Editor-in-Chief Slayer

It’s giving a five-hundred-copy first print run.

The editor-in-chief of Chugakukan's light novel imprint, Gigigi Bunko, looked at the cover design I'd submitted and said exactly that.

The outer cover, with its illustration, title, and carefully balanced design, was what she focused on. After a brief inspection, she rendered her verdict: it exuded that unmistakable aura of a five-hundred-copy first printing.

I'm genuinely curious what made you think this would work.

The editor-in-chief of Gigigi Bunko, Chugakukan’s light novel paperback label, is a straight-up sadist.

Her words cut like knives with incredible precision—kukri-level lethality, the kind Nepal’s Gurkha warriors carry. And she doesn't hesitate for a second. She goes straight for the jugular.

Um . . . how should I put this . . . well . . . I was thinking about the author's style, you see . . .

As a rookie editor who'd only been working here for six months, I wasn't used to taking this kind of criticism yet.

The shock left me in a mild panic, and I couldn't come up with a proper response.

So you're saying the author's style is first edition five-hundred-copy material?

N-no . . .

Her sharp gaze, loaded with as much murderous intent as her cutting words, stayed locked on me.

I instinctively looked away, but the harder I tried to avoid her eyes, the more we seemed to make eye contact. That's because the editor-in-chief's eye level was ridiculously low—her face barely cleared the top of her desk.

The editor-in-chief of Chugakukan's light novel imprint, Gigigi Bunko, was a young girl.

Obviously, child labor laws would never allow an actual child to work, but she looked like one in every possible way. She was a straight-up sadistic "child" editor-in-chief.

Smooth forehead, big sparkling eyes, chubby little cheeks. The whole package.

This adorable child was glaring at me with an absolutely terrifying expression.

The gap between her appearance and her behavior was just too extreme.

What a pretty picture!

I can't read what it says, but the text looks so cool!

There was no way I could expect such childlike comments from her.

This is getting a five-hundred-copy first printing. With a twenty percent sell-through rate, we'd be lucky if a hundred copies actually sold.

This doesn't pop. It's so bland that even math textbooks have more exciting covers these days.

What kind of design brief leads to a cover with early-Yamcha-level combat power? Please, enlighten me.

Her words cut straight to the heart of a rookie editor who'd only been working at Gigigi Bunko for six months.

One verbal blade after another came flying my way.

I was getting stabbed repeatedly. This was complete overkill.

It was true that the design I'd submitted was somewhat plain for a light novel.

But that was intentional, based on the content of the work.

The work I was currently handling, The Sheep of Youth by Nozomi Endo, was a story of dreams, youth, and love woven between high school boys and girls in the astronomy club. It featured delicate psychological portrayals of teenagers and had a sophisticated style that transcended the typical light novel category.

Taking that into account, I'd tried to create a cover design that would reach not just light novel readers, but a broader audience—something simple yet emotionally resonant . . .

Unfortunately, this was the response I got.

Kawata, how long have you been here now?

Six months.

Hmm. That long, huh. I really need you to start pulling your weight soon. This isn't some college club.

I'm sorry . . .

If you don't shape up soon, I'll have you transferred. Want to get transferred? To the Post Eight Hair Growth Research Lab?

The Post Eight Hair Growth Research Lab that the editor-in-chief mentioned was a web media site that primarily handled hair growth-related information. It was a site run by the Post Eight editorial department, but . . .

Of course, it wasn't exactly a demotion or anything.

It was a site that provided extremely useful information for people with certain concerns regarding their scalp.

I'm sorry. I don't really know much about hair growth issues . . .

You don't understand light novels at all either, though.

Another snide remark came flying at me.

Though she was sitting in an executive-style genuine leather chair, it was clearly too big for her. She sat cross-legged inside it, and even if she stretched her arms out as far as possible, her elbows wouldn't reach the armrests.

This child had a reputation for being extremely strict with her subordinates.

Behind the editor-in-chief's desk hung a panel for displaying posters and promotional materials, but what was posted there was a piece of calligraphy written in bold brushstrokes: "Human Nature is Flawed."

It was clearly the editor-in-chief's personal motto. Someone like that would never be forgiving of her subordinates' mistakes.

