For the next three weeks, Ritsu lived a waking nightmare. Every editorial meeting was a dissection of his own heart. The new author, a cheerful woman named Aya, had turned the tragic ending into a comedy where the rivals accidentally glue their hands together and fall in love. She had no idea the original author was sitting across from her, dying inside.
Takano snatched it. His eyes scanned the first page. Then he laughed—a low, dangerous sound that made Ritsu’s soul leave his body.
Before he could hide the evidence, his boss, the terrifyingly competent Takano himself, strolled over. “Onodera. What’s that?” Sekai Ichi Hatsukoi
It was his manuscript. From ten years ago.
Ritsu Onodera prided himself on one thing above all else: his professionalism. After transferring to the shoujo manga editorial department of Marukawa Publishing, he had sworn off personal feelings. No more nepotism allegations, no more emotional attachments. Just work. For the next three weeks, Ritsu lived a waking nightmare
“We’re rejecting it,” Ritsu said firmly.
The story was published. It became a surprise hit, praised for its “raw emotion and surprising humor.” And Ritsu, despite himself, started doodling again—not for Aya, not for Marukawa, but for the boy who had fished his broken heart out of a trash can and held onto it for a decade. She had no idea the original author was
Worst of all, Takano kept lingering. He’d lean over Ritsu’s shoulder, whisper, “You really thought love was that hopeless, huh?” or “Page twelve—that crying scene. Were you thinking of me?”