I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 172 & 173

Chapter 172

“The date’s been set—October 20.”

“That’s just a week away!”

Haruka gave a small nod. “Right. To tie in with the release of the first volumes, . Echo Shroud and Kazanami are organizing a fan meet and signing event. I’m here not just to collect this week’s chapters, but also to talk to you about the event. Let me know if you can make time that day.”

“October 20… that’s a Wednesday,” Haruki murmured, thinking it over.

“Yeah, I can do it. I’ll get ahead on my drawing to cover both series.”

Then he hesitated. “Still… what if no one shows up? That’d be kind of embarrassing.”

Haruka stared at him, exasperated.

“What are you talking about? You really have no sense of your own popularity, do you? You’re currently the second most popular author in Shroud Line’s entire roster.”

“And with Natsume being such a hit among female readers, there’s no way a signing event would be empty.”

She paused, then added with a smirk, “Actually, there’s more. The publisher looked at projections based on similar titles, and they’re printing 400,000 copies for each of the first three volumes. That’s 1.2 million copies total, right out of the gate. They’re clearly confident, and you’re here worrying no one will come?”

“Wait, that many people would actually show up to a signing just for some manga volume?” Haruki frowned.

He couldn’t relate. Even if his favorite manga author held an event right next door, he doubted he’d go. That kind of thing just wasn’t his style.

Still… 400,000 per volume? That got his attention.

After all, that meant serious money.

And now with so much cash tied up in the anime production, he was nearly broke.

“So… based on previous releases, what do you think Natsume’s volumes will actually sell?” Haruki asked, trying to sound casual.

Haruka gave him a long look. “Finally asking something a normal manga artist would care about.”

“Assuming the quality stays consistent, sales can be projected with some confidence. For hits like this, the eventual total tends to be around three times the first-week sales.”

“For Natsume, even our most conservative estimates say it’ll clear a million in total. Could be more—we just don’t know the ceiling yet. That’s why we’re starting with 400,000 per volume, and we’ll scale based on performance.”

Haruki mentally did the math.

In the parallel world’s Japanese manga market, the absolute ceiling for print runs belonged to juggernauts like One Piece, which had reached 4 million copies per volume. But aside from a few exceptional cases, most top-tier series topped out around 2 million.

That was the upper limit.

In this world, though, the market scale was larger. A top-tier manga could sell more.

Take Dream World, for instance—Airi Tanaka had serialized that for three years. Thirteen volumes had been released. The series had sold over 31 million copies.

That kind of performance would rank her among the all-time greats in Japan.

Here? It was just enough to put her among the current top-tier artists.

And that didn’t even include the legends who’d retired.

Still, for Natsume’s, even the conservative projection looked promising.

Haruki calculated quickly. If he could serialize enough for five volumes a year, and each sold around a million copies, that would mean 5 million volumes annually.

At 500 yen per volume and a 10% royalty, that was 50 yen per copy—meaning 250 million yen a year, just from volume sales.

That, plus his magazine payments and bonuses, would ease the financial strain from the anime project.

And that was just the baseline. If the anime aired alongside the volumes, the numbers could jump even higher.

The show was set to air next April. Only six months to go.

If everything stayed on track, the anime could boost volume sales even more after broadcast.

“Anyway,” Haruka said, breaking his train of thought, “you better prepare yourself. Right now you’re worried no one will come—but I think you’re going to be overwhelmed. Your hand might fall off from all the signing.”

She gave a dry laugh. “Airi did just one of these a few years back. Ever since, she’s flat-out refused to attend any fan events. Says she’d rather stay up all night drawing than deal with that again.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Haruki muttered.

“I’m not. You’ll see.”

With that, she gathered the draft pages and left, leaving Haruki alone with his thoughts.

He let out a breath.

Fan events like this were about connecting with readers. If he agreed, it would be only his second public appearance since debut.

The first was when he received the Aurora Manga Award.

He’d avoided the spotlight ever since, mostly out of habit—but also because he didn’t want people around him recognizing him. He liked keeping his life separate from his work.

Still… this was a joint event from Kazanami and Echo Shroud. Skipping it would be rude.

They were helping him make money—it wouldn’t be right to play the recluse now.

“Whatever,” he sighed. “I doubt anyone’s coming just to see me. If it’s quiet, all the better. Just go, get it done, and move on.”

Feeling slightly reassured, he got back to work.

Chapter 173

Within two days, the casting for 5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star was officially announced. The leads would be voiced by well-known seiyuu Rin Shiraishi and Rina Nanami—both respected for their nuanced performances.