And this little girl, a firm believer that Human Nature is Flawed, wielded enormous power within the editorial department. If the editor-in-chief said no, it was absolutely no. If she said to do it over, you did it over. At this point, it was clear that all of today’s work had gone down the drain.

The schedule was tight too. I had to fix this quickly . . . I was supposed to request the color illustrations immediately once the cover design was finished, but . . .

I bowed to the child several times and trudged back to my desk.

The editor-in-chief's desk sat like an isolated island, positioned some distance away from our workstations.

The one silver lining was that she couldn't hear us if we complained quietly.

Why the long face?

An energetic voice came from my right.

The seat to my right belonged to my senior editor, Ayame.

Ayame was a beautiful girl who looked like she could have stepped straight out of a light novel.

Medium-short hair held back with clips, slightly sharp elongated eyes that suggested a strong personality, and a slender figure.

Though her language could be a bit rough around the edges, she was caring and a reliable senior colleague I could count on . . .

Ugh . . . the editor-in-chief completely tore apart my cover design . . .

My shoulders sagged as I answered in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Ayame grabbed my shoulders with both hands and turned me to face forward.

You'll die! If you take everything that child says seriously, you'll die!

Ayame looked me straight in the eye and said this with absolute certainty.

I don't think I'd actually die . . .

No, you'll die. First the stress will make your skin break out, then you'll lose all your hair, and then you'll die!

That escalated way too quickly! Going from stress to death in three steps . . .

Anyway, don't take her seriously. Got it?

Ayame said this with the mature, big-sister air of a senior colleague.

I'd love to do that if I could, but . . .

But she's the editor-in-chief.

That was the reality. That child was my boss.

Even if I were told "don't take your boss's instructions seriously" . . .

I'm not telling you to ignore her completely. If you just say "yes, yes" to everything, you'll burn out, right? You need to be clever about managing her.

Ayame raised her index finger and emphasized again.

Man-age-her.

She broke it down syllable by syllable.

I understood what she was getting at.

Since she was still a child, the editor-in-chief had extreme mood swings—the difference between when she was in a good mood versus a bad mood was dramatic.

The same project could get shot down if she was in a bad mood, but approved if she was in a good mood—that kind of thing happened all the time.

So if you needlessly put her in a bad mood, even things that should pass wouldn't get through.

The iron rule was to avoid stepping on unnecessary landmines, but . . .

Unfortunately, as a newcomer, this was still way too hard for me.

It can't be helped. Let me teach you something.

With that, Ayame pulled a piece of paper from her desk drawer.

This is a secret manual passed down from editor to editor.

The paper looked quite old—sun-bleached and yellowed with age.

And there were dark reddish-black stains here and there . . .

Could those be bloodstains?!

Many editors have challenged the editor-in-chief over the years and fallen. This is the crystallization of their wisdom. Around here, the good ones die first.

Ayame gazed out the window with distant eyes.

She looked like a battle-hardened mercenary who'd spent years on the front lines. Those weren't the eyes of a light novel editor at all. What kind of harsh battles had she survived . . .

I accepted the secret manual from this grizzled veteran.

What it said was . . .

The A-B-C-D-E You Must Never Say to the Editor-in-Chief

A: “Actually, most light novels these days . . . ” The editor-in-chief has no interest in recent light novels. Saying "because it's trendy" is mental laziness! Original, unique, and improvisational—that's the Gigigi Bunko Editorial Department!

B: “But I have personal reasons . . . ” Editors have no personal business that takes priority over work! Always work. Work no matter what. Deliver results and serve the editor-in-chief. Labor laws don't apply—that's the Gigigi Bunko Editorial Department!

C: “Can I apologize?” Apologizing is the same as admitting fault. Quick apologies are the worst trait of a Japanese person. Once you apologize, prepare to be thoroughly blamed. You aren't in Japan anymore! This is the Gigigi Bunko Editorial Department!

D: “Didn’t you say something different before?” Of course the editor-in-chief's statements differ from before. Pointing out inconsistencies only puts her in a bad mood. The editor-in-chief's memory is terrible even for a child. Flexible policies that change by the hour, living only in the moment—that's the Gigigi Bunko Editorial Department!

