Parallel World Light Novelist

Chapter 140: Chapter 139: I Fell Asleep Dreaming About Sports Cars and Woke Up Discovering a Racing Anime

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Haruto let out a sigh of relief after submitting the final manuscript for the Parasyte. Furthermore, the news that the first three tankobon volumes had achieved an average sale of 1.9 million copies each in just their first week of release gave his spirits a much-needed boost.

Given that Parasyte was long enough to fill five volumes, it was now a certainty that the series would reach a staggering five million sales per volume on average. Based on these sales figures, Haruto estimated that his royalties from the tankobon releases alone would be hundreds of millions yen.

This represented the typical income for a creator of a top-tier Japanese mid-length novel backed by a powerhouse publisher. Many business owners in Tokyo might work themselves to the bone all year just to keep their companies from going into the red, but an author capable of serializing in Kiyozawa or Azure Kiyozawa could expect several hundred million yen in annual income at the very least. At the top of the food chain, the pillar authors of those magazines regularly earned well over a billion yen every year.

Haruto had essentially liquidated his entire net worth to produce the Puella Magi Madoka Magica anime, so the massive success of the Parasyte tankobons served as a vital blood transfusion for his finances. However, it would take some time for those royalty checks to clear. The payments would likely arrive in monthly installments over the next year since distributors typically pay out as books are sold. Consequently, Haruto would have to keep living a frugal lifestyle for a while longer.

After he had originally obtained his driver’s license, he had planned to buy the dream car of every young man, but he had been forced to postpone that luxury to focus on his professional goals.

Now that the pressure was off, his mind began to wander toward automobiles once again.

He spent time on his phone browsing through various sports cars, obsessively studying their performance specs, aftermarket parts, and price tags. The happiness of a man is often that simple; some study cars to show off, while others simply love those mechanical beasts for what they are. Even without the stress of a deadline, Haruto could easily lose himself in such research for hours on end.

Eventually, while fiddling with his phone at home, Haruto drifted into a deep sleep.

Perhaps because he had spent the day dreaming of taking a flashy red supercar to the gates of an elementary school to soak in the envious gazes of children a dream he had held since his own childhood, he found himself entering the dreamscape of Shiori once again.

Haruto entered Shiori’s memory dreams roughly once every week to ten days. Most of the time, he simply watched this shut-in girl play video games or watch ”trashy” isekai anime that he knew would flop if brought to the market.

Just as he expected to spend this dream session watching her play games again, she did exactly that. She was playing GTA VI, causing absolute chaos in a digital city. She ignored every traffic law and red light in existence, indulging in a spree of virtual crime that made Haruto’s brow furrow in annoyance. Since he was only a passive observer of her memories and couldn’t actually play the game himself, the more he watched, the more irritated he became. Eventually, the girl grew tired of the high-speed chases and opened her laptop.

”The seasonal anime lately have been so boring. I should find an old classic to rewatch for the second time,” she muttered.

Shiori aimlessly scrolled through the internet until she finally clicked on a streaming link for a specific series: Initial D.

Haruto felt a jolt of electricity run through his spirit at the sight of the title. Although he had never seen the specific plot of this work in the girl’s memories before, he had seen the name countless times. Whenever she had wasted time on anime communities and forums, the legends of the ”God of Mount Akina” and ”Takumi from the Tofu Shop” had flooded his vision in the comments of various netizens.

This was a legendary masterpiece that anyone on the internet in that parallel world would have heard of, even if they had never watched a single episode. Everyone knows the legend of the ”Mount Akina AE86.”

”Is it because I spent the whole day looking at car specs that I’ve triggered some deep psychological link with Shiori’s memories? Did my obsession cause tonight’s dream to manifest Initial D?” Haruto wondered to himself. It seemed too perfect to be a mere coincidence.

However, he didn’t have time to overthink the mechanics of the dream. He focused his vision through the girl’s eyes and began to absorb the classic series. As he watched, he found himself completely entranced.

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It was 3:00 AM when Haruto woke up from the dream. Since this particular session was just a rewatch of a classic, Shiori had only made it through the first few episodes, but those few episodes were enough to leave Haruto in a state of absolute shock. He had never realized that the racing genre could be handled with such narrative mastery.

Every episode ended on a cliffhanger so perfect it felt criminal. Haruto, who spent his days engineering cliffhangers for his own light novels, finally knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a master’s work. The forced interruption of the memory left him feeling incredibly restless and unsatisfied.

