The meat hit the grill with a satisfying hiss, the aroma instantly wafting through the air.
Haruki stared blankly at the nearly twenty plates of meat laid out in front of him. A basket of cold beer sat nearby, sweating in the warm restaurant air.
This wasn't at all what he'd expected when Sora said she wanted to go out for dinner.
The restaurant was fairly upscale, with a cozy yet elegant design. Definitely not cheap. Still, it had a relaxed atmosphere, far from the formal image Haruki had in his head.
"Uh… Sora-san, I'm still a student. Isn't this a bit much?" Haruki glanced at the two already opened bottles of beer sitting in front of him.
"Are you eighteen?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the meat slowly browning on the grill.
"Y-Yeah… but still, I'm—"
"Then it's fine. Those two are yours. The rest's mine," she said, casually placing another handful of beer bottles onto the table from the next booth and popping the caps off with ease.
"No buts. That pile's mine. Your job is to drink those two. We're not leaving until the beer's empty and the meat's gone."
Sora looked entirely different from the no-nonsense editor he'd seen in the office. Her hair was tied back in a black ribbon, revealing a delicate face untouched by makeup. With soft features, crescent-shaped eyes, and a light green floral dress, she looked more like a college student than a professional manga editor. More than a few heads turned as people passed their table.
A pair of middle-aged women whispered "Young love..." as they walked by.
Haruki sighed. He wasn't sure what kind of mood had brought this on, but here he was—invited to dinner, served more food than he could possibly eat, and somehow being peer-pressured into drinking.
The last time he drank was at his parents' funeral. He'd bought a stack of cheap liquor, intending to stay up all night. But two bottles in, he'd passed out and didn't wake up until the next afternoon.
And now, here he was—about to drink again, this time with his manga editor.
Across from him, Sora devoured the freshly grilled meat like she hadn't eaten in days. Haruki, meanwhile, ended up doing most of the work—grilling and flipping while she snatched the slices straight off the rack.
"…Aren't you worried about gaining weight?" he finally asked, watching her polish off another plate with childlike satisfaction.
Sora looked at him like he'd just asked if the sky was blue. "You don't know anything, huh?"
"I'm one of those people who never gain weight, no matter what. When I'm in a bad mood, I eat . It helps."
"And nothing beats eating your favorite food in front of coworkers who are on diets. That's the real power move," she added with a mischievous grin.
Haruki gave her a look. "Okay, I'm not here for your workplace drama or weird flexes."
But despite himself, he picked up on something in her tone.
"…So, bad mood, huh?" he said carefully. "Did someone piss you off?"
Sora's chopsticks froze mid-air. For a moment, her expression hardened, and a flicker of annoyance passed through her eyes.
The air between them turned quiet.
Sora suddenly flicked him on the forehead with a sharp hand chop.
"Hey! What was that for?" Haruki yelped, rubbing his forehead.
"This is supposed to be a celebration dinner, remember? The first chapter of *The Garden of Words* landed in the top three on Inkbolt's reader poll. Stop bringing up people I don't like."
"I didn't bring anyone up! You're the one who got all weird—" Haruki muttered, feeling slightly wronged.
Sora didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of beer and downed it in one long, steady gulp. Haruki could only blink in astonishment.
This woman is seriously something else.
Still, he let the topic drop. It was obvious she wasn't in a great place mentally, and pushing it wouldn't help.
"…Wait, what did you just say?" he asked after a pause.
"Yeah," Sora replied, smirking now. "Why else do you think I dragged you out here for a meat feast?"
Haruki was well aware of how the industry worked.
In Japan, just like in other countries, editorial departments often based a manga's prospects on one key metric: reader votes.
In the past, surveys were collected by mail-in postcards. These days, everything was done online—faster, cleaner, and easier to tally.
Those votes determined everything: a series' placement in the magazine, its marketing budget, the author's bonus… and, most critically, whether the series got to keep running at all.
If a manga kept falling to the bottom of the rankings, the editorial board would usually cut its serialization without hesitation.
When *The Garden of Words* launched in Inkbolt, Haruki had hoped it would land somewhere in the top ten out of the eighteen serialized titles. He never imagined it would debut in the top three.
The thought made him genuinely happy. He mimicked Sora's earlier motion and raised his beer in a small toast to himself, taking a generous sip—
—or at least, he tried to. After about a third of the bottle, his throat rebelled and he nearly spat it all over the table.
Sora burst out laughing as Haruki doubled over in a fit of choking.
By now, she'd already had two bottles and was looking noticeably more relaxed. A faint pink had risen to her cheeks, and for the first time since they'd met, she was smiling like someone without a single care in the world.
For a moment, every guy nearby, including Haruki, couldn't help but freeze. She looked radiant.
"Ahh, that hits the spot…" Sora leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh, her voice a little looser, her posture more casual than ever.
It was clear now—this dinner wasn't just about celebrating *The Garden of Words* landing in the top three.
She'd needed a break.
Over the last three months, her life had been anything but peaceful. Ever since Rika Hayashi started quietly pushing her out within the company, things had only gone downhill.
She'd lost contact with several of her regular artists. Gossip followed her around the office. Her own projects had stalled. And Hayashi's underhanded tactics had made every day a tightrope walk of frustration.
In all that time, she hadn't had a proper meal with anyone. She hadn't really laughed.
So, if tonight had a purpose, it wasn't just about Haruki's work.
It was about company. About pretending, just for a little while, that everything was okay.
Haruki watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Is this how she usually is? She's kind of... odd.
He shook his head. His stomach was rumbling, and the food was still hot. He got to work, focusing on the plates of grilled meat in front of him.
Half an hour later, Haruki stared blankly at the girl now slumped across the table.
Sora's cheeks were completely flushed, and her head rested on her arms. She was out cold.
This woman—who had confidently ordered a full basket of 18 beers, declaring that only two were his and the rest hers—was now unconscious after barely finishing four.
She'd talked a big game and grilled up enough meat for a rugby team. Out of over twenty plates, she'd eaten maybe six. Tops.
"We're not leaving until we finish everything," she'd said.
Right. And now she had passed out… and left him with the bill.
Haruki stared at her, stunned.
"…Wait a sec. Am I getting scammed here?"