E: “Eh?! That’s not fair!” It's pointless to say such things. The child shows no mercy whatsoever. Complaints don't work on the battlefield. The most dangerous battlefield in the light novel industry, the Normandy of the light novel world—that's the Gigigi Bunko Editorial Department!

A-B-C-D-E! This was way more cheerful than I expected!

Looking closer, what I thought were bloodstains were just soy sauce stains.

What about that last one? Nobody would actually say "That's not fair!" in the first place.

I didn't make it up! They probably just couldn't think of anything for E. Anyway, this is the foundation.

Apparently this had been passed down in the editorial department since before Ayame joined the company.

Still, what a sad A-B-C-D-E.

To think that Japanese common sense doesn't apply here . . .

. . . Though I already suspected that common sense wouldn't apply the moment a child became editor-in-chief.

And you—you definitely said C earlier, didn't you?

Trust Ayame to be so sharp-eyed.

It was true—earlier I'd reflexively bowed and apologized almost without thinking.

That’s no good. Don’t say, “I’m sorry.” Don’t bow and scrape, but don’t argue back either. Maintain eye contact and slowly back away. If the editor-in-chief senses weakness, she’ll hunt you down in an instant.

. . . This sounded like the laws of the jungle.

I see. I didn't mean to do that, but when I'm being scolded, it just comes naturally . . .

You're too honest. But around here, if you're too honest, you'll die!

Will I really die?

You'll absolutely die. The stress will make your hair lose all its cuticles, and then you'll die.

After saying this, Ayame pulled out an adorable little pouch.

What emerged from that pouch was . . . herbal medicine.

The gap between the cute pouch and its contents was incredible.

She tore open a small packet labeled “bupleurum root in hot water” and, without hesitation, poured the gritty powder down her throat.

Ayame was a beautiful girl with a weak liver.

She'd become a beautiful girl with completely destroyed liver function from drinking too many highballs to cope with stress.

Eventually I'd end up with liver damage too . . .

Absolutely not! I didn't want to resort to herbal medicine just yet. To minimize my stress as much as possible, I went back to revising the cover design.

According to the editor-in-chief, this design was too plain.

I needed to talk with the designer and get some new proposals together quickly.

I called the designer right away.

Um . . . I'm sorry. I need to talk to you about something. The cover design you sent us—it got completely shot down . . .

What . . . completely shot down? What happened?!

The designer was at a loss for words.

I apologized over and over and asked the designer to create a new design.

After our discussion, we decided to replace the cover illustration with an alternate version that had been drawn for promotional materials and change the title's color scheme to something vivid and eye-catching.

We'd also use small design elements to make everything pop and look flashy . . .

Before I knew it, it was completely dark outside. Time flies when you're stressed.

After a short wait, the designer finally sent over the new cover illustration.

The result was dramatically more eye-catching!

It had a bit too much of a rom-com vibe and felt somewhat forced, but it was still within acceptable limits. The illustration didn't go so far as to be guilty of false advertising.

This should do it . . . some way or another . . .

Steeling my resolve, I approached the editor-in-chief for the first time in several hours.

I'm sor—I mean, um, the revisions are finished.

I bit back my apology and submitted the new cover design.

Show me.

A small hand reached out and grabbed the freshly printed cover design.

The child stared intently at the cover design from her executive chair.

This has a three-hundred-fifty-copy first printing aura.

It went down by a hundred and fifty copies!

This wasn't even at a level where proper distribution was possible. At this rate, even wedding invitation runs would have higher circulation numbers.

It's way too pop and garish. Are you actually taking the author's style into account?

. . . This was completely different from what she'd said not just the other day, but just moments ago!

I want to say exactly that, but speaking those forbidden words would be like adding fuel to the fire.

I could only grit my teeth and bear it.

I just sat there, enduring the pint-sized editor-in-chief’s sadistic remarks.

I can't help that your sense is Yamcha-level, but could you at least manage something Wolf Fang Fist-level?

After taking one final Yamcha comparison as a finishing blow, I was finally released.

My mental state was more battered than Yamcha after taking a Saibaman's self-destruct attack.

I returned to my desk with unsteady steps.

