At first glance, Eizo’s manuscript looked clean. No spelling and grammatical errors. No linguistic gaps that needed to be filled. Did Eizo complete the draft in one week and spend the following week refining it to editorial perfection? Ran wasn’t watching out for those errors, though. He needed to see if the story came alive in the first 1,000 words. Just having a killer first line wasn’t good enough. He’d seen many early chapters die haplessly as they tried to match the virtuosity of their first line, only to fumble by the end of the page.

  It bemused Ran that Eizo had already prepared the chapter titles:

  One: The Dumpling That Refused to be Eaten

  Two: The Dumpling Transforms into a ... Dog?

  Three: The Dumpling Lives to See Another Day

  Four: The Dumpling Masquerades at a High School

  Despite the seriousness of New World’s premise, Eizo seemed to lean back on the satirical humor he’d used in Wizard.

  At their meetings, Eizo cooked up a dark sci-fi fantasy inspired by elements of Japanese folklore, mythology, and history. A Baku with an insatiable appetite. A magical school that pulled the country’s post-war nightmares into a collective pit. It wasn’t a coincidence that the school was on an imaginary island off Kagoshima in southern Kyushu, between Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Meshing the humor that threaded the main plot and side quests into the story was a considerable risk that demanded a different treatment from what Eizo, or Baka Nori, was known for. The writing needed to be tighter, yet hold enough slack for the emotional weight to drop.

  Ran pushed the incongruity out of his mind and let the story unfold as he read. He reminded himself to withhold judgment until the last line.

  True to Eizo’s style, he started slow but direct, pulling the reader into the Baku’s perspective as it woke up in the steam tray of a restaurant in Yokohama’s Chinatown district. Everything loomed larger than life—the sounds, the sights, the sheer sense of panic and terror that the alien had never experienced before. The fear of knowing it could die if it lost focus for a second. When you were so small, even a toothpick could kill you.

  While there wasn’t much to critique on the technical level, Ran grew more confused as he read.

  New World’s concept differed from Wizard’s. The latter was a breezy read that cleverly preyed on readers’ speculation, inviting them to immerse themselves in the story as they placed bets on the wizard’s true identity every time a new chapter dropped. Two distinct camps formed in the comments—those who suspected the wizard was lying, and those who believed the wizard was a simple man who told truths that had been reforged into unfounded beliefs. Kurokawa Jun’s own speculation on social media fueled further interest. Kisuke was right—Baka Nori’s popularity was escalating.

  But if these pages were to go out as they currently were, that momentum would whimper to a sorry end. That was Ran’s conclusion from two quick reads, based on his experience in editing hundreds of books at Suigetsu and reading many more.

  Eizo’s treatment of the concept didn’t illuminate the premise. Instead, it had the opposite effect. Using similar humor and wordplay as he had in Wizard served only to bury New World’s unique traits under unnecessary layers.

  New World was a story that demanded brutal honesty. It needed to be told as it was, unencumbered by lyrical tricks. If he hadn’t known that Eizo was Baka Nori, he’d have stopped reading after the fifth page. This was why he wanted to see the draft as early as possible. As the lead editor, he could make changes that aligned with Suigetsu’s vision.

  Ran typed down his thoughts, sent them to his work email, and closed his tablet. That was enough for the day. He’d review the chapters again on Monday before meeting with the team.

  Eizo was no fool. He knew his audience, knew what they wanted, and knew how he could give it to them in the way they least expected. If he aimed to surprise and entertain, as he had for Wizard, then what was his goal for the new project?

  Despite what he’d said at the meeting and tried to convey through 30,000 words, Ran still couldn’t see Eizo’s vision for his story. Most authors, or at least those he encountered, began with an immovable image in mind. From there, they laid out the story, brick by brick, until it became a house.

  Like a house, a story needed to be filled with light and air to thrive. That was where the likes of him entered, offering suggestions for hammering in windows and doors in a way that let in the most light.

