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Although Utaha hadn't said it outright, Leo could feel the restlessness radiating off her. It was the vibe of a shark that had outgrown its tank. She was looking for a breach—a way to break out of her current lane and swim in deeper waters.
Leo knew the numbers. He'd done the market analysis.
In the light novel industry, genres were like caste systems. Love Metronome was a smash hit in the "Slice-of-Life Romance" bracket. Moving a hundred thousand copies per volume was considered a triumph. But that was the ceiling. You could be the queen of romance, but your kingdom was tiny.
"Romance caps out," Leo thought, his mind pulling up sales charts. "The historic best-seller in this world's romance genre is Koga-kun and the Others. It moved 350,000 copies a volume. That's the absolute peak."
Then there was Fantasy.
The heavy hitters—like the epic adventure series Nioh—were moving 2.1 million copies per volume. That series had sold twenty-five million copies total.
"The gap between genres is bigger than the gap between species," Leo mused, glancing at Utaha's profile as she packed her bag. "No wonder she wants to pivot. She's driving a Ferrari in a school zone. She wants to hit the Autobahn."
He understood the hunger. Light novel authors were at the mercy of trends. In his old world, the industry had been poisoned by the "Infinite Stratos Effect"—where a mediocre story with fantastic illustrations and pandering tropes could sell millions. It set a precedent that "trash sells." It led to a decade of lazy writing, where publishers just bought pretty art and slapped it on toilet-paper-quality manuscripts.
But this world was different. Here, the competition was brutal, but it was honest. "Trash" didn't survive. Discerning readers strangled bad books in the crib. It prevented the market from being flooded with garbage, but it also made it hell for authors like Utaha. She was competing against veterans who were essentially literary snipers.
She's wasted here, Leo thought, watching her slide her laptop into its case. With her prose, she shouldn't be fighting for scraps in the otaku market. She should be writing traditional literature. She could be the next Murakami, chasing Nobel Prizes instead of Amazon rankings.
But she was here. And she was hungry.
"We should exchange numbers," Leo said, breaking the silence. He pulled out his smartphone. "If we're going to build a team, we need a direct line."
Utaha nodded, reciting her number without hesitation. Leo dialed it, and her phone buzzed on the desk. Connection established.
As Leo began to shut down his "Old Reliable" laptop, the fans whirring down into silence, Utaha lingered. She stood by the door, her hand on the frame.
"Leo-kun," she asked, her voice thoughtful. "Have you decided on a publisher? For your own novel, I mean."
Leo shook his head, snapping his laptop lid shut. "Not yet. Volume One isn't finished. I haven't really shopped it around."
He wasn't worried. Gold shines wherever you put it. But he also knew that breaking in as a rookie—even a talented one—was a grind.
"If you don't have a preference," Utaha said, turning to face him fully, "I can make an introduction at Shinazugawa Bunko."
Leo paused. Shinazugawa was a major label, but they had been taking a beating lately.
"Shinazugawa?" Leo asked. "Aren't they the ones getting crushed by the competition right now?"
"That's exactly why," Utaha said, a sharp glint in her eyes. "They've been suppressed by the other major publishers for two years. Their sales are down, their roster is aging, and they are desperate for a hit. They need a flagship title to anchor their lineup."
She looked at him with a serious expression. "Your work is dangerous, Leo-kun. A stable, comfortable publisher might be scared of it. But a desperate one? They'll take the risk. If you walk in there with that manuscript, they won't just publish you; they'll treat you like a savior."
Leo smiled slowly. It was a brilliant tactical play.
"Better to be the water in the desert than just another drop in the ocean," Leo noted. "I like it. High leverage."
"Exactly," Utaha agreed. "It's better to help someone in need than to add flowers to a bouquet that's already full. I think your work could be the lifeline they're looking for. And if it hits... you'll be their 'Rookie of the Year' by default."
Leo picked up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. "Thanks for the tip, Senior. I'll put them at the top of the list."
It wasn't just a suggestion; it was a strategy. Shinazugawa needed a weapon, and Leo was currently forging a nuclear warhead. It was a match made in hell.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Leo-kun," Utaha said, stepping out into the hallway.
"See you," Leo replied.
He walked out of the school building, the evening air cool against his face. He had the money, he had the team, and now he had a target for his own debut. The pieces were falling into place with terrifying precision.
Now, Leo thought, checking his watch. Time to go home and finish being a Demon King.