Tokyo: The Manga Begins with the Funeral of Frilian

Takahashi was the first to receive the manuscript.

He flipped through the pages quickly, his brow furrowed from the third page onwards.

He paused for two seconds when he turned to the double-page spread featuring the floral design.

Then continue flipping through the pages.

After reading the last page, he handed the manuscript to Sato, who was sitting next to him.

"His drawing skills are very mature."

Takahashi adjusted his glasses.

"But this isn't a shonen manga."

"Where isn't it?"

Onodera Ryota asked.

"Nowhere at all."

Takahashi unfolded one of the pages of the original manuscript.

"Look at this panel layout. Five whole pages, and Frilian is just walking alone on the grassland. No enemies, no conflict, no crisis. What shonen manga reader has the patience for this?"

"That's because you didn't understand what those five pages were about."

Ryota Onodera said.

"Then tell me, what are these five pages about?"

"Lonely."

Ryota Onodera walked over to Takahashi and pointed to the picture on the first page.

"Frilian is an immortal being; her companions have already died of old age. She walks alone on the grassland; no matter how beautiful the scenery around her is, it has nothing to do with her."

He turned to the second page.

"This withered tree is where Simmel carved her name. She stopped and glanced at it, but didn't go any closer."

Turn to the third page.

  

"This is the town that the hero's party saved together. She didn't go in; she went around it."

"These five pages aren't about landscapes; they're about an elf who's lived too long and is afraid to touch any memories."

Takahashi remained silent for a few seconds.

"Even if you're right, so what? Jump's readers are elementary and middle school students. Do you think they can understand this stuff?"

"Why can't you understand?"

Ryota Onodera looks directly into Takahashi's eyes.

"Today's children are much more mature than we imagine. Besides, Jump's core readers are no longer primary and secondary school students. Our readers include college students, young people who have just entered the workforce, and middle-aged people who have been working in society for a long time."

You're wrong.

Sato interrupted.

"Jump's core readers have always been primary and secondary school students, which is what circulation data tells us."

"Publication data tells you who is buying magazines."

Ryota Onodera turned around.

"But have you ever thought about what people who don't buy magazines are reading? Why don't they buy them?"

Sato was stumped by the question.

"They don't buy it because no one on Jump draws what they want to see."

Ryota Onodera's voice deepened.

"No one paints loss, no one paints missed opportunities, no one paints the words that cannot be spoken."

He glanced around at his colleagues in the conference room.

"Because Jump doesn't believe these things can sell."

"That's because they really can't sell them."

Takahashi's tone hardened as well.

"Jump's three core elements are friendship, effort, and victory. What's in your manga? The Demon King was defeated long ago, so there's no 'effort.' The heroes are all dead, so what's the point of 'victory'? As for 'friendship,' Frillie travels alone the entire story; where's the trace of friendship?"

"have."

Ryota Onodera said.

"Of course."

"Where?"

"In every memory of Frilian's."

Ryota Onodera turned the manuscript to the middle page.

Frillie stood in front of an abandoned castle.

Images flashed through my mind of Simmel fighting monsters here back then.

"This is not a memory."

Ryota Onodera's finger is poking at the screen.

"This is friendship. It's just that it seeps out from the cracks of loss. The living carry the memories of the dead and keep moving forward. How can this not be considered friendship?"

The meeting room fell silent for a few seconds.

Sato cleared his throat.

"Onodera, what you're saying might be impressive in a literary magazine. But we're selling commercial comics. The pacing is too slow. The first issue is fifty pages long, and if readers haven't seen a decent conflict by page twenty, do you think they'll keep turning the pages?"

"meeting."

What makes you so sure?

Ryota Onodera did not answer.

He walked to the conference table.

I took two pages from the original manuscript and slapped them on the table.

Floral corolla spread.

Simmel stood behind Frilian, her rough fingers holding the flower crown.

The wind blew the elf's hair, the ends almost touching the hero's fingertips.

There wasn't a single line of dialogue.

Only Simmel's eyes.

Gentle and restrained.

A gaze that held so much hidden within.

Then comes the last page.

Frilian stood before Simmel's grave.

I want to know you a little more.

The two original manuscripts were laid out side by side on the table.

That's why.

Ryota Onodera said.

No one speaks.

Sato stared at the floral cover page for a long time.

Tanaka Shi sat in the main seat, his hands clasped together and supporting his chin.

He hasn't said a word since the original manuscript was sent back.

Ryota Onodera stood still, without sitting down.

"I've been in this line of work for twelve years."

Every word he uttered was crystal clear.

"Over the past twelve years, I've read at least tens of thousands of submissions. Every single one of them tells me to be more passionate, more intense, and to make the protagonist win more spectacularly."

"But no one ever told me what to do if I lost."

His gaze fell on the floral double-page spread.

"No one told me that some things are said too late to be said at a grave."

"No one told me that the real regret is not losing the battle, but winning the battle only to find that the person you most wanted to share the victory with is no longer there."

Ryota Onodera looked up at Shigeo Tanaka.

"Editor-in-Chief Tanaka. In these four years, everyone has been saying that we need to be faster, stronger, and work harder. College students are snatched up by companies before they even graduate, housing prices are changing every day, and opening a bottle of champagne in a Ginza nightclub costs an average office worker a month's salary."

"But editor-in-chief, how long do you think this can last?"

Tanaka Shige's pupils contracted slightly.

"I went to Shinjuku last week."

Ryota Onodera continued.

"At 10 p.m., the underpass at the west exit was full of people. They weren't homeless, but office workers in suits. They had just come out of an izakaya (Japanese pub), missed the last tram, and simply lay on the ground to wait for dawn. One of them had a tie sticking out of his suit pocket, and an empty briefcase next to him."

"I watched him for a long time."

Ryota Onodera's voice became very soft.

"He kept staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide open, and he didn't move."

"I don't know what he's thinking. Maybe he's thinking about tomorrow's work, maybe he's thinking about the mortgage, or maybe he's not thinking about anything at all, he's just too tired."

The conference room was so quiet you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights.

"I was thinking, if this person walked into a convenience store and picked up a Jump magazine, what would he want to read? Would he want to read about a hero defeating all enemies, or would he want to read a story that tells him it's okay to be tired, it's okay to lose, and it's okay to say some things late, because at least you said them in the end."