The Antithesis

At a certain downtown hotel in mid-November, Gift Publishing held the award ceremony and party for the 16th GF Bunko New Writers Contest/11th Comic Gifted New Artist Contest. It was the sixteenth year—yes, a year had already passed since Ui Aioi, Aoba Kasamatsu, Yoshihiro Kiso, and the rest accepted their prizes for the 15th New Writers Contest.

A year was really all it took, though, to see how the professional writing careers for last year’s crop had worked out. Aioi, Kiso, and Makoto Yanagase had launched series that sadly didn’t take off; they were now either writing or pitching new titles. Kasamatsu’s debut book sold well, but after being slammed as “an inferior rip-off of Nayuta Kani,” she’d considered packing it up for a while, only to recover after receiving encouragement from a writer friend. Now she had a new series out, one that was already winning accolades. Soma Misaka had his first book bomb and then warred with his editor to disastrous results; he and GF Bunko had now officially parted ways.

For now, the only clear success story from the 15th New Writers Contest was Tadashi Kamo, whose debut effort Karuma the Lawyer became a huge hit. An anime adaptation was in the works, and right now he was parading around the event hall like he owned the place, wearing a fancy suit and an expensive-looking wristwatch. He spent last year’s ceremony hunched over and constantly looking at his shoes, but now he had his head held high and his chest puffed out. He looked healthier, to be sure, but judging by the scornful looks from the people around him, he clearly had let success go to his head.

It wasn’t just the Year 15 crew who’d seen change in the last year. Several people who had attended the festivities last fall weren’t around this time, for assorted reasons. And in one corner of the hall, Itsuki Hashima was leaning against the wall by himself, taking occasional sips of his sparkling wine. He was, to be frank, in no shape to honestly enjoy this party—but he knew this was his one chance a year to mingle with a lot of the writers and illustrators. There was no guarantee they’d come back next time, so he decided to at least make a cameo appearance.

As he blearily watched the judges and new writers talk to the crowd, seriously wondering whether he’d even be back here next year:

“…Hey… Hashima…”

The gloomy voice talking to him belonged to Makina Kaizu. He was dressed in a wrinkly jacket, a ribbon tacked on to it indicating he was a judge, and the plate he carried contained a small mountain of roast beef, sushi, acqua pazza, and pâté.

“Mr. Kaizu… Good to see you. Packing it in like every year, huh?”

“Heh-heh-heh… Yes, I’m busy protecting my good name as the Wolf of the Buffet… And by the way, what’s one of GF Bunko’s leading authors doing in the corner like this?”

Itsuki chuckled. “Leading author…? I’m nothing that fancy.”

“Oh, come on. Your anime was a huge success.”

Kaizu turned toward one of the big screens situated toward the front of the event space. The opening from All About My Little Sister was playing on it. This screen was reserved every year for a montage of imagery from Gift Publishing’s anime and merchandising efforts.

“The books and the manga both got a sales boost from it, didn’t they? I can’t tell you how jealous I am…”

“Yeah, they did, but…”

The All About opening ended, segueing right into a promotional video for the live-action Silvery Landscape movie. It depicted a cast of actors anybody would know, shot with the kind of expert camerawork even an amateur could tell was first-class.

“…I’m still nothing compared to that.”

“You don’t think?” Kaizu eyed the dead serious Itsuki. “Because I’d say you’re standing on the same stage, at the very least…”

Itsuki weakly shook his head. “No, I’m really… I’m just no good at all.”

Kaizu frowned. “You’re acting way more timid than usual. Did something happen?”

“…” Itsuki wavered over whether to tell the truth for a moment. “…I can’t write any novels right now. Not at all.”

“…Oh yeah, the new volume of All About got delayed, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to write a single line of it the past few months.”

“Wow… That’s a pretty serious slump.”

“…I’ve been trying to write other things to help get over this…but I’m still not back to my usual self.”

“Do you have any idea what caused it?”

“I… I know the cause, yeah. But it’s not the kind of problem I can really detach myself from, so…”

“Mmm…”

Kaizu groaned to himself, solemn-faced, as Itsuki almost started sniffling. To keep it from getting even more awkward, Itsuki turned the conversation toward Kaizu.

“…Have you ever run into writer’s block, Mr. Kaizu?”

“Oh, I’ve been sidelined with a cold for a few days lots of times, but I’ve never had a slump like that, no…”

Itsuki’s eyes widened. “Not even once? Wow… This is the first time it’s been this bad for me, but I’ve had blocks like these all the time before.”

Now it was Kaizu chuckling. “Well, unlike you guys, I’m not staking my life and soul on these novels, so…”

“Huh?”