The news, shared by Kazuya, quickly made waves among Haruki’s fans. Regardless of how the final product turned out, having experienced voice actors at the helm gave people confidence. At the very least, no one had to worry about awkward performances derailing the emotional tone.

Still, in animation, even great voice acting can’t carry the whole work. What really mattered was the production quality—and, of course, Haruki’s script.

By this point, even with no official trailer, word about the two short films was gradually spreading among fans. Animation was moving quickly behind the scenes, but because of tight production schedules, Kazuya had yet to release any teaser footage. Instead, he posted two posters for each film on their official social media pages. The results were immediate—fans flooded the comment sections.

There were only two posters for each project, but that was enough to stir speculation.

The first 5 Centimeters per Second poster featured a lineup of characters: Takaki, Akari, Takaki in high school, Sumida, and Takaki as an adult. All were framed in a subtle collage, evoking different stages of life. Above them, a single line of text read:

“If cherry blossoms fall at five centimeters per second… how long would it take for two hearts to drift apart?”

Fans immediately latched onto the poetic tone. It hinted at something delicate, something quiet—and perhaps, something heartbreaking.

The second poster was even more striking. A girl sat alone on a grassy field, with a boy standing beside her. In the distance, the stars still shimmered in a fading dawn, and a brilliant celestial body took up nearly a quarter of the sky.

No character faces were shown—only silhouettes. But the color balance, light, and composition made the image feel ethereal. Beautiful, but undeniably lonely.

Haruki had captured a still from one of the film’s most memorable scenes and reproduced it as a visual teaser. And as with his earlier work, the power didn’t just come from detailed artwork, but from emotional imagination. The image was less wallpaper material and more a quiet gut punch.

The reaction was immediate. While fans had been unsure about the tone of the new films, the posters put many concerns to rest.

Even if they hadn’t seen the characters’ faces, the visuals alone were enough to show the level of care going into the project.

Then came the Voices of a Distant Star posters.

These were more direct—featuring Mikako, Noboru, and their mecha. Since the film was just over twenty minutes long, the cast was limited, but fans were still drawn in by the sci-fi setting. Starfields, battle damage, quiet text overlays—it was clear this one was playing with distance, isolation, and time.

The designs weren’t flashy, but they had presence.

Still, poster could only go so far. Fans wanted more. 5 cm/s was clearly a love story, and the tagline all but confirmed it. But Voices of a Distant Star? That one had them guessing.

Haruki’s followers flooded his social media with questions.

At this point, his online following had grown to nearly two million, boosted heavily by Initial D’s explosive popularity.

“It feels like we’re getting romance and sci-fi—total opposite vibes. I’m all in.”

“Is twenty minutes really enough to tell a full story?”

“Rurouni Kenshin: Trust & Betrayal was only fifteen chapters and it was incredible. If anyone can pull it off, it’s Mizushiro.”

With speculation mounting, and on request from his publisher, Haruki finally broke his silence. He rarely posted anything personal, but this time, he responded directly.

“Since a lot of you are asking—5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star are short films about youth, distance, and love. I think of them as healing stories. I hope they offer something meaningful when they air.

Also—volumes one, two, and three of Natsume’s Book of Friends will be on sale starting October 20th, and I’ll be holding a signing event. Hope to see you there.”

The post caused an immediate stir. Fans were thrilled to see “Mizushiro” back online—especially after his long absence during the intense production crunch on Initial D.

“Finally! I thought he’d vanished after that cliffhanger in Initial D.”

“Healing love stories? You sure about that, Mizushiro? I still haven’t emotionally recovered from Anohana.”

“You say ‘healing,’ but I see heartbreak coming. I know your style.”

“It’s fine. Let it hurt. Just make it beautiful.”

“Also... we need more Initial D updates. I’m dying to see how the next race plays out.”

“This man has two films, two manga, and now a signing event? Is he secretly a triplets?”

“I’ll say this—if 5 cm/s breaks my heart, again, I’m filing a formal complaint with my tissues.”

“They say the Initial D cast is safe… but I see how he’s writing Mogi. My gut says we’re in for emotional damage.”

“I’m just here for the Natsume signing. Anyone who writes characters like Natsume must be kind in real life.”

------

The usual driving school, the usual net café.

Haruki, Airi, and Ryuko were holed up in a private booth, fully immersed in their game.

“Victory!”

As the match ended with a satisfying chime, Haruki let out a long breath.

The screen faded to the results screen.

“Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to Bronze Tier IV…”

Haruki grinned. After years of crawling through Bronze and Iron, he was finally out of that bottomless pit. Silver didn’t seem that far off now…

Ryuko exhaled and leaned back. “That was way too close…”

With a 25–2 score early on, Haruki and Airi had nearly fed the enemy team into god mode.