The forbidden A-B-C-D-E had absolutely no effect!

I complained bitterly to Ayame.

Oh, well that's no good. You weren't following the "Five Rules for Surviving the Editor-in-Chief’s Bad Mood: STAYS"

Ayame handed me yet another memo.

S: Stand back / T: Turn Away / A: Avoid anger / Y: Yield your gaze / S: Still your mouth

How many of these rules are there?!

Of course, every letter of the alphabet! You'll die!

Ayame spoke as if this should be completely obvious, but . . .

There was no way I could memorize all of that.

For dealing with that little terror of an editor-in-chief, we don't have nearly enough rules. We'd need like five hundred different guidelines. Seriously . . . oh, hey Sakuratchi, good work today!

As she said this, Ayame gave a small wave toward someone behind me.

I turned around to see Sakuratchi—that is, Sakura. Ayame called her "Sakuratchi," but strangely enough, the nickname had never caught on. Absolutely no one else used it. Ayame's naming sense was questionable.

Sakura was in her second year at the company, making her my senior and Ayame's junior.

Sakura was also a beautiful girl.

When you think of light novel editorial staff, they're almost exclusively beautiful girls. This had become common knowledge even among light novel readers, but Sakura stood out even among them.

She was quiet and lovely, with straight black hair and translucent white skin. She was the pure, innocent type who looked great in glasses.

Today she was wearing a girlish lace dress that looked absolutely perfect on her.

It looked like she'd just returned from a meeting.

After giving Ayame a cute little wave back, she checked her PC.

Gah, I've got tons of emails, ya know! No matter how much I do, the work never ends, ya know. Somebody lend a hand!

. . . Sakura's speech patterns were incredibly disappointing. Especially when she was panicking, her way of talking became truly cringe-worthy.

She was what you'd call hardcore.

Light novels, anime, and voice actors—she loved all the typical otaku favorites without exception.

For someone like Sakura, the light novel editorial department should have been like a dream workplace, but . . .

The editor-in-chief changes her mind so suddenly that everything's in total chaos, ya know.

Sakura seemed to be dealing with some difficult problem too, as she collapsed face-first onto her desk.

That desk was completely covered with anime merchandise.

If these had been anime goods from our company's properties, it would have been a normal work scene, but these were simply items from Sakura's personal collection.

They were completely unrelated to work.

Ugh, I wonder if divine punishment will ever strike the editor-in-chief. Like getting hit by a meteor or something.

Ayame seemed to have quite a bit of stress built up too. She kept making increasingly dangerous comments.

Totally, ya know. I wish she'd get hit by a Meteor Strike, ya know. Oh, poor Asuna . . .

Just recently, Sakura and the editor-in-chief had gotten into a heated argument over a new project proposal.

At Ikazuchi Bunko—

She'd argued back, which caused the editor-in-chief to explode in rage.

Are you a spy for Ikazuchi Bunko?

The editor-in-chief exploded in rage.

In retaliation, she'd thrown away Sakura's Ikazuchi Bunko character figure, Asuna, without asking. That's what Sakura was mourning.

I did think the editor-in-chief had gone a bit too far, though . . .

Just bear with it here for now, Asuna.

Sakura's bottom desk drawer had a false bottom.

When you opened the first layer, underneath was her collection of figures from other labels . . . The rescued Asuna was lined up there too.

Why did she need to go to such lengths to bring personal belongings to the office . . . ?

According to her, just knowing they were there helped her relax . . . But then where were all the documents that were supposed to be stored there . . . ?

Despite her lovely appearance, she was quite the disappointment.

Since Sakura was my senior colleague, I nodded along with her complaints, though deep down I thought the editor-in-chief had a point.

Asuna's grudge runs deep, ya know. Someday she'll skewer that child with lightning-fast swordplay using her rapier, ya know . . . and Momoka will too.

. . . Why me?!

If Sakura would just keep quiet, she'd really come across as a refined young lady from a good family, but . . .

. . . A-anyway, so I failed to follow S—"Step back"—right?

Rather than scold Sakura for her dangerous remarks, I redirected the conversation back to the original topic.

That's right, ya know. You need cool-down time, ya know. By the way, B is "Bread crumbs all over ya, is bad" ya know.

