The next day arrived.
Early Sunday morning, Kuroba Akira finished writing the entire manuscript. He borrowed the printer from Hijikata-san's room to print it out and then bound the pages neatly together.
Then, shamelessly, he asked Shion for some leftover money from her earlier shopping spree to pay for postage, mailing the manuscript off to Hurricane Bunko.
Since Hurricane Bunko's headquarters was also located within Tokyo's 23 wards, local deliveries typically arrived the same day.
The editors usually set aside one day each week to review all submissions from the previous week. Thus, manuscripts sent this week would receive responses as soon as the following week.
Japanese publishers were quite responsive—even if the submission was absolute garbage, they'd still politely reply with encouragement, aiming to nurture potential future authors.
In other words, the results would come back by next Friday at the latest.
He wasn't sure how far Shiroi Shiori had progressed, but she definitely couldn't be faster than him—after all, she still had to study plenty of light novels first.
In short, if his manuscript got approved by the editors, the contest would be decided ahead of schedule.
Of course, Akira hoped his manuscript would pass smoothly, though his main goal wasn't actually to see Shiroi Shiori strip naked—that was just a bonus reward.
What truly mattered was the royalty payments.
As long as his book got published and he earned his first pot of gold, many of his current money problems would vanish instantly.
Whether it was Shion's Ten-Li-Slope Seiyuu Training Plan or scouting other talents in the future, they would no longer be constrained by financial circumstances.
His dream of becoming a master freeloader was about to pick up speed!
Mori Keima was the deputy editor-in-chief of Hurricane Bunko. This was his eighth year in the industry.
During his tenure, he had personally discovered dozens of rising literary stars, dozens of promising new books, and seven best-selling titles that became iconic within the newly booming light novel industry.
Though more than half of these works had since become unsellable trash that couldn't even find buyers in used bookstores, and most of those promising rookies vanished after a brief flash of brilliance...
Nevertheless, his productivity still shamed his fellow editors.
You see, normally an editor who could uncover one potential new author and publish two new titles a year was already considered exceeding their goals.
After all, many rookie editors didn't even need to scout new authors or new works—they just inherited resources from their seniors.
But this guy Mori Keima—he consistently churned out seven or eight hit novels annually, along with bringing in four or five completely new authors from who knows where, none of whom had ever written novels before.
His boldness in selecting talent made even national football team coaches feel inadequate.
However, precisely because of his ruthless abandonment of authors who missed deadlines or proved incompetent, he was hated by many, labeled "the cruelest editor," bar none.
About seventy percent of the works under his care got canceled after a single volume, with no chance to even reach completion. Those authors rarely published a second title afterward, their writing careers shorter than shooting stars.
Among the remaining thirty percent, about twenty percent barely avoided cancellation after volume one but were forced to wrap up within five volumes—no negotiations possible.
However, many of these authors later produced decent works under different editors or at other publishers, eventually becoming the backbone of the light novel industry.
A terrifying ninety percent cancellation rate—rare even in the notoriously ruthless manga industry—stood uniquely within the novel industry. Certainly no proud reputation.
But the final ten percent—the seven aforementioned novels—had all become major hits at Hurricane Bunko, including their former flagship title, Misfortune May Pop but Don't Cry.
Yet, despite his merciless style with authors, every editor at Hurricane Bunko held absolute trust in Mori Keima. No complaints.
Because he was remarkably generous, handing over all the authors he'd personally cultivated—especially those who'd grown into industry pillars—to other editors.
Thus, industry insiders jokingly called him "half-angel, half-devil." Angel referred to his gentleness toward fellow editors; devil referred to his ruthless treatment of authors.
In fact, Mori Keima himself never thought sharing his authors deserved any praise.
To him, those authors had already matured enough to produce works with strong personal styles without needing editorial guidance—and sales wouldn't suffer much either.
Therefore, he felt comfortable passing them to other editors. After all, one person's energy was limited, and he refused to stop scouting new talent.
This was why, despite his successes, Mori Keima remained merely a "deputy editor-in-chief." Chief editors handled more than scouting new authors and hounding for manuscripts.
The chief editor had to coordinate joint events with major publishers, organize author signing events, regularly liaise with printing houses, and handle novel adaptations into manga, anime, and other miscellaneous tasks... Of course, ordinary editors also had to perform these duties.
But Mori Keima completely ignored those tasks. He'd already built up dazzling "achievements" proving his sharp eye, earning him the privilege to refuse trivial chores.
Actually, his original reason for entering the editing profession was simply to become the "first reader."
Since junior high, he'd been an obsessive bookworm who loved buying newly released novels, always rushing to devour the hottest new works as soon as they hit the shelves.
But after reading extensively, he grew impatient. Why are these authors publishing so slowly?! What are the editors even doing? Playing mahjong at the publisher's office? Go chase them down! I need the next volume!
At the peak of his frustration awaiting sequels, he suddenly had a revelation:
Isn't an editor the first to read newly completed manuscripts?
That's it! I've decided—I'll become an editor!
Authors! Your doomsday approaches!
Once I enter this industry, you lazy-ass writers won't dare slack off anymore! Even if I have to shove a whip up your asses, I'll squeeze manuscripts out of you!
But after actually becoming an editor, he realized writing novels wasn't as simple as making hotpot—boiling water and tossing in ingredients to effortlessly produce delicious results.
Often, authors themselves had no idea what to write next, spending three entire days painfully squeezing out ten words—half of them names and punctuation marks.
It wasn't that these authors didn't want to write or were slacking off—they genuinely couldn't write anything!
This severely disappointed and infuriated him.
You guys call yourselves professional authors, yet that's all you've got?! Produce more interesting works! If you can't do it, I'll force you until you achieve enlightenment!
Thus, fueled by rage, Mori Keima began his career as a devilish editor.
Above was the glorious history of the professional editor named Mori Keima.
Now he was once again reviewing amateur manuscripts voluntarily submitted to Hurricane Bunko.
This was usually the work of rookie editors, sorting readable submissions to discuss during serialization meetings, but he'd willingly taken over. He even possessed authority to independently decide whether a submission got published.
Although most amateur submissions were cringey, self-indulgent fantasies written by middle schoolers, sometimes interesting ideas did emerge.
He would jot these ideas down and reach out to their originators to assess if further training was worthwhile. If their writing was hopelessly awful, he'd—with their consent—buy these ideas for money, then pass them along to other authors stuck with writer's block.
This method consistently worked wonders, helping stuck authors find inspiration, and amateur submitters who couldn't become professional authors were delighted to see their ideas appear in published novels.
Since these students earned some pocket money, they often proudly bragged to their friends: "Look! The plot twist in this novel was my idea!"
Mori Keima knew he was taking advantage of students' naïveté, exploiting their lack of business sense to "extract their inspiration." It was admittedly quite despicable.
But who cared about being despicable?
As long as it made novels more interesting, that's enough!
He was an editor! Making novels interesting was his sacred duty!
He began today's work.
First up: the latest submission, freshly delivered.
Title: My Little Sister Is Actually a Master H-game Creator?!
Mori Keima's eyes immediately lit up.
Excellent! Your title has already successfully grabbed my attention!
It proved this author at least understood current trends—in today's light novel market, eye-catching gimmicks were becoming increasingly vital.
Now, let's see what kind of fresh, exciting reading experience this unknown "insider author" could offer!
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T/N: i forgot uhhh what the publisher houses name is