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The ink on the contract was barely dry when Leo hailed two taxis. The newly formed, as-yet-unnamed "Game Development Circle" piled into the backseats, leaving the quiet academic atmosphere of the school district for the upscale bustle of Minato Ward.
Their destination wasn't a family restaurant or a burger joint. It was a high-end kaitenzushi (conveyor belt sushi) restaurant near the port—a place where the "conveyor belt" was a silent magnetic track and the chefs looked like surgeons.
As the group of five settled into a row of seats at the polished hinoki wood counter, the air was thick with the scent of vinegared rice, fresh ocean brine, and faint charcoal.
Leo grabbed a hot towel, wiping his hands with the casual ease of someone who didn't look at price tags. To his left, Aki Tomoya was practically vibrating, eyeing a plate of O-toro (fatty tuna) gliding past like a piece of edible gold.
"Eat up," Leo said, tossing his towel into the basket. "My treat. Don't worry about the bill."
While Tomoya, Eriri, and Utaha reached for the raw delicacies—snapping up plates of sea bream, scallop, and tuna—Leo sat back. He watched the parade of raw flesh with a distinct lack of appetite.
He wasn't a fan of sashimi. It wasn't just a texture thing; it was a calculated risk assessment. His modern brain couldn't unsee the statistics on parasitic infections. Japan loved its raw food, and while the quality here was top-tier, Leo operated on a policy of zero unnecessary risk. He had a cheat system to cultivate his body, not a stomach of steel to fight nematodes.
Why roll the dice on a parasite when fire exists? Leo thought.
He let the raw plates pass. Instead, he reached for the cooked options.
He pulled a plate of Unagi (grilled freshwater eel), the dark sauce glistening under the track lights. Then a plate of seared Wagyu beef sushi, the meat lightly charred and topped with truffle salt. Then a tempura shrimp roll still steaming from the fryer.
"Eh?" Tomoya paused, a slice of salmon hovering halfway to his mouth. "Leo-kun? You're not going to try the salmon? It looks incredibly fresh."
"My stomach and raw food have a non-aggression pact," Leo said smoothly, grabbing a plate of Ikura (salmon roe). "I prefer my food to have met a flame. Raw fish is a bit too much of a gamble for me. I'll stick to the cooked stuff and the roe."
"A gamble?" Tomoya blinked, confused, but didn't argue as he happily shoved the salmon into his mouth.
Leo examined the Ikura. This was his concession. The bright orange spheres were piled high, shimmering like dragon balls. There was no fish underneath, just the briny pop of the roe against the crisp nori and the tart rice. At 1,500 yen a plate, it was luxurious enough to pass inspection.
Beside him, Utaha finished a piece of sea bream and signaled for a drink. She raised her glass of highball, her cheeks flushed slightly—either from the alcohol or the thrill of the day.
"Attention, everyone," she announced, her voice cutting through the hushed murmurs of the restaurant. "I'd like to propose a toast. To the Great Demon God-sensei's debut work! Let's aim for a smash hit—fifty thousand copies per volume!"
"Fifty thousand?" Eriri nearly choked on her tea. "That's a massive number for a debut!"
"With the Editor-in-Chief personally backing it? It's the floor, not the ceiling," Utaha declared, her eyes shining with confidence.
The group raised their glasses—tea, juice, and soda clinking together in a messy, cheerful salute. Even Kato Megumi, who had been eating silently at the end of the row, raised her cup with a small nod.
"I'll be happy if we just break ten thousand," Leo said, taking a sip of his melon soda. "The market is fickle. And my story... well, it's cynical. It's dark. Asking fifty thousand people to buy into that kind of worldview right out of the gate is a tall order."
"Don't be so modest," Utaha teased, leaning her chin on her hand. "Modesty is just arrogance playing hide-and-seek. Kawada-san has read thousands of manuscripts. If he says it's a masterpiece, it's a masterpiece."
"I hope so," Leo said. "But the celebration stops tonight. Once I get home, I'm back to the grind."
"Back to the grind?" Tomoya asked, wiping soy sauce from his lip. "You just signed the contract! Take a night off, man!"
"Can't," Leo shook his head, popping a piece of grilled eel into his mouth. "I turned down the illustrator, remember? That means I have to produce the promotional art myself. And not just a sketch—I need a full-color, high-resolution key visual for the marketing campaign. It has to be ready by tomorrow morning."
Eriri froze, her artist instincts kicking in. She stared at him. "You're going to do a full cover illustration... in one night? What style?"
"Thick painting. Impasto style," Leo explained. "Heavy oils, deep shadows, realistic lighting. I need to capture the grime and the grandeur of a dark fantasy world. Standard anime cell-shading won't cut it."
Eriri looked at him like he had grown a second head. She knew exactly how much labor that required. Layering, blending, rendering lighting effects... doing that in a single night was suicide.
"You're a monster," she muttered, shaking her head. "A rich, talented, workaholic monster."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Leo grinned.
He wasn't worried. His body, enhanced by the system and his cultivation, was a machine. He could pull an all-nighter and show up to school tomorrow looking like he'd slept for ten hours.
As he watched his team eat, laugh, and bicker, Leo felt a sense of satisfaction. The bill for this meal would likely exceed 200,000 yen. But looking at the bond forming between these disparate personalities, he knew it was an investment that would pay dividends.