068. The Black Cat and the Glazed Glass

At exactly six in the evening, the alarm clock roused Ruri Gokou from her work. Rubbing her slightly sore eyes, she stood up and stretched lazily, an involuntary yawn escaping her lips. Along with it, a few crystalline teardrops, unrelated to any sentiment, welled up at the corners of her eyes.

She gently wiped away the tears—caused merely by the increased pressure in her nasal cavity, which temporarily halted the function of her nasolacrimal duct, forcing her tear glands to release moisture through her eyes—and let out a weary sigh as she quietly began to gather her belongings.

There were not many people still working around her; after all, the official closing time at Immortal River Bookstore was five in the afternoon. Ruri Gokou was among the last to leave. Soon, security would come around to check and lock the doors.

Often, the so-called nine-to-five was little more than an ideal. Who hasn’t found themselves swallowed up by overtime, losing all sense of day and night? While editing was not the most difficult job, its weight and tedium meant that many newcomers stumbled along the way. Veteran editors, for the most part, managed to complete their tasks on time, yet even among them, there were those who needed to use their off hours to finish their work.

As a workplace novice, Ruri Gokou naturally wasn’t entrusted with any major responsibilities; her daily tasks consisted solely of reviewing manuscript after manuscript. Most of what she reviewed were submissions from new authors over the past two months; earlier works had long since been assigned to other editors. With the imminent arrival of the Newcomer Prize, submissions had spiked, and for the past several days, all the new entries had been left to Ruri Gokou and a few other junior editors.

Now, faced with stories so alike in form and spirit, Ruri Gokou could predict, even with her eyes closed, where the next dramatic twist would occur or how the protagonist would cling to life for a comeback. At a top-tier publisher like Immortal River Bookstore, countless manuscripts arrived daily. With the country's flourishing ACG industry, many young people harbored dreams and sent in their first works.

The quality of these novice authors, however, was… inconsistent at best. Yet among them, there were those whose debut works caused a sensation and ultimately became leading writers. As for the mindset of most newcomers…

That old adage about writers belittling each other found its best expression here. When their own works were rejected while others received accolades, most newcomers could do little but complain, believing editors were blind to real talent. Few bothered to seriously consider why their own stories failed to pass the publisher’s selection for the Newcomer Prize.

Ruri Gokou was fortunate: her past attempts to submit her work had led her to study numerous novels, and she’d developed a knack for speed reading. Even so, as a probationary editor, the sheer volume of tasks left her exhausted every day. Perhaps it was simply the busy season of the Immortal River Newcomer Prize.

Thanks to Chief Editor Machida’s guidance, Ruri Gokou occasionally caught wind of information that Machida let slip, intentionally or not—such as how this year’s Newcomer Prize was receiving unprecedented attention, with greater publicity and more generous awards. For this, Ruri Gokou felt deeply grateful to Sonoko Machida. Not every workplace novice was lucky enough to have a superior who both recognized their talent and looked after them.

Glancing at the five or six remaining manuscripts, Ruri Gokou sighed inwardly. Even with an hour of overtime, the work was still unfinished; her face bore a look of resignation as she resolved to take the rest home for review. After copying the last few files from her work computer, she finished packing up.

She paused to consider whether she had forgotten anything. Satisfied that nothing was left behind, she set off for home, her steps unsteady from a day spent sitting at her desk.

Passing through the bustling commercial district, she watched as shop lights flickered on, blending with the dazzling neon signs. Amid the kaleidoscopic glow, Ruri Gokou glimpsed her younger self—the one who had resolutely left Chiba for university in Tokyo, brimming with dreams of the metropolis, only to be struck by the harsh reality of living costs. What followed was a period of diligent study and part-time jobs, days even more exhausting than now.

But at least, for the time being… perhaps she had found some stability.

Walking along the street, this thought caused Ruri Gokou to furrow her brows unconsciously, a look of perplexity animating her fair features. She herself could not say whether she had truly found her footing in one of the world’s greatest cities.

Glancing up at the sun sinking in the west, Ruri Gokou quickened her pace. After all, she still needed to make herself dinner.

…

After dinner and a bath, Ruri Gokou lay on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her black cat hopped down from its little nest, leapt onto the bed, and nestled by her cheek. Shielding her eyes from the overly bright lamp with one hand, she gently rested the other on the cat’s back.

The black cat affectionately nuzzled her still-warm palm, closing its eyes and purring in a peculiar rhythm. With a quiet sigh, Ruri Gokou pushed herself upright. The cat opened its eyes, mewing in confusion.

As she turned on her computer, Ruri Gokou apologized to the cat in a soft voice, “Sorry, Curry, I still have work to do…”

Curry seemed to understand, uttering a few small meows before returning to its nest and curling up with eyes closed.

Ruri Gokou transferred the manuscripts she’d copied earlier to her computer and began reviewing them. The first few were as uninspiring as ever, and her exhaustion grew; she found herself yawning, even nodding off with her eyes closed from time to time.

At last, she reached the final manuscript. Wiping away the tears from yet another yawn, she propped her head with one hand and scrolled with the other.

As she read, her eyes began to shine. She skimmed through the opening chapters, then glanced at the document’s title: “My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong, As I Expected.”

Silently savoring the title, Ruri Gokou allowed herself a rare smile. She scrolled back to the beginning to reread the essay penned by the author through the protagonist’s voice, her eyes growing ever brighter.

Within half an hour, she’d speed-read through the entire manuscript, her face registering surprise. To be honest, the quality of this submission far exceeded her expectations; it was the most outstanding piece she’d read among all the entries—on par with, if not better than, any bestselling light novel she had ever encountered.