Ryuko honestly felt exhausted. Midlane had stabilized thanks to an early kill advantage, but if it hadn’t… this would’ve been Haruki’s third straight loss in promotion.

While waiting for the next match, the three grabbed takeout to eat between rounds.

“Hey, Haruki,” Airi asked between bites, “isn’t the release of Natsume happening in a few days?”

“Yeah,” Haruki replied, picking his next champion. “And not just the release—Kazanami got me doing a signing event too. Hopefully it’ll only take an hour or two.”

“You wish,” Airi smirked. “I did one of those once. My wrist was dead from all the autographs. Some of the male fans got… way too friendly. One guy kept squeezing my hand and wouldn’t let go. Never did one again.”

Haruki turned and gave her a proper look. Flat-chested but undeniably cute—if she wasn’t so spacey, she could probably hold her own in the idol world. Getting harassed by fans… yeah, sadly believable.

As for himself? Average looks, zero charm. No one was going to try anything with him.

“Speaking of which,” Ryuko cut in, “how’s production going on 5 Centimeters per Second and Voices of a Distant Star?”

“It’s moving,” Haruki said, eyes on the screen. “Still in the early stages. Dubbing starts next week, probably. Might not be long before the teasers drop.”

“Oh right, Rin Shiraishi and Rina Nanami are doing the voices, yeah?” Ryuko asked, curious.

“Yeah, Kazuya picked them. Should be fine, I guess,” Haruki replied offhandedly.

The next match started, and Ryuko refocused. She had to stay sharp, or Haruki and Airi would run it down again.

It wasn’t even that they lacked skill—Ryuko genuinely suspected their IQs dropped the second they loaded into a match. Watching them play felt like watching two headless chickens charge into battle.

October 20th. Just another day for most people.

But for fans of Natsume, it had been marked on calendars for week.

That morning, Haruki was picked up by Haruka and brought to Echo Shroud Publishing headquarters.

As soon as they entered, Haruki was hit by the studio’s distinct vibe.

The walls of the long hallway were lined with framed panels—classic pages that marked Echo Shroud’s history. Among them, Haruki spotted scenes from Natsume and Initial D.

Employees along the way greeted Haruka with respectful nods—her status clearly high. When they noticed Haruki trailing behind her, many did a double take, whispering quietly as recognition set in.

“Wait, I thought we were heading straight to the venue?” Haruki asked.

“You’re one of our flagship creators now,” Haruka said. “Today’s your first standalone signing for Natsume. There’ll be fan photos, maybe press. You can’t show up in a black T-shirt and sneakers.”

“So I brought you here to get changed. Hair, makeup, everything.”

She pushed open a door to a dedicated prep room, where a small team of stylists was already waiting.

“What the—”

Before Haruki could resist, Haruka nudged him inside and left him to their mercy.

An hour later, Haruki emerged with a drained look.

He was now in a clean suit, his hair neatly styled, and a light touch of makeup on his face. Gone was the “slacker manga artist” vibe—he looked like a fresh-faced actor ready for a youth drama.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “I’m not a celebrity.”

“A good image goes a long way,” Haruka said, unfazed. “Don’t underestimate it. There was this shoujo artist who hid behind a pen name for years. When fans found out he was actually a greasy old man, half his readership vanished overnight.”

She studied him again.

“You’ve got decent height, a solid frame… Honestly, if you were cast as the fourth lead in a drama, I doubt anyone would complain.”

Haruki grumbled, unconvinced. He glanced at his reflection in the glass. Still looked like the same guy to him. All that money for… what, hair gel?

“Anyway, time’s almost up. I heard there’s already a crowd waiting.”

Haruka motioned for him to follow.

At the venue, Haruki slipped in through the backstage entrance.

The moment he stepped onto the event floor, a wave of cheers erupted.

He froze.

This… was way more people than he’d expected. He’d imagined a modest turnout—maybe a hundred fans. But the hall was packed, and more were still streaming in.

“Whoa… I didn’t think Mizushiro-sensei would be this young.”

“And kind of good-looking, too? I always imagined he was some middle-aged recluse.”

“Right? That soft, gentle tone in Natsume—thank god it wasn’t written by a 45-year-old uncle.”

“Is he nervous? He’s just standing there…”

“I heard he’s barely 20. Probably started drawing Natsume when he was around Natsume’s age. Kind of poetic.”

Haruki stood frozen backstage, heart pounding. This was way beyond what he’d braced for.

He considered bolting.

But he’d made it this far. Running wasn’t an option now.

He took a deep breath… and stepped forward.