Don't Miss Your Deadline! (Manga Editor Quest)

Maeda Taishi: After the Meeting

"Thank you once again for hearing me out, Uncle."

"Think nothing of it. It'll be good to get the board in order again. It's been a troublesome few months."

"Of course, Uncle." Once more, the young man bowed towards his elder. "I'll be taking my leave, then."

"Of course. Take care."

And with that, Maeda Hiroshi made his escape, closing the door softly behind him. A few seconds passed in relative silence as a clock ticked away in the corner, before at last the man behind the desk sighed.

He stood up slowly from his desk, taking care not to agitate his knee as he stepped away from his chairs and towards the set of windows that made up the back of his office. With a small push against a lever, one pane swung open, the warming air of the day gently drifting in to the cosy office.

Ruffling in his pockets, the man pulled out a small carton and a lighter, and it was the work of moments to have a cigarette lit and in between his lips, which he inhaled on slowly, holding in the wisps of smoke for a good while as he stared out across the jumbled heights of one of Tokyo's suburbs.

I am not a dumb man, Maeda Taishi thought to himself, breathing out and watching the smoke curl in the air.

The board itself was in a state of chaos. The scandal may not have touched them directly, but the individuals involved had done enough to stain the reputation of everyone at the Sunday Star, from those at the very top of the company down to the contracted artists whose works they published. Several of their best mangaka had jumped ships almost immediately, claiming that there was no way they could continue working for a company like that.

It was the smart thing to do, frankly. But it didn't make it any less painful for the Star, not when their best were smart enough to do just that. And with even some of the novice mangaka joining them in the exodus, it had left the Star with a dearth of material to publish.

But what really hurt was some of the producers they'd lost. Even the best manga needed fine-tuning, and the best producers could work on a dozen different manga at once, ensuring each were more than fit to print.

Instead, they'd lost not just one, but three of their best in that initial catastrophe. The aftermath had seen more packing up their desks and leaving with little more than a word and a notice.

Taishi couldn't find it in himself to blame them. There was very little he could blame anyone for, apart from the one responsible for this entire mess…and yet, even then, hadn't they just hidden their activities, with the help of one of his own board colleagues? And it was in that knowledge that Taishi could not help but acknowledge some of his own hypocrisy. He was not a dumb man, after all.

Maeda Hiroshi was a wonderful nephew, in truth. He was perfectly filial, in a way that few of the younger generation were these days. Every interaction that Taishi had ever had with the boy had never strayed into annoyance; the boy could control himself, and never made any bother.

But his colleague had always gone on about how respectful and dutiful his own flesh and blood were. Right up until his flesh and blood abused a coworker enough to make them jump off the building.

Taishi took another drag from his cigarette, letting the tobacco sit for a few moments longer in his lungs.

In truth, Maeda Hiroshi likely would have been hired regardless of their relationship. The situation was just that desperate. Those first few weeks of scrambling to get anything, anyone, into the sinking ship to bail out water had been just about the only thing the board had agreed on, right before they devolved back into a squabbling bucket of crabs, each pulling the other down as they made their best attempt to climb out.

With the board paralysed, it had opened the way for the Chief Editor to begin pushing for his own reforms. Not even the chain around his leg in the form of Daisuke had been enough to keep him from pushing his own goals forward. It was noble, just how far Suzuki Isamu was willing to go to save the Star from its fate.

Another drag, another exhale.

It was noble, like ritual suicide was noble. The Star was only hanging by a bare thread. It depended on lasting long enough for the public to begin to forget about the mess, and for more artists to come back to their doors. Bumping up their quality requirements, increasing the number of manga each producer was responsible for, trying their best to match the heights of the true giants in the industry…

It'd just burn out whatever was left of the Star.

One more drag, leaving nothing more than a small stub of ash and stained filter. Closing the window, Taishi moved back towards his desk, adding the cigarette to a hidden tray in one of the drawers. Settling back down into his seat, he considered the notes he'd taken as his young nephew had spoken, the recommendations he'd asked to be put forth to the board.

In truth, it was hardly groundbreaking. A slight adjustment to the Chief Editor's own proposals, with some small consideration for Hiroshi's own workload.

Doable. With a bit of whipping, the rest of the board could be brought around to focus on the short-term goals. Adjusting the Chief Editor's own goals would serve to give them all a feeling they'd done something to fix the problem. Suzuki would be upset, but he'd grit his teeth and bear it if he got at least something, and the producers beneath him would cheer at not being ground to death under the workload.

And perhaps then the Sunday Star would live to see another day.