Chapter 1 First Day of Work
Yokohama Publishing House.
Editorial Department.
"Sansen."
Mr. Kobayashi called me right at the end of the workday. I was packing my briefcase, my mind preoccupied with the heavy workload ahead, so I didn't immediately respond when I heard my own surname. Luckily, my reaction time isn't slow; I only hesitated for a second or two before looking up and asking, puzzled, "Mr. Kobayashi, is there something you need?"
The person looked up and met the eyes of a serious-looking man with old-fashioned black round-framed glasses perched on his nose. Every button of the white shirt under his black suit was neatly fastened.
His surname is Kobayashi, and his full name... I don't quite remember it. But in our daily conversations, we only address each other by our surnames, so not remembering his full name isn't a big deal.
Mr. Kobayashi uttered the words with a steady, aged tone: "Did you receive Oda's manuscript?"
"..." Mentioning Oda reminded me of our last email, which was still half a month ago, so I naturally fell silent.
Actually, I haven't been in contact with him for a long time.
I thought this to myself, but didn't say it aloud. I just silently lowered my raised right hand, pursed my lips, and said, "Not yet."
"Oh, really." Mr. Kobayashi, who had asked the question, seemed to have expected this, but he still couldn't help but sigh and push up his glasses. "Remember to tell him to submit the manuscript as soon as possible. Next Monday is the deadline."
"Yes, I understand." I nodded obediently.
He waved his hand, "It's alright, you can go now."
"Okay." I picked up my handbag. "Goodbye, Mr. Kobayashi."
After saying goodbye to Mr. Kobayashi, I left Yokohama Publishing House.
My current identity is Mimori, and I work in the editorial department of Yokohama Publishing House. Mr. Kobayashi is the head of the editorial department, and also my direct superior. The Oda that Mr. Kobayashi mentioned is Oda Sakunosuke, a very famous novelist in Yokohama. His debut novel, "Tomoko Zenzai," became a huge hit as soon as it was serialized, and I am his editor.
It is well known that writers share a common trait—they like to delay their manuscripts.
It has nothing to do with fame, personality, writing field, or any other strange or unusual things.
Most writers are born procrastinators. They're happier about not writing than about not writing. I remember one of the most outrageous writers the editorial department had worked with had been on hiatus for two years and is still on break.
The editor colleague was utterly devastated. At first, she kept urging them, but later she simply gave up. — Not only did she give up on the writer, but she also gave up her job as editor and transferred directly to the proofreading department.
However, quite a few book fans still remember it, and they clamor online every day for the author to fill in the plot holes, saying things like "in my lifetime," and some even go so far as to send razor blade models to the publisher.
Fortunately, Oda Sakunosuke didn't bother me too much. Although he didn't submit the manuscript early, he didn't delay too much either. He was the kind of person who could be submitted if I reminded him.
Among the various roles, this one is considered relatively worry-free.
Yokohama is located by the sea, and the wind that blows through it carries the salty smell of the bay.
I walked quietly down the wide street with my bag in my hand. Remembering Mr. Kobayashi's words, I thought for a while and then sent an email to Oda Sakunosuke.
From: Sansen
To: Oda Sakunosuke
[The deadline is next Monday. I hope you can send me the manuscript before then, Oda-sensei. I apologize for bothering you.]
After the email was successfully sent, I felt a little relieved.
The tight schedule meant I couldn't afford to waste too much time on the way home, so I got home quickly. As I was changing my shoes in the entryway, my phone rang. I opened it and saw it was a reply from Oda Sakunosuke.
[I will, thank you for your hard work, Mr. Mimori.]
Satisfied with Oda Sakunosuke's assurance, I exited the email and glanced at the time displayed on my phone screen.
17:46.
There's still time.
I plopped down on the sofa, the warm, soft texture almost making me sink into it. I sighed at how tough life is for working people, while scrolling through the taskbar to check my upcoming work schedule.
If there were other people around me at that moment, they would definitely look at me very strangely, because in their eyes my actions would probably just be my fingers suddenly poking at the air and moving around haphazardly, as if I were gesturing something, like an animal atavistic.
From my own perspective, I could see a huge virtual screen in front of me, and all my strange actions were just me communicating with the system.
The next alias to be used is...
My eyes swept across the taskbar, found the current time point, and read the line of text.
It's that annoying service industry again.
I couldn't help but sigh, but I had no choice but to resign myself to issuing a command to the system.
[Cut off the sign; bartender at Lupin Ginza Bar.]
[Yes, host.]
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