Despite the industry buzz, very few people actually knew the true identity of the rising star Mizushiro-sensei, now the top manga artist at Kurokawa Publishing.
Only a select handful of individuals—those in the Contract Management Department bound by strict confidentiality clauses, along with editor Sora Aizawa and Editor-in-Chief Daichi Torigoe—knew the person behind the pen name.
To the public, Mizushiro-sensei was a mystery. Their rapid rise had come out of nowhere, and they had almost no public interaction with other artists. Whether Mizushiro was a man or a woman, young or old—no one could say for sure.
Still, the rumor mill had settled on a common belief.
First, most assumed Mizushiro was a woman. The soft, lyrical pen name and the emotionally driven romance series that had debuted under it gave that impression.
Second, they believed the artist was middle-aged or older.
After all, Rurouni Kenshin took place over a hundred years ago, in a fictionalized version of the Meiji Restoration era. The idea that a young artist—one who might not even know their own country's history in depth—could so vividly portray that period with such nuance? Most dismissed it as impossible.
This led to a theory that had picked up traction online: Mizushiro was likely a reclusive, middle-aged woman with a deep academic background or decades of industry experience.
So, when Haruki casually mentioned at the party that he was Mizushiro-sensei… the table burst into laughter.
Everyone thought he was joking—just playing along to liven up the mood. The thought of this soft-spoken high schooler with soda in hand being the mastermind behind Rurouni Kenshin? Unthinkable.
The moment passed, laughter settled, and everyone moved on, forgetting why they had even asked about Haruki's background in the first place.
Haruki blinked, amused.
Well… that works out nicely.
He didn't need the attention. Better to stay under the radar.
Meanwhile, at another section of the banquet hall, the attention of a larger, more prominent group was briefly drawn toward the commotion.
This crowd had taken over five tables, their presence dominating the room. Compared to Haruki's corner of newcomers and assistants, this group clearly held higher standing within Kurokawa. Editors, department heads, and high-profile artists were all mingling here.
At the center of this circle were two figures: Rika , deputy editor at Kurokawa, and one of their most recognized authors, Yuna Takahashi.
"What's going on over there?" Rika asked, frowning.
One of the assistants nearby chuckled. "Seems like a rookie writer over there joked that he's Mizushiro-sensei. Got the whole table laughing."
Rika raised an eyebrow.
Mizushiro?
He glanced over at the nearby group—and spotted a young boy at the center of the laughter.
That was all he needed to see.
"Yeah… that's a joke."
He turned back toward Yuna, losing interest immediately.
In his mind, the person who had shaken up Kurokawa's entire rankings—someone whose debut had outpaced even Yuna's new series—couldn't possibly be that soft-faced high school kid. No way.
It was so far-fetched, it didn't even register as a possibility.
After everyone had eaten their fill and the initial round of mingling died down, the lights in the hall dimmed without warning.
On the central stage, the musicians—pianist, violinist, drummer, and singer—quietly packed up and exited one by one. A murmur rippled through the crowd as attention turned toward the stage.
Taking their place was a man in his late fifties, perhaps early sixties, with silver-streaked hair and a distinguished air.
"That's the chairman-Kurokawa," Riku whispered to Haruki and Kotone across the table"
Haruki looked up, a little surprised.
Chairman? He had imagined someone more stern, maybe a little aloof. But the man standing on stage, though aged and looking a little worn, had a voice full of power and clarity.
What followed was a long, formal speech—an overview of Kurokawa Publishing's achievements over the past year, reflections on the manga industry's shifting trends, and optimistic words about the future.
To Haruki, it felt eerily similar to the kind of ceremonial addresses he used to hear at school. The kind no one really listened to, no matter how polite their posture.
Apparently, he wasn't alone. Most of the audience wore respectful expressions, but their eyes had gone glassy. It was obvious everyone was zoning out.
After what felt like an hour, the chairman stepped down, looking quite pleased with himself.
Riku leaned over again, lowering his voice.
"Now comes the second half of the program," he said, stifling a yawn. "Presentations from featured authors and their editors. Basically, time for everyone to show off a bit before the night wraps up."
Haruki and Kotone both perked up slightly.
Even Kotone, who had looked forward to this event, found it hard to stay excited. While she had spotted several big-name artists tonight, starting a casual conversation with them felt difficult—especially given her naturally reserved personality. And with Haruki sitting next to her, it was hard not to feel that quiet pressure. After all, she had helped illustrate his manga—the very one that had taken the industry by storm.
But once the formal program began, small talk died out. No one dared to whisper or move around too much. It was no longer free time—it was official.
Just as the chairman exited the stage, a man and a woman ascended in his place.
Haruki didn't recognize the man—he had a gentle, subdued demeanor. But the woman beside him, dressed in a sleek black dress, long hair cascading like ink down her back, smiled with quiet poise as she stepped up to the mic.
Haruki blinked.
"…Wait. That's Sora-san."
Kotone looked surprised too. "No wonder we didn't see her tonight."
"You two know her?" Riku asked, raising a brow.
"She's my editor," Haruki replied simply.
"…Seriously? Your editor is Sora?" Riku looked almost impressed. "Now it makes sense. That joke earlier—claiming to be Mizushiro-sensei—if she's your editor, she probably won't hold it against you. You're in the same editorial group, after all."
"Right?" Kotone added with a smile. "Sensei won't be mad, I'm sure."
Haruki didn't respond, just stared blankly ahead.
He had told them. Plainly, too. And still, no one took him seriously.
What was going on with these people?
The next segment featured short speeches by artists selected from Kurokawa's various magazines—authors whose works had shown promise or achieved significant success. Their editors would briefly introduce them, then invite them to say a few words and promote their latest works in front of the entire hall and several attending business partners.
Sora, stepping into her role as co-host, was confident and composed. Haruki couldn't help but admire how effortlessly she commanded the room.
Her co-host, unfortunately, had a much harder time. His presence lacked the same clarity—his delivery felt rehearsed and a little awkward by comparison.
"…And now, we'd like to introduce a unique and refreshingly humorous piece that's quickly won over readers," Sora said, her voice light and practiced. "My Huskie Haa Become Perfect! A delightful comedy with heart. Let's welcome its author, Riku-sensei, to the stage!"
Riku chuckled, pushing his chair back.
"Well then," he said casually, smoothing out his jacket. "Wish me luck. Time to face the spotlight."
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