I found a pen that turns any manga into a hit!

Aoki didn't sleep.

Not because she planned to stay up—but because the moment she dipped the fountain pen into ink and laid the first panel down, something inside her shifted. The clumsy hesitation of her earlier drafts melted away. Gone was the overthinking, the perfectionism, the spiraling second-guessing. This was instinct. This was breath. This was surrender.

She hadn't meant to redraw the entire thing. She only wanted to test a single page. But the pen glided on its own rhythm. Not literally—her hand moved it—but it felt like she wasn't the one deciding anymore. Scenes poured from her. Characters moved. Dialogue sparked as if spoken beside her ear. The world of Flower of Margaria returned in full bloom, and she followed wherever it led.

Time dissolved.

Light shifted in her window—afternoon bleeding into evening, evening curling into night. She barely noticed the hunger in her stomach or the ache in her shoulders. The pen urged her forward, its weight grounding her as it danced across the manuscript sheets. Her desk grew crowded with finished pages. Chapter after chapter flowed, more vivid, more alive than anything she had drawn in the past two years.

It wasn't just drawing... It was remembering.

Remembering the exact feeling she had the night she created the one-shot: that strange, magnetic pull between the pen and her fingers. That quiet fire in her chest. The sense that she wasn't creating alone. That the story had chosen her.

When the final panel was inked, her hand dropped. The pen rolled off her fingers and clinked softly on the desk.

Then silence.

Her body leaned forward unconsciously, cheek resting on the edge of the desk, eyes fluttering shut before she even realized.

She didn't hear her phone vibrate continuously.

It was Takeru calling. The serialization meeting was an hour away and he hadn't heard from Aoki. He watched as other editors submitted their storyboards to the assistant editor-in-chief.

"Hey Matsumoto-san, I thought you were submitting Aoki Itsumi's storyboard."

"She'll be with it soon," he replied with a light fake smile because he was panicking inside. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to go see her. He grabbed his keys and dashesd out.

Takeru stood outside her apartment, tapping his foot anxiously. He'd tried calling more times but there still was no response. The meeting would still begin.

He pressed the buzzer again. Still nothing.

"Dammit, Aoki," he muttered.

He debated leaving. But something about her silence pulled at him. He checked his watch, sighed, and dug out the spare key she'd given him months ago when they were still working on Saint ♰ Rewind.

Inside, the living room was dim. Only a sliver of morning light cut through the curtains. He moved toward the desk—and froze.

She was slumped forward, completely out, surrounded by manuscript sheets.

His eyes widened as he stepped closer. He immediately packed all the pages in the best order he could.

It was five chapters.

"Incredible," he said to himself.

Not just quantity. The quality hit him immediately—the balance, the mood, the expressions. She'd pushed past her limits, but instead of collapsing under pressure, she'd broken through. This wasn't her old work. This was a newer version of Aoki.

Then something else in the trash bin caught his eyes.

Takeru bent and reached in gently. It was neatly stacked draft of Flower of Margaria—her original storyboard. He turned through the pages, recognizing the layout.

It was good. But as good as the one he compiled.

She hadn't given up. She'd started over.

With a long breath, he put the manuscript, slipped it into a portfolio case, and gave Aoki a glance.

"You really are something," he muttered.

Then he left.

At the editorial office, the meeting had already begun.

A group of editors sat around the rectangular table, stacks of submissions in front of them, water bottles half-drunk. The Editor-in-Chief, arms folded, listened as the first round of pitches were reviewed.

Kana Ishida flipped through a few pages of a new one-shot. "Solid start, but I'm not convinced this would carry ten chapters."

"Agreed," said another editor. "Too reliant on the gimmick."

Next came a dark fantasy entry. Then a slice-of-life about an all-girls band. Each was evaluated quickly, some with faint praise, most with polite dismissal.

Then someone reached for a black folder.

"This came in right before the meeting," one editor said. "From Aoki."

A silence hovered.

Kana leaned in sharply. "Is it The Flower of Margaria?"

"Yes. Five chapters."

Whispers passed around the table.

"Five? Already?"

"Did she reuse the old storyboard?"

"No. This is completely redrawn."

Kana opened the folder and laid out the first few pages. The others leaned in.

Expressions changed.

Even the ones skeptical at first found their eyes drawn panel to panel. The emotion was different. Cleaner. More personal.

"She really improved," one editor said softly.

Another frowned. "She's had three serializations dropped. Are we sure we want to go down this road again?"

"She's also won NEXT STAR and ranked #1," Kana replied. "Not because of reputation. Because of quality."

"That was a one-shot. Serialized work is a different beast."

A third editor nodded. "She may burn out again."

Kana held her ground. "You can feel it in these pages—this isn't the Aoki who fumbled Saint ♰ Rewind. She's pushing herself to grow."

Another leaned back. "What do you think, chief?"

All eyes turned to the Editor-in-Chief.

He remained silent, eyes scanning the first page. Then the second. Then the third.

They waited for him to speak.