"So, you want to compile your stories and sell them as standalone books?"
"Exactly." Shiki Mirai answered without hesitation.
Ōmaeda Kichiyo adjusted the bag of snacks in his arms, freeing one chubby hand to start crunching numbers on his fingers.
"Right now, each printing machine here makes about 1,500 Kan per day in profit."
"If we're talking a 300,000-character book, just the material and labor costs would be around 500 Kan per copy. At max efficiency, that's 100 books per day."
"That means just to break even, the wholesale price per book has to be at least 520 Kan."
"And that's not the end of it. Add distributor margins, plus your cut as the author… We'd need to price each copy at a minimum of 550 Kan."
"But!" He raised his round face to Mirai.
"To cover the factory's risk and opportunity cost, I'd need the wholesale price to start at 700 Kan. Which means… in stores, it'll probably sell for close to 1,000 Kan per copy."
"Not exactly the kind of price people are eager to pay, you know?"
He laid out the logic effortlessly, then calmly pulled out another snack and resumed munching with a crunch crunch.
Mirai was honestly a little surprised. This chubby teen, who looked like some manager's spoiled kid, actually had a solid grasp of production costs and market dynamics. Was he more than just a factory tag-along?
"No," Mirai said calmly, rejecting the pricing model outright.
"The final price will be set at 2,000 Kan. We'll print the first batch at 10,000 copies. Once the market shows signs of scarcity and demand rises, we'll release a second edition."
"Ten thousand copies? You that confident in your novel? You're trying to pull a stockpiling and hype move, huh?" Kichiyo immediately saw through the strategy.
If it worked, the profits would be huge—but only if the book truly sold.
Still composed, Mirai continued:
"It's not hard to pull off. With your help, if we get a few copies into noble social circles and stir up some buzz, we can generate 'heat.' That'll drive demand."
"Tch. Not a bad plan. Create a trend from the top down—manufacture demand from prestige…" Kichiyo nodded thoughtfully. "It might actually work."
"But," he added, "it's still risky."
Mirai met his eyes and replied with a classic business axiom:
"Greater risk, greater reward."
"Can't argue with that!" Kichiyo grinned.
Just then, footsteps approached.
Yamasue Tetsu emerged from the factory, still wearing his eternally unreadable iron face. A manager-looking elder followed behind.
They stopped in front of Mirai.
"This is the current manager of the print works," Yamasue introduced.
The old man shot a respectful glance at Kichiyo—still crunching away on his snacks—then turned to Mirai, his expression apologetic.
"Sir, dedicating a full press line just for your book carries enormous risk and low expected profit. I'm afraid we—"
"Do it."
The firm voice cut him off.
Ōmaeda Kichiyo dusted crumbs from his hands and turned to Mirai.
"You don't look like you've got the funds for advance printing costs. So here's the deal—2000 Kan per book like you said. I take 1600. Deal?"
Mirai looked at the chubby little heir.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Deal."
—
On the walk back from the industrial district, Yamasue finally broke his silence.
"You knew that boy from the Ōmaeda family beforehand? Ōmaeda Kichiyo?"
"Huh?" Mirai blinked, mentally comparing the plump snack-stuffed kid with the distant image he had of that "future divine figure" from the economic elite…
Nope. Doesn't line up at all.
Time really is a cruel blade…
He shook his head. "No idea who he was. He approached me first. I thought he was just some supervisor's son. Seemed sharp, so I tossed some ideas his way."
Yamasue nodded and didn't press further.
He came from a minor noble family himself, and had seen Kichiyo from afar at lower-tier noble gatherings. But the Ōmaeda held sway over much of Seireitei's economy—far above his social reach.
"But," Yamasue continued, shifting back to the practical, his iron face tinged with rare concern:
"Setting the price at 2,000 Kan per book really is high. And since he's taking 1,600, after cutting distributor shares, transport fees, and incidentals… you'll be lucky to make 10 to 20 Kan per copy."
He analyzed with cool logic: "Honestly, even if we priced it lower and aimed for mass sales, you'd probably earn about the same per copy. So a cheaper price, high-volume approach would normally be safer."
Mirai listened silently. His calm expression showed he'd already considered all of this.
"You're right, Old Tetsu—but that's not the strategy."
He began to explain:
"The Boy is over 300,000 characters long. Most readers have already seen the core story through the serialized version."
"So we'll polish it—high-quality paper, beautiful binding, a brand-new preface poem. Package it as a 'Collector's Edition.' The 2,000 Kan price tag targets nobles and upper-class readers who crave luxury and exclusivity."
Then his tone shifted.
"But our new novel, The Killer of Meteor City, is only about 100,000 characters. We'll price it at 600 Kan."
"To readers, it's the same product type—a standalone novel—but only a third of the price."
"Even if the per-character cost is higher, the psychological 'discount' effect will make them feel like they're getting a bargain. The Boy sets the premium benchmark. Killer reaps the mass sales."
Yamasue stopped in his tracks.
He looked up at Mirai, silent for several long seconds.
Then he sighed softly.
"No wonder you're a writer… Your grasp of human psychology and manipulation is impressive."
Following Mirai's logic, it all became clear.
The Boy wasn't meant to sell huge numbers. It was a prestige item, leveraging an existing fanbase for brand elevation.
Its real purpose? To anchor the price perception of Killer. Readers who balked at 2,000 Kan would jump at a 600-Kan book that felt cheap by comparison.
No one would bother calculating per-thousand-character value. They'd just think: "Wow, this one's a deal."
"Alright. Since the deal's made and you've thought through the strategy, I'll head back to the barracks."
Yamasue waved a hand and turned toward the 9th Division. A few steps later, he added:
"The Captain and Vice-Captain should be back from their excursion tomorrow."
"Thanks, Old Tetsu!" Mirai called after him. "First royalty payment I get, I'm treating you to a feast—and a fat red envelope!"
As Yamasue disappeared into the distance, Shiki Mirai didn't turn toward the 9th Division.
Instead, he changed direction—heading straight for the 2nd Division barracks.
He was going to find Urahara Kisuke.
…