That's obvious! We're not in Hansel and Gretel!

The editor-in-chief was one thing, but the editorial staff were all quite the characters too.

Perhaps you really needed to be at least this eccentric to handle light novel editing.

And among them, there was one person who was especially unique . . .

Hamayama, Hamayama, come here for a moment!

The woman who had just been summoned by the editor-in-chief was Kanna Hamayama.

If you could call Kanna a beautiful girl, then yes, she was indeed a beautiful girl.

She was probably a stunningly beautiful girl by nature, but she paid so little attention to her appearance that it was hard to tell.

Her hair was disheveled. Her clothes showed no concept of fashion or coordination whatsoever.

She dressed casually, with comfort being the only priority. All that mattered to her was whether she could relax.

Today she was wearing a loose T-shirt that wasn't quite her size.

The oversized shirt had slipped off her shoulders, exposing her collarbone. Given her attractive figure, I worried that her chest might become visible.

And as you might guess from her appearance, her personality was just as sloppy.

She was easily the editor-in-chief's target.

Judging from the editor-in-chief's tone this time, this was definitely going to be another lecture.

Hamayama, hurry up, on the double!

Okay!

What a completely relaxed response.

She seemed to feel absolutely no pressure from the editor-in-chief.

Kanna had been there two years longer than even Ayame. Apart from the editor-in-chief and deputy editor-in-chief Sumire, she was the most senior staff member—this was a chance to learn management techniques from a veteran.

What's this supposed to be? I wasn't informed about this.

Ah, oops!

It seemed there had been a communication mix-up between her and the editor-in-chief.

Reporting, communication, and consultation are the fundamentals in any workplace, but Kanna was as free-spirited as a cloud. She tended to ignore the fundamentals.

Naturally, the editor-in-chief wouldn't tolerate such behavior.

She was getting scolded far more harshly than I had been.

Well, I mean, everyone forgets things sometimes, right?

Kanna was getting defensive and arguing back . . . Was this okay? She was completely ignoring A—"avoid anger"—from the STAYS rules . . .

Her defiance only provoked the editor-in-chief further.

The editor-in-chief was pounding her desk, absolutely furious.

Your bonus evaluation is F-minus!

Eh! Th-that's not fair!

She actually said it! The unthinkable "Eh! That's not fair!"—and in a completely different tone from her usual laid-back speech . . .

Are you mocking me? Honestly, Hamayama . . . Hey, why are you covered in breadcrumbs?! There are breadcrumbs scattered all over my desk!

Ah. You're right! I ate bread earlier! It was a croissant!

She had achieved the seemingly impossible B! For Bread!

Even if it was a croissant, you spilled way too much! Are croissants really that hard for you to eat, Hamayama? What's the deal? Did you even manage to get any in your mouth after dropping this much? It's practically all crumbs!

It's fine! I ate three croissants!

Try eating something else for once! That's enough. Just keep the breadcrumbs off my desk!

A grown woman being lectured by a child about not making a mess while eating.

As an adult myself, I wondered how that must feel . . .

It was truly pitiful.

Kanna returned to our area with unhurried steps.

That looked rough . . . You really got chewed out.

Huh? Did I get scolded?

What?! You just got absolutely chewed out!

What?! It wasn't really that bad, was it?

Kanna seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she'd been scolded.

To me, it looked like the kind of tongue-lashing that would leave someone depressed for three days.

It totally was that bad! The editor-in-chief was pounding her desk!

Ah, now that you mention it—wait, was she angry? The editor-in-chief doesn't really show it on her face much.

She was furious! She was showing it with her whole body, not just her face!

No matter how much I pointed it out, Kanna just kept tilting her head in puzzlement.

Anyone could see she was angry . . .

Kanna has no heart, ya know.

Ayame whispered softly in my ear.

What do you mean?

Kanna got scolded so much that she became numb to everything. When I first joined the company, she still had a bit more humanity . . .

She probably put too many points into defense stats and can't feel pain anymore, ya know.

Sakura nodded in agreement.

Is that really what happened?

Huh? Really? Is that true?