  According to the notes, Eizo must have had constructed the building a long time ago. He had a blueprint. Then why was he so hesitant to reveal the house?

  Unless he never wanted the light to shine into it.

  29

  Ran had four hours until his lunch at Daikanyama with Aiko and Shin. Perhaps he was lucky—the cloudy morning seemed to deter crowds from visiting Inokashira Park, allowing him to relax in the corner he had grown rather fond of.

  Before long, he flicked on his tablet again and purchased more tokens to unlock fifty chapters of Wizard on the Yoeisha reader app. He was reluctant to fund their competitor’s relentless poaching of his colleagues, but he couldn’t help but wonder how Eizo would handle the dreaded middle, one of the craft’s trickiest parts. That way, if Eizo faltered in his process, Ran would spot the signs in advance and snuff out threats before they became a problem.

  As he drank his tea and zipped through the web novel, his worries about Eizo’s creative stamina ebbed away. Before he knew it, he was halfway through Wizard. The double entendre, as Konishi Kisuke had breathlessly extolled.

  Parked in the middle of the epic was a haiku in the traditional 5-7-5 syllable, published on Christmas two years ago. It had caused an uproar among online readers long accustomed to Baka Nori’s lengthy chapters.

  Chapter 150: The Greatest Exchange

  * * *

  Empty hands now feel,

  Ghosts of what they never held,

  A frigid wind blows.

  A haiku was a moment of truth; a singular event or experience that the writer wanted to share with their reader. Was the wizard confessing that he had once possessed powers, but had lost them? Ran knew by now that Baka Nori, while verbose, was intentional in his words. The title provided a clue to deciphering the haiku.

  What did the wizard exchange his powers for? Or was he lamenting the loss of his freedom since the day he woke up clutching a baseball bat and became a victim not of his own choosing, but of the fate foisted on him?

  Ran sipped his fast-cooling tea and set it down on the table. He subconsciously traced a finger along the characters through the screen. Seventeen syllables that stood out from the rest of the story, drawing him into a trance.

  Of those words, ‘never’ stood out to him. He felt that if he could find the word’s position in the story, he would know if the wizard had been lying or telling the truth.

  The haiku took place after the wizard stripped off his green robes and stepped into a glacial lake with waters so clear that every part of his body, including the mole on the inside of his right thigh, came into full display. For that reason, no one dared bathe next to him. The wizard’s actions seemed orchestrated, perhaps to lure his followers into mocking his stupidity and lack of shame, which would then lead them to question their allegiance to a man without power, and then quit the expedition before they could reach the tower.

  Christmas 2023. Was it the period when Eizo had hurt his knee and couldn’t play baseball? But it made little sense. From the way Eizo had put it, he’d sustained his injury before he wrote the web serial. Ran opened the table of contents in the side menu. The first chapter came out in May 2022. Did he hurt it during the Big Six spring tournament three years ago?

  Unable to deny his curiosity any longer, he paused in the middle of reading and searched for ‘KEIO BASEBALL KAMADA EIZO’. Even if Eizo turned out to be a social recluse, the official tournament website should have listed players and their past match records. Nothing came up. He tried again, removing Eizo’s first name to broaden the search. Still, no results. The lack of findings reminded him of the time he attempted to contact Little Quill, only to meet with radio silence.

  Yuta once told him that college baseball teams had a structure similar to that of the Japanese professional league. The first team comprised a standard twenty-five-man roster that rotated between starters and promising talent from the farm team, who played in the lower leagues.

  Eizo had played for Keio. Ran didn’t ask, but he was certain Eizo had been in the first team. He had seen how the writer spoke to the coach and the players in their tarmac-gray uniform at the Jingu ballpark. They knew Eizo. They were very familiar with him, and he with them, slapping high-fives and friendly back taps as the closing lineup left the pitch and went inside the locker room. In that moment, Eizo had looked every bit the baseball player he once was. Then why wasn’t his name found anywhere?

