together in deep confusion. He looked up at Light, his expression a mix of awe and incredulity.
"Light, did you drop a sheet somewhere in the cab? The fight scene... it's gone."
Light watched the older man's struggle with a faint calm amusement. "No pages missing, Andy. That's the whole scene."
"Bullshit," Andy breathed, looking back down at the Bristol board.
The setup had been massive. The Vaccine Man was a Hulk-level threat, leveling city blocks, screaming about the Earth's wrath, posing a danger that would usually take the Avengers three issues to contain. And then?
One panel. One punch.
The monster exploded. Not just defeated—obliterated. Guts, gore, and smoke filled the frame. And standing amidst the carnage was the bald protagonist, looking at his smoking fist with the expression of someone who had just realized they forgot to buy milk on the way home.
Dialogue: "Not again... All it took was one punch! Damn it!"
Andy swallowed hard, placing the fourth chapter down gently, treating the board like a fragile artifact dug up from a tomb. "What... what is this comic called?"
It completely deconstructed the American superhero archetype. The protagonist wasn't a tortured soul brooding on a gargoyle. He wasn't a patriot wrapped in a flag. He wasn't a mutant fighting for civil rights. He was just... bored.
"It's just a hobby." That was his motivation.
For the first time in years, Andy felt the dormant editor in him wake up. This was anarchy on paper.
The market was flooded with Captain America clones and angst-ridden vigilantes patrolling Hell's Kitchen. Readers were exhausted by the same three-act structure: Hero loses, Hero trains, Hero wins by the skin of his teeth while debating morality.
But this? This was a middle finger to the status quo. The villain's tragic backstory didn't matter. His power level didn't matter. Saitama turned him into paste because he was annoyed. The contrast between the hyper-detailed, gritty art style—reminiscent of the old masters—and the absurd, anticlimactic storytelling was magnetic.
It was illogical. It was messy. It was brilliant.
"One Punch Man," Light said, leaning back in the leather guest chair, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
"One Punch Man," Andy tested the name, rolling it around his tongue. "Literal. Blunt. It fits."
He looked at the young man sitting across from him. "The art... Light, this is top-tier. I don't know where you've been hiding this talent, but this quality rivals the best pencilers at the Big Two. This could actually save us."
"So, we publish?" Light asked.
"We publish," Andy agreed immediately, but then his face fell slightly as the reality of the business set in. "But Light, be realistic. A publishing house can't survive on a single monthly title. You're one person. You can't draw enough pages to fill a magazine by yourself, and you can't keep this quality up without burning out in a week."
It was a valid concern. In the comic industry, consistency was king. A missed deadline was a death sentence.
"Don't worry about my stamina, Uncle Andy. I have more than just this in my head." Light tapped his temple, a confident, almost predatory smirk playing on his lips.
He wasn't lying. With the Supreme Mangaka System, he didn't need to brainstorm, draft, or storyboard. He just needed to trace. As long as he had Fan Value points, he had an infinite library of masterpieces waiting to be localized. Naruto, Bleach, Dragon Ball—he would bring them all to this universe.
"Alright," Andy sighed, resigning himself to the madness. "You're the boss. I just hope you know what you're doing."
Light stood up, walking over to the window. He looked out over the grim, gray skyline of Manhattan. Far in the distance, Stark Tower gleamed like a beacon of arrogance, a reminder of the power scales of this world.
"We're going to make some changes," Light said, his tone shifting to cold business. "The anthology magazine. Rename it."
"Rename it? To what?"
"Shonen Jump."
"Shonen... Jump?" Andy frowned at the foreign words. "What kind of name is that?"
"It means 'Boy's Jump'. It's a new demographic I want to target," Light lied smoothly, repurposing the legendary brand from his past life. "From now on, all my works will be serialized in it. We're scrapping the current lineup. Cancel the contracts for the remaining backlog."
"Cancel them?" Andy started, alarmed. "But we own the rights to those stories. We could hire freelancers to finish—"
"No," Light cut him off, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Burn them. They're trash. The old era of generic superheroes is over. The core values of Shonen Jump will be Friendship, Effort, and Victory. Everything else is noise."
Andy fell silent. He watched Light, seeing a ruthless efficiency that reminded him of the boy's father, but sharper. More desperate. Light wasn't just trying to run a business; he was acting like he was running out of time.
They spent the next hour mapping out the strategy. Light spoke of animation studios, merchandising, and global distribution. He wanted to own the entire supply chain.
Andy didn't know about Thanos. He didn't know about the Chitauri invasion that was looming over the timeline like a guillotine blade. But Light did. He knew that in this universe, money wasn't just for luxury—it was for bunkers, for technology, for buying a seat on the lifeboat. He needed Fan Value, and he needed it yesterday.
Finally, they wrapped up.
"Let's go talk to the staff," Andy said, grabbing his jacket. "They're probably thinking we're filing for bankruptcy right now."
The Outer Office
The mood in the bullpen was heavy, suffocating. The few remaining employees huddled together near the water cooler, whispering in hushed tones.
"What do you think is happening in there?"
"Resignation or bankruptcy. Pick your poison."
"God, it's not easy to find a gig in this economy..."
The heavy oak door to the executive office creaked open. The whispering died instantly.
Andy stepped out, Light trailing a step behind him. The old manager clapped his hands, his voice projecting a confident authority that he hadn't felt in months.
"Alright, listen up! Nobody is getting fired. In fact, we're pivoting. We have a new flagship title starting production immediately." He held up the manuscript of One Punch Man. "I need layouts, I need lettering, and I need this ready for print by Friday."
He didn't mention the author was the college-aged owner standing behind him. That would only invite skepticism from the veteran staff. Let the work speak for itself first.
He walked Light to the elevators, the tension in the office dissipating into a buzz of confused but hopeful activity.
As they reached the elevator bank, Andy pressed the down button. He turned to Light, his expression softening into something paternal.
"Light... I'll handle the business side. You just focus on the art. And don't forget you're still a student. Empire State University isn't cheap, and your parents wanted you to finish your degree."
The elevator arrived with a soft ding. The brushed steel doors slid open.
Light stepped inside, turning to face Andy. The shadows of the elevator shaft obscured his expression, making him look older, harder.
"I haven't forgotten," Light said. "Oh, and Uncle Andy? One last thing."
"Yeah?"
"Change the company name on the registration."
Andy blinked, confused. "Change it? Inksworth Publishing has been the name for thirty years. What are we changing it to?"
Light's eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light of the elevator car.
"Marvel Entertainment."
The doors slid shut, sealing Light inside.
Andy stood alone in the hallway, the name echoing in the silence.
"Marvel..." he whispered, tasting the word. It sounded arrogant. It sounded massive.
"Powerful. Bold." Andy smirked, shaking his head as he turned back to the bullpen. "The kid might actually pull this off."