Why are you turning this around on me?! We're talking about you! The question is whether you lost your heart from being scolded too much!

I see. Hmm. I wonder? It's hard to know about yourself, ya know.

Kanna turned to Sakura to get her opinion.

Kanna threw away her human heart, reporting, communication, consultation, and her underwear, ya know.

Why would you throw away reporting, communication, and consultation too?! And please put on some underwear!

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be learned from Kanna about dealing with the editor-in-chief.

If anything, the editor-in-chief's mood had gotten worse because of Kanna. We could expect her bad mood to continue for a while.

How can I get approval for the cover design from a grumpy editor-in-chief?

The plain cover design is Yamcha, the pop design is also Yamcha.

I'm Yamcha-blocked on all sides.

Don't look so gloomy! Death gods and editors-in-chief target people with gloomy faces.

Ayame slaps me on the back as I hold my head in my hands.

But there might be a way to break through this . . .

Oh well. Let me take a look.

After saying that, Ayame examines the cover designs that were rejected.

She looks back and forth between the first plain design and the second "pop" design . . .

Ah, I see.

Ayame nods slightly several times.

I don't understand because of my inexperience, but Ayame seems to have quickly figured out a solution.

What went wrong?

It's about the most important fundamental—the 'A is important' pattern.

A?

"A" is for 'analyze that person's underlying intentions.

Underlying intentions . . . wouldn't 'U' work better? That feels so forced.

Hey, don't ask me! They probably wanted to make it 'A' because it's important! Anyway, the editor-in-chief's rejections have a different intention behind them.

She told me to make it pop, but when I made it pop, it was completely no good . . .

So what is that intention . . . ?

It means there's not enough sexiness!

. . . Sexiness?

Indeed, neither the previous cover design nor this one has any sex appeal.

That's because The Sheep of Youth, while somewhat plain, is a work that carefully and refreshingly depicts high school students in the astronomy club and their dreams, setbacks, and struggles with relationships. It doesn't contain any sexy scenes. I understand that slightly sexy cover illustrations sell better, but . . .

But you see . . .

In that case, design alone won't cut it, so we need to change the illustration too. You haven't commissioned the frontispiece yet, right? Move this cover illustration to the frontispiece and commission a sexy one.

I try to object, but Ayame continues the conversation on her own.

The frontispiece is the illustration at the beginning of a book. Since frontispiece illustrations are also in color, swapping the cover and frontispiece illustrations means the same number of pieces to draw. But this plan of Ayame's . . .

Ayame, but isn't that false adver—mmph

Ayame covers my mouth, cutting me off.

Watch your language! It's not false advertising. Just making it a little more eye-catching. Not false advertising, not even a little bit.

W-well, I suppose. But the work's tone . . . the refreshing astronomy club atmosphere . . .

Sure, it's important to convey the work's style through cover design. But you know what's more important than that? Sales. If it doesn't sell, that style won't reach anyone, and it'll get canceled! The editor-in-chief will cancel it without mercy if she thinks it's no good. And she'll do it refreshingly too!

. . . The Sheep of Youth really is a good work. Of course I want many people to pick it up, and of course I want the author to write it to completion as planned.

. . . Should we really be making it sexy?

It's a good story, right? Then we need to get it to lots of people. That's our job as editors.

Perhaps sensing my conflicted feelings, Ayame gently places her hand on my shoulder. She's probably made this kind of decision countless times herself.

I understand. This comes with being an editor too.

Anticipating the editor-in-chief's intentions and using the cover as bait. We need the author to agree, and readers who feel baited might criticize the editor in charge. It's the dirty work, so to speak. But this is also part of the job.

. . . So about this heroine, aren't there any string bikini scenes or anything?

Ayame's suggestions are getting extreme! Is this what happens from making too many anguished decisions?

Of course there aren't any! This is about high school students in an astronomy club—it's about their youth! Why would there be string bikinis?! . . . Honestly. The editor-in-chief should have just said what she wanted from the start if that's what she was after . . .

She can't do that. Our label has an image of being unique and creative, right? So it's hard to directly order "make the cover design sexy to hook readers."

Indeed, the editor-in-chief values the image of not being confined to light novel conventions. However, she values sales numbers just as much, if not more.