He smiled ironically. “I’m sure you see the creative effort as this noble, sublime thing. Something with this special value you can’t assign a money value to. But if you ask me, writing novels isn’t much different from any other job you might have. It’s just a way to make a living. Creators are normal people who happen to have a fairly rare skill they make money from. If you think they’re something special, any different from the guys walking around in business suits, then you’re seriously mistaken.”

“Wha…?!”

Itsuki was completely silenced by the embittered appraisal. He had aimed to become a novelist because he wanted to be the hero, because he wanted to be something special, and now Kaizu was denying the root of all of it.

There was a trace of sadness on Kaizu’s face. “So if you’re gonna bet your life on this, if you’re gonna chip away at your soul just so you can make a living, you’re putting the cart before the horse, is all. If you really just can’t write novels any longer…well, you can’t do much about that, can you? So just give up. There’s no need to suffer over this. I’m sure you can live off your anime money for a while, so spend that time to study up, get certified in something, and find a new job.”

If Itsuki wasn’t in this slump, he would have fired back in a rage, throwing caution to the wind as he bad-mouthed Kaizu, veteran author or not. But now, he didn’t have the words. The choice of “giving up” seemed so attractive, so realistic.

“…Give up…”

Even Kaizu seemed to regret so clearly depressing Itsuki. “…I’m sorry. That went too far. I just can’t help but look at you and see her, you know?”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind,” he said, shaking his head.

Then:

“Mr. Kaizuuuu!” Tadashi Kamo approached them, cheerful if a tad unsteady. His red face indicated he had been enjoying the free drinks a fair amount. “How ya doin’, huh? You got somethin’ to drink?”

“Oh… Hey, Kamo. You’re looking pretty…healthy.”

Kamo was revved up, the complete opposite of last year. Kaizu wasn’t quite sure how to manage him.

“Oh yeah, I couldn’t feel better right now! And it’s all thanks to you for givin’ my story a chance, Mr. Kaizu! Thank you so, sooooo much!”

“Y-yeah… Hey, if I judge something and it becomes a hit, that makes me happy, too, for sure.”

“Aw, thanks, man!”

Kamo turned to Itsuki, standing next to Kaizu, and focused his eyes on his name tag.

“Ohhhh! You’re Itsuki Hashima, huh?!”

“Um, yeah,” Itsuki replied, awkwardly nodding.

“I heard the anime’s making your books fly off the shelves, man! Boy, I’m so jealous of you! Hey, and between you and me, Karuma the Lawyer’s gotten the nod for an anime, too! Gah-ha-ha!”

Considering it was “between you and me,” Kamo made sure as many people heard him as possible. Itsuki and Kaizu greeted him with a dry smile.

“When you score that anime, it really pads your bottom line, doesn’t it?”

“…Well, to some extent, yeah.”

“Ooooh, wow, really?! Well, you know, I actually bought a car the other day! They said I didn’t qualify for a loan, so I just paid in cash instead! It kinda hit my bank account hard, but—hey, the anime oughtta fill it right back up, huh? Gah-ha-ha! Maybe I’ll even buy a house next year, bah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Kaizu gave the exuberant Kamo a wry smile.

“Well, it’s great that you’re doing well…but are you okay with your taxes?”

“Huh? My taxes?” Kamo raised a puzzled eyebrow.

“Because the more income you make,” Kaizu flatly continued, “the more money they’ll haul away from you for taxes. Sometimes authors get a lot of money from an anime, they get carried away, they blow it all, they can’t cover their tax bill, and they wind up falling into debt. It’s not a very funny story, but it happens.”

Kamo’s face began to sweat a little. “…Um, when you say ‘haul away,’ like, how much are we talking about? Around ten thousand yen, or…?”

“…Well, based on how much Karuma has sold, I’m assuming you made twelve million yen or so this year, right? In that case, your income tax is gonna be around a million… Keeping estimated payments and stuff in mind, I figure you’ll probably owe around 1.7 million next year. Once you throw in municipal taxes, insurance, government pension… I think it’ll be at least two million in all.”

“T-two…?!” Kamo’s jaw dropped. The redness quickly drained from his face. “Ah, ah, ah…”

“…Sounds like you weren’t thinking too much about taxes, huh? You’re saving your receipts at least, right?”

“My…my receipts? What do you mean…?”

“Not even those?” exclaimed Itsuki.

“Whoa, you’re writing a courtroom drama and you don’t even know that?” Kaizu scornfully eyed Kamo.