  Ran next searched more broadly for ‘KAMADA EIZO’. He must have had at least one social media account. How else would he keep up with his friends? Again, no results came up. He might use a nickname, given his penchant for all kinds of names but his own. Ran searched one by one—first Baka Nori, then Little Quill, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, its English form, Stupid Seaweed. Still nothing. Even Ran had a social media account, though he posted nothing and used it only to follow his friends, Suigetsu’s socials, and the production account for Black Jack.

  A zero digital footprint was almost unheard of. Was Eizo that determined to erase all traces of himself? Or did he hide himself so deeply under a sea of aliases that he couldn’t be found unless he wanted to be?

  Ran stopped. He didn’t need to know this to work with someone. Eizo’s personal history was a matter of trivial curiosity, much like his fleeting interest in the writer’s impeccably handwritten notes. While there was much to adjust in Eizo’s opening chapters, they were at least on track for the major work streams running parallel to Suigetsu’s e-platform development. With one glaring omission, however.

  He pulled out his phone and texted Goro. Is Eizo OK with using his real name?

  Goro replied two hours later, when Ran had left the teahouse and taken the subway to Daikanyama.

  I haven’t asked, ha ha. I’m thinking about how best to pitch it.

  What the hell was Goro sitting on this for?

  You had weeks to do this. I don’t want him to be taken aback and reject us. We need to start marketing New World in March.

  Goro texted back at once: I’m currently negotiating film rights for my clients’ books in Busan. Give me another couple of days. I’ll talk to Eizo when I’m back.

  Ran stepped out of the subway station and headed to T-Books. Being in the presence of books calmed him. The thought of broaching the topic with Eizo did not. He sensed Eizo would reject the idea. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt Eizo wasn’t someone you could easily catch hold of, let alone broadcast to the world that he was an author.

  Thought, not felt, Ran mentally corrected himself.

  Regardless, Goro should try first. With his glib tongue and the cunning wit of a seasoned salesman, he might sway the author enough to take their side. Then, in June 2026, the world would learn that he was Kamada Eizo, Suigetsu’s flagship writer.

  30

  “Shin and I are getting married,” Aiko announced at lunch. She held up the marriage registration form and waved it in front of Ran. They were at a popular Italian pizzeria two blocks from T-Books in Daikanyama. Aiko had made reservations three weeks in advance.

  “We’re going to register at the city office next year,” added Shin.

  Ran’s first thought was: Fill in the form correctly, or they will reject your application. He didn’t say that out loud. “At last,” he said instead, looking them both in the eye, as though he was a homeroom teacher on the verge of lecturing them for submitting a piece of homework late.

  Aiko was the type to admit she had forgotten the deadline as she rummaged through her tote bag filled with makeup and fashion magazines to make a point, while Shin was the classic good student who wore his plaid shirts buttoned up to the neck and tucked inside his pants and would straight up apologize and promise to hand it in before the day ended. An unlikely pair, but the mismatch in their demeanor was probably the reason they had fallen for each other in the first place.

  “At last,” Aiko mimicked Ran’s deadpan enunciation. “I can hear your excitement all the way from the other end of the world.”

  “It was always in the cards for you both. I’m shocked it took this long.”

  Aiko and Shin scratched the backs of their heads in unison.

  “We’d like you to be our witness,” Shin said. “My dad will be the other party.”

  Ran took out his phone to lock in the date. “When?”

  “We’re booking a slot in the first week of March.” She looked to her fiancé with a smile. “On our dating anniversary.”

  Shin squeezed her hand in response. “We are thinking of holding the wedding reception at Morisawa Home next December. What do you think?”

  “Why not have it in Tokyo?” Ran asked.

  Aiko piped in between bites of her food. “We just dropped by last weekend, since it was on the way from Nikko.”

  Aiko and Shin enjoyed visiting Nikko for overnight stays, indulging in marshland hikes and famous onsens around Chuzenji Lake. They had invited him to join the trip earlier this year, but Ran declined, even as he was free that weekend. If there was a time to back out of his friends’ lives, it was now.

