Parallel World Light Novelist

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”It’s really ending? Just like that?”

”What the hell is going on? I just saw Takumi getting ready to leave Mount Akina! Why pull the plug now?”

”Honestly, even though I’m shocked, I can see where he’s coming from. Any other mangaka with a hit selling 22 million copies per volume would milk it until the end of time. They’d probably draw another hundred volumes of filler. But looking at the story, I actually think ending Initial D here is a brilliant move.”

”How so?”

”Think about it. Once Takumi leaves Akina, what’s left? Racing across the region? Racing across Japan? Going pro internationally? Where’s the soul in that? If I wanted to see top-tier professional racers, I’d just watch Formula 1. Why would I want to see a fictional character do it in a manga?”

”That’s a fair point. Takumi’s charm is tied to Mount Akina. If he leaves his home turf, he’ll still be fast, but the ’vibe’ just won’t be the same.”

”I don’t care about the ’vibe’! I just want to see Takumi race again and again. I want to watch him forever!”

”But have you considered what happens to long-running manga? Power levels go off the rails, the ending gets botched, and the characters start making idiotic decisions just to keep the plot moving. So far, Initial D has been practically flawless, aside from the drama with Natsuki. If we actually followed his professional career in detail, I doubt it would stay interesting.”

”How do you know Haruto couldn’t make it interesting? Are you him? Do you know his brain?”

”Look, this is Haruto’s call. We’re talking about a manga that sells 22 million copies per volume.

He’s choosing to end a series that brings in hundreds of million yen a month. Why? It has to be a sense of responsibility toward the work. He’d rather end it on a high note than let it wither away. That’s the mark of a true artist. Most mangaka wouldn’t have the guts to kill their golden goose like this.”

”When you put it that way, it makes sense.”

”I still hate to see it go, though.”

”What’s there to be sad about? After Madoka ended, we got Edgerunners. Once Initial D is done, it just means something even better is on the horizon!”

One day, the animation world was drowning in news about the Cyberpunk 2077 movie. The next, the manga industry was completely consumed by the conclusion of Initial D. For several days, these two topics occupied every single headline and forum thread.

Haruto found himself swept up in a whirlwind of promotional activities, coordinating with both Haru-Yuki Animation and the editorial staff at Prime Manga. On Wednesday, he sat alongside the magazine’s staff for a formal fan and media interview. The session lasted nearly an hour, with journalists relentlessly asking why he decided to end such a massive success so early. Haruto told them that he believed that dragging the story out would inevitably lead to a decline in quality, and he didn’t want Initial D to be remembered as a series that started strong but ended as a disaster.

Hearing this directly from the creator’s mouth took the wind out of the fans’ sails. If the master himself felt the story was done, there wasn’t much they could do.

The fan asked: ”Since you don’t plan to write the sequel, could you at least share what you imagine the ultimate fates of Takumi and Ryosuke would be?”

Haruto sat in silence for about thirty seconds, his expression thoughtful. Then, he spoke.

”In my mind, Takumi suffers a catastrophic mechanical failure during a race. He’s severely injured and breaks his legs, which ends his dream of becoming a world-class driver. Although he eventually recovers after a long period of rehabilitation, the permanent damage to his body prevents him from handling the physical demands of professional rallying. He ends up retiring early and becomes a racing instructor.”

Haruto, dressed in a sharp black outfit, looked out at the stunned fans and the dozens of cameras. He offered a slow, calm smile. The silence that followed was deafening. By Friday afternoon, millions of fans who watched the interview online were collectively reeling.

What kind of cursed plot is that? Is that something a human being actually thinks up? Are you kidding us right now?

”I’m not even surprised anymore. This fits Haruto’s ’Warrior of Love’ persona perfectly. He just can’t help himself.”

”I want to say thank you for ending the manga early. Seriously. Thank you for not letting us see that.”

”If that’s where the story was headed, then yeah, finishing it now was a mercy kill.”

”Why is Haruto’s inner world so dark?”

”I’m dizzy. My head is actually spinning.”

”Broken legs, career-ending injuries... I’m crying. Haruto really knows how to write. They say a story fails if the readers can predict the ending. Well, nobody in a million years could have predicted that.”

”I’m laughing, honestly. I’m laughing because it’s so absurd.”

”Guys, don’t take it so seriously! A setting in his head isn’t canon until it’s published. He said it was his imagined ending, not the actual ending. Every creator probably kills off their characters in their head a dozen times; the fans just usually don’t hear about it.”

”True. If it isn’t on the page, it didn’t happen. I’m going to choose to forget everything I heard in this interview today.”

”It’s all fake. Takumi becomes the world champion. I didn’t hear anything about injuries or coaching. My ears are closed.”

The live stream of the press conference caused the conversation to shift in a strange direction. People stopped complaining about the series ending and started debating whether ending it was actually a blessing, considering the ”horror” Haruto had tucked away in his mind.

Haruto kept a close eye on the discussions over the next few days. From his perspective, the outcome was acceptable.