“I—I was so focused on studying criminal codes, I don’t know about anything else!” Kamo, in his fancy suit, grabbed Kaizu’s wrinkled blazer. “M-Mr. Kaizu, what am I gonna do…? I—I was out of work until last yearrr… I don’t know anything about taxesss…”

Now he was starting to cry, and Kaizu was starting to panic.

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re too old to cry like that. Listen, I know a really good tax accountant I can introduce you to. You can talk to her about your situation, all right? I’m pretty sure she can work it out for you.”

“Th… Thank you so muuuuch! Thaaaaaaaaaaank youuuuuuuuu!!” He tearfully thanked Kaizu again and again before taking his leave.

“Hoo boy…,” Kaizu sighed, his face haggard. “…So you see? Writers are just like anybody else. They have to pay taxes, too.”

“Ha-ha…” All Itsuki could do was laugh. Then someone else approached them.

“Mr. Hashima? Do you have a moment?”

This was Kawabe from GF Bunko editorial—Haruto’s editor, and a man Itsuki had said hello to in passing a few times. Behind him was a young man about Itsuki’s age, a nondescript figure sporting glasses and a little pudge. The ribbon on his lapel indicated he was one of this year’s prizewinning authors.

“One of our winners said he really wanted to meet you…”

“Me?”

An editor taking one of the winners around the party to chat with other writers was hardly uncommon. But only once before had some newbie gone out of their way to seek out Itsuki at this event. It was three years ago, and that person was Nayuta Kani.

“It—it’s good to meet you, Mr. Hashima! My name’s Sushita Nakashima, and I’m one of the winners this year! I’m really glad to have this opportunity!”

Nakashima stood before Itsuki, presenting his business card. Itsuki exchanged it with his own.

“Oh, um, yeah, I’m Hashima. Good to meet you, too.”

“Ooooh!”

Nakashima stared intently at Itsuki’s card, as if discovering some long-lost treasure. It made Itsuki grin as he took a look at Nakashima’s.

“Um… Is Sushita your real name?”

“It’s a pen name!”

“Hmm… Is it because you really like sushi or something?”

“No, I went with ‘Sushita’ because it’s kind of an anagram of ‘sister’!”

“Sister…? Oh, I see…”

“I started writing after I read your novels, Mr. Hashima! I won a prize with a little-sister novel of my own!”

“Oh, you did?”

Nakashima’s words, his eyes, indicated nothing but pure affinity and respect. For Itsuki right now, it was a painful experience.

“Uh-huh! I’ve read all your books! It’s my mission to become a little-sister novelist like you.”

“There’s no value in making me your goal…”

“Sorry?”

Nakashima raised an eyebrow at what Itsuki inadvertently whispered.

Itsuki tried to laugh it off. “Ah, never mind. But…yeah. Good luck at it.”

The wish seemed to energize Nakashima. “Th-Thank you! And I hope you’ll keep crafting great new little-sister novels, too, Mr. Hashima! I’m super looking forward to the next All About!”

“Ahh… Yeah, I’ll do my best for you.”

“Oh, right! Would you mind if we shook hands, Mr. Hashima?!”

“Um, sure.” Itsuki softly grasped Nakashima’s outstretched hand.

“Wow…! The hand that created all those godly sisters, touching mine…! The sheer aura is incredible… It’s just so deep…”

Itsuki’s face tensed up as Nakashima was almost driven to tears over the experience. Their hands remained together for around ten seconds. Nakashima only reluctantly let go and left after his editor nudged him to.

“Guy’s got a lot of passion, doesn’t he?” Kaizu said with a smile.

“Looks like it,” Itsuki said, smiling back.

“It’s like back when you first met Kasuka,” Kaizu reminisced.

“Huh?! I acted like that?!”

“You sure did. It was cute how much your eyes were sparkling. Of course, you said hi to me first because you thought I was Kasuka, but…”

“Ohhhh, now I remember! Wow…!”

Kaizu heartily laughed at his red-faced colleague.

“I really looked up to Ms. Sekigahara,” Itsuki said after his cheeks cooled down, chewing over his words. “And now there’s someone who became a writer because they looked up to me, huh…?”

It was one more reason why he had to keep it up—to keep writing, and not let the new guy down. Now wasn’t the time to be stuck in a rut. But Kaizu was ready to drop a bucket of water on the thought.

“You know, you don’t owe people like that anything. It’s on them for having those dreams in the first place.”

“…Really? You don’t think?”

“Nope.”

He found it hard to accept Kaizu’s sharp conclusion…but the feelings simmering in his chest were starting to dwindle. It did make him feel a bit better. Only then did he realize that all these feelings—from Nakashima, from Nayuta, from all the readers and acquaintances he knew—seemed so heavy to him.