  “Did you know they repurposed the old playground in front of the river into a grass lawn?” Aiko continued. “The matron said they are opening it up for small fundraising events from time to time. I asked if I could hold a personal event, since I am, well—” Her round eyes darted mischievously between Shin and Ran. “—an alumnus of the home.”

  The editor coughed. That definitely wasn’t how you used ‘alumnus.’

  “You knew, right? Since you were at Utsunomiya recently,” Shin said to Ran. “Was it the last week of September?”

  Ran hadn’t returned to Morisawa since he started working at Suigetsu. He didn’t return to Utsunomiya last month either. He’d visited Niigata, the northwestern coast of the mainland, where he’d lived until he was twelve. They had always assumed he was from Utsunomiya or a neighboring town, since he had been at the orphanage before Aiko. Ran was pondering what to say when their food arrived.

  “Alright, my good men, leave the talking for later,” Aiko commanded, immediately picking up a slice of pizza and nibbling at it like a newborn chick. Before the two men reached for theirs, she grabbed another slice.

  “I’ll go on a diet after this,” she declared. “For now, we feast.”

  * * *

  From the way Aiko pecked at the dough like a bird, one could never tell that she used to stuff food into her mouth as if someone would snatch it away if she waited a second longer.

  Aiko’s eating habits had changed ten years ago, on the day she declared Shin was her soulmate. That was eight months after they began dating with Ran’s blessings (and after a thorough check of Shin’s background). They’d first met when she was eighteen, and Shin was twenty-two, the same age as Ran.

  “I can feel it. He gets me like no one else. When I see him, it feels like our souls are just meant to connect. Like the ends of two magnets—” she made a buzzing sound that mimicked the crackling of electricity, “—being snapped together.”

  Two points of contention had perturbed Ran. First, her clumsy use of a simile. But she was no writer, and he hadn’t yet been an editor—just an engineering student who posted book critiques anonymously online.

  The second point went beyond editorial; it was a disagreement on the most fundamental level. Aiko spoke of soulmates—meaning that souls, like the human body they inhabited, existed in corporeal form. Perhaps the size of atoms. To connect meant to bind, to become joined. Only things that existed could connect.

  Esoteric concerns aside, he was grateful that Aiko had found someone who treated her well. She’d lost her parents in an overseas boating accident when she was ten. Her sole surviving relative, her paternal grandfather, was living out his last days in a hospice in Gifu. He couldn’t take care of Aiko, so they had sent her to the Morisawa Home in Utsunomiya, a suburb by the Kinugawa River in the Tochigi prefecture.

  Aiko was shorter than most children her age and often cried her eyes swollen over the slightest hurt she felt. She also had a habit of pinching the cheeks of other kids when they teased her. The petite girl cried the loudest at bedtime, often out of the blue, when Ran had just completed his homework and was turning in for the night.

  Her antics drove Ran mad at first, but when she followed him around in the orphanage, ducking behind him whenever she was in trouble, he felt as though someone had palmed off a lost puppy to him and couldn’t shake her off. Aiko was also obsessed with period dramas that told tales of loyalty and betrayal in the feudal period, often bringing what she had seen on the screen into her daily interactions with the world.

  Ran couldn’t remember when she’d started calling him Big Brother. Not Oniisan, as the formal term went, but Aniki, like they were triad members sworn to fealty by a blood pact under the cherry blossom trees. She even began declaring to others outside of the orphanage that her Aniki was the son of a gangster, and if they messed with her, he’d beat them up. For the first few months, he’d told her to shut up and leave him alone.

  “You’re the ronin, and I’m the ronin’s sister,” Aiko would remind Ran as she bought him ice cream and other snacks once a month with their allowance. “We have no one to serve. We are on our own.” She’d hold up the treats for his acceptance, bowing solemnly like a samurai to their feudal lord before skipping to the playground. Ran eventually gave up, and the name stuck, like the role he grew into without his asking.