As for the fans’ complaints about the ”future” plot, that was exactly why he ended it where he did. Because that was the canon fate of Takumi according to the original author’s sequel manga in that other world. Even Ryosuke Takahashi didn’t escape the ”curse” of the racer. In the original lore, he falls in love with a woman who eventually commits suicide due to the guilt of being between him and her fiancé.

It reinforced the series’ running theme.

”Racers don’t need women. There is no true love on the track. And if there is, it ends in tragedy.”

Now, he turned his attention to the two stacks of documents on his desk. He had been working until two in the morning every night for a week, preparing the new anime for his studio and the new manga for Prime Manga. He had discarded anything he felt wasn’t ”high-tier” enough for his current reputation. Finally, he had settled on two legendary titles.

For the manga: Hunter x Hunter.

For the anime: Code Geass.

Both works were absolute peak. Hunter x Hunter was a name Haruto had seen frequently in the Shiori’s memories, but it had always been a name without a face. He had heard of its greatness but hadn’t ”seen” it. It wasn’t until three months ago that he finally watched it in a dream. The memory had become more reliable over the years, and it only took a month of dreaming for Haruto to catch up to the latest chapters. He was well aware that Hunter x Hunter was famously unfinished. Even so, after half a month of deliberation, he decided to bring it to this world.

There was no other reason than the fact that even without an ending, it remained one of the greatest pieces of fiction. The fact that Hunter fans only ever curse the author’s laziness and never their own decision to read the story was proof enough.

Besides, the memory was still updating. Who knew? Maybe he would ”receive” the ending in the future. And even if he didn’t, he could always pull a ”Togashi.”

He could go on an indefinite hiatus and tell everyone he was too busy playing Dragon Quest or mahjong. He was already known as the ”Warrior of Love”; he wouldn’t mind adding ”King of Games” or ”Mahjong Master” to his titles. A little bit of notoriety in his later years didn’t bother him.

What mattered was the journey.

The joy the fans would feel while reading Hunter x Hunter was the reason he was still working this hard. He wanted to share the happiness he felt in those memories, and yes, the pain, too.

He spent the afternoon organizing the first three chapters of the Hunter storyboards, preparing to hand them over to Shizuru that evening.

Then there was the other project: Code Geass.

There wasn’t much to say about this one. If it hadn’t been released so early in that other world, its commercial impact and cultural influence would have likely rivaled Madoka Magica.

In the year 2006 of that world, the anime industry was in a golden age. Fate/stay night was airing that year, but even a massive IP like Fate was overshadowed. That year saw the adaptation of The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, a show that practically defined a generation of fans. It saw the broadcast of the psychological horror masterpiece Higurashi When They Cry. It saw the adaptation of NANA and the hilarious Gintama also made its debut.

And, in October of that year, the industry saw the simultaneous broadcast of the two highest-rated psychological battle shows: Death Note and Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion. While shows like Reborn! and The Familiar of Zero were popular, they were considered average compared to these monsters.

And the undisputed king of that legendary year was Code Geass.

Haruto picked up his desk phone and summoned the heads of his production departments.

”Good afternoon, President Haruto.”

”Hello, sir.”

”You called for us, Boss?”

Five department heads walked into his office, looking visibly nervous.

Haruto rarely micromanaged their daily tasks. Usually, if there was an issue, he’d call a general meeting. Being summoned to his private office like this was rare and usually meant something big was happening.

Haruto looked at the team. These were top-tier talents recruited from major studios. Some had left their previous jobs because their careers were stalled. The industry in this world was a bit better than in other worlds, but even for a massive hit, the animators rarely saw much of the profit. They might get a small bonus, but the dividends were usually negligible.

”I’ve brought you here for something very important,” Haruto said, skipping the small talk. ”I’ve finished the concept for our new anime.”

The expressions on the five men changed instantly. Another one? This fast? They were still a bit stunned. Having joined Haru-Yuki recently, they hadn’t experienced the ”Madoka era” and weren’t yet accustomed to Haruto’s legendary production speed.

Haruto handed out copies of the new script. At his signal, they began to read.

The superpower Britannia... the vengeful Prince Lelouch...

On the surface, it seemed like a standard ”fallen prince” story. But as they read further, their eyes widened. The heroine C.C... the giant mechs... the ”Geass” ability to command anyone...

Within minutes, they were completely immersed in the script. Haruto had only given them the first three episodes, which barely scratched the surface of the world-building, but the impact was immediate. They could tell this was special.

”This is... actually very interesting,” one of them murmured.

But Haruto hadn’t called them in for their opinions. He was there to issue orders.

”Take this script and start your research. This will be a long-form series, likely exceeding fifty episodes. Coordinate with the cost-control department and give me an estimated budget. And tell the staff,” Haruto said with a smile, ”their vacation is officially over.”

The department heads stood frozen for a moment, the realization slowly sinking in.

’No committee meetings? No market trend analysis? No debating the flaws in the plot? The boss just... decided?’

Having spent years in the traditional structure of the anime industry, this was the first time they had ever encountered a creator-owner who operated with such terrifying, decisive authority.