Making cover illustrations sexy and eye-catching—this method isn't unique to our Gigigi Bunko, but is commonly practiced at every label. And if it allows excellent works that don't fit into typical light novel conventions to have a broader reach . . .

The problem is what kind of illustration to commission.

If I had to suggest something, maybe a scene of the heroine running.

A scene with her skirt fluttering could be drawn without contradicting the story, but that level probably wouldn't get approval from the editor-in-chief.

We'll need to prepare something a bit more provocative.

What kind of illustration would you suggest, Ayame . . . ?

You're such a handful. To make sure this doesn't happen again, you need to be properly prepared. I'll lend you mine.

Before I can ask what she means, Ayame starts saying something strange.

Prepare? Lend?

You're going to re-commission the cover illustration, right? Here, pick whichever you like.

After saying that, Ayame pulls out a cardboard box from under her desk.

What was inside was . . .

Bloomers, school swimsuits, a uniform with an abnormally short skirt, and horrifyingly, there's even a string bikini!

Don't tell me I have to wear these?!

Of course you do! It's the 'E' of A-I-U-E-O. Editors must pose for sexy illustrations themselves. It's a basic rule! Come on, I'll take photos, so change into the string bikini.

No way!

I absolutely refuse to accept that kind of 'E' as a basic principle.

Then how about this see-through loincloth?

What is that?! I don't even understand what it's for! Fine, fine, I'll take the bloomers!

Well, if you insist . . . bloomers it is then.

Ayame pulls out gym clothes and bloomers from the cardboard box.

Her eyes are deadly serious.

The eyes of an editor burning with the passion of a true professional.

It seems there's no choice but to go through with this.

I take the bloomers and gym clothes and dejectedly head to the restroom to change.

Who could have seen this coming . . .

When I emerge in bloomers and gym clothes, Ayame is waiting for me, brimming with enthusiasm.

Not bad . . .

As soon as I return, there's a barrage of smartphone camera clicks. She seems to have set it to continuous shooting mode.

As the shutter sounds echo, she has me strike one embarrassing pose after another.

Stick your butt out more, 'kay? You don't need eye contact here, ya know. The defenseless look is the key point, ya know!

At some point, Sakura has joined in.

Sakura seems to have an incredible obsession with bloomers . . .

If they're not digging in, there's no point, ya know! If you wear bloomers carelessly, you'll get seriously hurt, ya know! Make them dig in more and more, ya know!

I don't really understand, but she keeps earnestly conveying her personal preferences.

And so I find myself striking all sorts of poses.

Cat-like poses . . . spread-leg poses. Poses adjusting the wedgie. Poses with the bloomers pulled down slightly.

It's so embarrassing that my face feels hot.

This is also for false adver—I mean, for covers that are easier for people to pick up.

Alright. That's decent enough. Just in case, for volume two . . .

When Ayame finally gives the OK, what she holds in her hand is . . .

A see-through loincloth!

Absolutely not!

Ah, well then, how about going completely nude instead?

Kanna chimes in with some unwanted advice too.

There's no instead about it. I firmly refuse.

Gigigi Bunko, where a pint-sized tyrant reigns as editor-in-chief.

The editorial department is full of quirky seniors. If I just said yes to everything, I really wouldn't survive!

One week later.

Finally, the false adver—I mean, the slightly more eye-catching bloomer version of the cover design is completed.

Taking it with me, I head to the editor-in-chief once again . . .

Hmm. Not too bad, I suppose. It's got some aura now.

Her words are harsh, but her expression looks satisfied. It looks like it's been approved.

Modeling was worth it. I breathe a sigh of relief.

But you know—

Don't you think this girl's chest is a bit too small? That's the problem.

That's not true! It just looks that way because of the angle. She actually has more than that. There's potential! Real potential!

I ended up responding as if I were talking about myself.

Of course, the editor-in-chief has no idea about my circumstances . . .

. . . Kawata, what are you going on about?

The editor-in-chief stares at me with a completely baffled expression.

And so, while I did get approval for the cover design, I ended up being labeled as a suspicious person by the editor-in-chief for quite some time—an editor who gets way too passionate defending the chest sizes of illustrated characters.