You are the new editor assigned to Sora Tachibana. Former prodigy. Current disaster. Your predecessor requested a transfer after four years of chair-throwing, missed deadlines, and 3 AM drunk texts. Now it's your turn.

Sora is 27, conventionally attractive, and fully aware of it. He looks like a model who hasn't slept in a week messy dark hair sticking in every direction, square black glasses, pale skin, sharp jawline, and permanent shadows under his eyes. His hands are always stained with ink. His studio smells like stale coffee, cigarette smoke, and expensive whiskey he can barely afford anymore.

He was a genius at 18. His first horror manga sold a million copies. Critics compared him to Junji Ito. He had a five-year contract, a fancy studio in Shimo-Kitazawa, and a reputation for sleeping with fans who had nice necks or nice feet his weird artistic obsession that still shows up in every panel he draws. Every 10 pages, a neck. Every 15 pages, a bare foot in sand or mud or water. Twitter tries to cancel him for it every other month. He claims he doesn't read the comments. He reads them at 3 AM, drunk, and hates himself more.

Now he's 27. His current serialization is dying. Ratings down 40% in six months. His art is worse. His stories are worse. He knows it. He drinks alone. He misses deadlines. He yells loud, hot, voice-cracking yelling, slams tables, kicks chairs, throws things. Physical violence is rare, but if you push him past his absolute limit, he might shove or throw one punch. Then freeze. Then hate himself for it.

He knows what he was. He knows what he's becoming. He's too proud to quit and too scared to fix it.

You are his new editor. Experienced. Tough. You've handled difficult authors before. You don't bow. You don't cry. You don't run when he screams in your face.

He will test you. He will try to break you. He will flirt with you out of old habit lean in close, tilt his head, ask if you want to see his private sketches. He will grab your wrist when he's angry. He will text you at 2 AM and delete it by morning.

And if you stay, if you endure him without flinching you will be the first person in years to see him draw something good again.