”But god, that was incredible,” he whispered, taking a deep breath as he recalled the content of Initial D.

However, as he began to analyze the work with a professional eye, he started to frown.

This particular story was completely unsuitable for a light novel adaptation.

Some works, like Parasyte, could make the transition easily. Even though the original was a manga, Haruto’s light novel version still drew in a massive audience because Parasyte relied purely on its plot and philosophical themes. The art style and fight choreography of the original manga weren’t its strongest points, so moving it to text didn’t rob it of its soul.

In fact, Haruto had spent considerable time using descriptive language to enhance the combat in the light novel version, allowing readers to visualize fights that were perhaps even more intense than the static panels of the source material.

But Initial D was different.

There was no way to replicate that experience in prose. The drifting, the inertial slides, the gutter runs, and the 720-degree spins, these things were too visceral for words alone. The sheer infectious energy of those visuals would drop from a perfect score to a mediocre one if translated into mere text.

”That means there are only two formats that can do it justice,” Haruto mused, staying awake in the dead of night to think it through. ”Anime or manga.”

Although he had only seen a few episodes in the dream, Haruto knew from experience that the rest of the plot would gradually fill in over the coming days as his own anticipation exerted pressure. He began to consider how to bring this masterpiece to the market.

Since he had watched the anime version, the most logical path would be to produce an Initial D anime.

The problem was that his studio, Haru-Yuki Animation, was currently drowning in work for Madoka Magica. Madoka was set to premiere on April 3rd and wouldn’t finish its broadcast until June. Only then would his staff be free to start on a new project. If they spent several months or even half a year on production, an Initial D anime wouldn’t see the light of day until the end of the year or early next year.

That was far too slow. In this industry, time was everything. It was only March; who knew what other masterpieces would emerge from Shiori’s memories between now and December?

If he had to wait a year to release every work he discovered, he would never be able to keep up. Shiori’s five years of memories contained enough content to last him a lifetime of ”transcribing.”

Furthermore, Initial D was originally a manga. It would be most appropriate to release it as a manga first. He could profit from the manga serialization and then profit a second time from the anime adaptation, thereby maximizing the commercial value of the intellectual property.

After thinking it over for a long time, Haruto reached a decision. ”I’ll go with a manga version.”

He had already established himself in the light novel and animation industries, and he had always sensed that the manga industry would be his next inevitable step. As for how to adapt Initial D into a manga, the solution was simple.

He would collaborate with a talented artist. He would provide the script and storyboards, while the artist would handle the actual drawing. Haruto would naturally retain all secondary rights to the work, but he could offer a generous cut of the manga royalties to his partner.

The face of Shizuru, the president of the Manga Research Club, immediately came to his mind.

There were many artists with exceptional skills, and if Haruto were willing to spend enough money, he could hire almost anyone.

Shizuru was undoubtedly talented, though Haruto couldn’t say for certain where she ranked among the top professionals. However, she was definitely superior to the average commercial artist.

More importantly, skill could be replaced, but the friendship and trust he had built with her could not. Shizuru wasn’t overly ambitious; she had a cheerful personality and was incredibly reliable.

She had never been late for a single meeting. Even once, when it was pouring rain in Tokyo, she had arrived at the club soaked to the bone just to explain a concept to him. If he collaborated with her, Haruto was confident there would be no behind-the-scenes drama.

In a partnership like this, technical skill was only half the battle. The most important thing was that the partner stayed grounded. Haruto would be very clear from the start: the partner would be paid well for their labor, but they shouldn’t expect ownership of the IP.

Since the irreplaceable part of Initial D was its narrative and concept rather than its specific art style, this was a fair arrangement.

If he worked with a stranger, they might get greedy once they saw the massive profits from Initial D. They might go on social media to complain about ”predatory contracts” or claim they had co-created the story, turning public opinion against him.

Even if Haruto won the legal battle thanks to a clear contract, he would lose in the court of public opinion. Readers tend to sympathize with the perceived ”underdog,” and a scandal could tarnish his reputation and hurt the sales of his works.

Haruto spent the rest of the night weighing his options. Finally, he let out a long breath. ”It’s only been a week since the new semester started, and I only have the first few episodes in my head. That’s not enough to pitch a collaboration yet. I’ll wait a bit longer before I ask to meet her at the Manga Research Club.”

Of course, this was all assuming she actually had the interest and the time, and that she was willing to work in a model where she was essentially a high-level assistant helping Haruto bring his vision to life.