It had been three months since Miyako uploaded her manga online, and the quiet buzz around it hadn't faded.
Her story, Two Worlds, One Dream, had reached more readers than she ever expected. Fan messages filled her inbox — from classmates, artists, and even strangers from Japan who said her story gave them hope.
Miyako often reread those messages late at night, sitting by her window with the city lights glowing below. Each kind word reminded her why she drew in the first place.
But one message stood out — it wasn't from a fan.
It was from Horizon Press, a small but rising manga and comic publisher based in New York.
They wanted to meet her.
---
Ethan came with her for moral support, though he joked that he was only there "for snacks and backup."
The Horizon Press office was bright and full of energy — framed comic pages on the walls, shelves stacked with printed manga, and editors bustling between desks.
A woman in glasses greeted them with a smile. "You must be Miyako Aihara. I'm Claire, head editor here. We've all read Two Worlds, One Dream. It's something special."
Miyako bowed politely out of habit, which made Claire chuckle.
"Your art style has heart," Claire continued. "It reminds me of classic Japanese manga — emotional, clean, and alive. We'd like to help you publish a revised version professionally. That means a small team, a timeline, and… a lot of work."
Miyako's breath caught. Publish? The word felt unreal, like a dream spoken aloud.
"I… I would be honored," she said softly.
Ethan grinned beside her. "See? Told you people would notice."
Claire handed her a folder. "We'll start with editing and pacing feedback. You'll also need to adjust some panels for print format. Think of this as your first real step into the world of professionals."
Miyako nodded, clutching the folder like it was treasure.
---
At first, the excitement carried her through everything. She redrew pages late into the night, refining every expression, every shadow.
But as deadlines approached, pressure began to build.
Emails from editors filled her inbox — requests for revisions, story pacing notes, dialogue adjustments. Sometimes, she felt like her story was slipping away, piece by piece.
Ethan noticed the dark circles under her eyes one afternoon.
"Hey," he said, leaning over her desk, "you've been drawing nonstop for days. You need a break."
"I can't," she murmured. "If I stop, I'll fall behind. They said the story needs more emotion… more 'American pacing.' I don't even know what that means."
He sighed. "Miyako, don't let them take away what makes your work yours. You draw from your heart — that's what people love about it."
She paused, her pencil hovering above the page. His words sank deep.
Maybe she had been so focused on perfection, she'd forgotten the feeling behind her art — the thing that made it hers.
That night, she closed her sketchbook and stepped outside onto her apartment balcony.
The city stretched before her — loud, alive, imperfect.
And in its imperfection, she found her answer.
When she returned to her desk, she began redrawing again — but this time, freely. She mixed her Tokyo memories with New York streets, her old loneliness with new hope.
Each page was a heartbeat, a piece of herself.
---
One Month Later
Horizon Press published Two Worlds, One Dream officially — now as a printed manga. It sold modestly, but steadily. More importantly, readers praised its sincerity.
In an interview, Claire said, "Miyako Aihara reminds us that great art isn't just technique — it's honesty."
At the release party, Ethan handed her a copy of her own book.
Her name was there, printed on the cover.
Her art, her story — in her own way.
Miyako smiled, her eyes shimmering. "I can't believe this is real."
Ethan chuckled. "You made it real. Line by line."
She held the book close to her chest and whispered,
> "Maybe this is what it means to draw your own world."