Chapter 8: The Serialization Meeting [ 2]
An older editor on the right, who had been silent the whole time, leaned forward. "I'm Sun, Talent Development. Mr. Walker, I've seen your file. Seventeen years old. Farm kid. No formal art training. Where did you learn cinematic storyboarding?"
Alex paused. This was the one question he couldn't answer truthfully. I learned it by reading ten thousand manga in another life.
"Self-taught," Alex said. "I study films, photography, and paintings. I focus on how they use composition to convey emotion, then I try to apply it to the page."
"What kind of films?"
"Everything. The point isn't the genre; it's the visual language."
Sun stared at him for a long moment. "Your style is an anomaly. That 'difference' might be a breath of fresh air, or it might be poison to our readers. Have you considered the possibility of total failure?"
"I have," Alex said. "But if we don't try because we're afraid of failing, nothing new will ever be created. Manga shouldn't look like just one thing. I want to try a different path."
Sun held his gaze, then nodded slowly. "I'm done."
Chief Lee closed his notebook. "The presentation is over. Mr. Walker, please wait in the reception area. We need to deliberate."
"Understood."
Alex packed his manuscripts, bowed slightly, and walked out. The heavy door clicked shut behind him.
The hallway was quiet. Alex walked to the waiting area and sank onto a leather sofa. Through the glass wall, he watched the city traffic far below.
His palms were sweating. He wiped them on his trousers.
He gave himself a seven out of ten. He hit the key points, didn't stutter, answered the objections. But the editors... they were poker-faced.
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Wait.
Inside the conference room, the atmosphere shifted the moment the door closed.
"Thoughts?" Chief Lee asked, scanning the table.
Wang spoke first. "From an analytics perspective, it's high risk. Agricultural themes have zero market validation. The MC is weak. The art style is niche. These are all red flags."
"But the pros?" Lee asked.
"There are pros," Wang admitted. "The writing is solid. The emotions feel real. If it builds a cult following, it could be a sleeper hit. But the prerequisite is... surviving long enough to build that following."
Zhao chimed in. "The pacing is slow for a weekly serial. In this market, slow burns get cancelled in ten weeks. But his paneling... it really is cinematic. It stands out."
"Is standing out good or bad?" Lee pressed.
"Hard to say," Zhao sighed. "Readers might find it fresh, or they might find it 'weird'."
The debate ping-ponged back and forth. The younger editors were generally intrigued; the older guard was skeptical of the commercial viability.
Finally, Sun spoke up. "I've scouted rookies for twenty years. I've seen hundreds of talented kids crash and burn. Walker has talent. His visual instinct is better than most pros I work with."
He paused. "But talent isn't sales. His style is too distinct, the theme too cold. If we serialize this, it will likely rank at the bottom of the surveys initially. We have to ask—is it worth wasting pages on a project that will likely be axed?"
The question hung in the air. Everyone looked at the Chief.
Lee was silent for a long time, drumming his fingers on the table.
"Let me tell you a story," Lee said.
The editors blinked.
"Twenty years ago, when I started, the market was 100% martial arts. Swords, sects, revenge. That was the law."
"Then a rookie submitted a story about school life. No fighting, no magic. Just high school kids dealing with exams and crushes. We all thought it was garbage. Too boring."
"That series became School Days (not that one). It was the number one seller for five years."
Lee looked around the table. "The market needs diversity. If we all sell the same burger, the customers leave."
"But Chief," Sun argued, "School Days had romance. That sells. Agriculture..."
"That makes it a blue ocean," Lee cut him off. "Nobody else is doing it. If we do it, we own the genre."
He stood up. "My decision is to authorize serialization for Silver Spoon."
Silence.
"However," Lee continued, "Conditions apply. First, it goes in the back third of the magazine. No prime real estate yet. Second, a grace period. Even if it ranks last in the first three surveys, no cancellation. We give it at least eight chapters to find its feet. Third, Sue Vance is the editor. She keeps it tight."
He looked at Sue. "Are you up for it?"
Sue stood up immediately. "I am."
"Good. Notify the author."
The meeting broke up. Editors filed out, whispering about the Chief's gamble.
Sue gathered her files and walked out. At the end of the hall, she saw Alex sitting on the sofa, his back straight, watching the clouds.
She walked over. "Alex."
He turned.
Sue looked at him, her face calm. "Congratulations. Silver Spoon has been approved for serialization."
Alex stared at her for two seconds, then slowly stood up. "I'm in?"
"You're in. Serialization starts next month. Weekly. Fifteen pages per chapter. Your debut will be in the issue hitting stands three weeks from Saturday."
Alex took a deep breath, holding it, then letting it out in a long sigh. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Sue adjusted her glasses. "This is where the hell starts. Drawing for fun and drawing for a weekly deadline are different universes. And an ag-manga has no blueprint. We're flying blind."
She looked him in the eye. "Are you ready?"
Alex nodded. "I'm ready."
"Good." She pulled a document from her folder. "This is the draft contract. Read it. I need an answer by next week. Also, we need a buffer of three completed chapters before launch. How many do you have?"
"Five finished. Chapter 6 is in pencils."
Sue blinked, surprised. "That's... actually very good. Keep that pace. And one more thing."
She leaned in. "The Chief gave you a grace period. You won't be cancelled for bad rankings in the first three weeks. You have eight weeks guaranteed. But that's not a free pass. If it's still dead in the water after eight weeks..."
"I understand," Alex said. "I'll make sure the work speaks for itself."
"I'm heading back to my office. Call me if the contract confuses you."
"Will do."
Sue turned to leave, took a few steps, then stopped. She looked back over her shoulder.
"By the way... that pitch? You nailed it."
Alex smiled. "Thanks."
Sue walked away.
Alex stood alone in the hallway, looking down at the document in his hands.
NEXTGEN MANGA AUTHOR AGREEMENT.
He flipped to the first page. Dense legal text.
Weekly Serialization. 15 Pages.
He had done it.
He was a manga artist.
(To be Continued)
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