Editing Hyouka:Volume 6 4 (section)

=== 1. ===



What was the first manga I ever read, I wonder? It happened when I was so young that I'll never be truly certain, no matter how many possible titles come to mind. All I warmly remember is how absorbed in it I was.

In my home's living room stood a single bookshelf, and on that bookshelf sat only dust-covered encyclopedias and literary anthologies that I had never even seen so much as taken out of their cases—there was no manga at all. I had my first experience with it because of my aunt, my mother's sister. She had a crude house made of steel, as rough as it was ugly, but it contained bookshelves of dizzying heights, filled to the brim with books, around half of which were volumes of manga from all ages.

It became a daily routine of mine. I would drop off my little backpack at home after returning from a day at elementary school and then immediately go on over to my aunt's house, reading manga until I eventually went home for dinner. Whenever I visited, my aunt, the polar opposite of my mother, would always smile and pat my head, saying, <i>manga maniac Maya-chan's here again!</i>, before leaving me to my own devices. Thinking back on it now, she probably moved the manga with unsafe scenes to the top shelves, beyond my elementary schooler arm's reach.

The turning point came when I was in third grade. As far as I can remember... I had just finished reading "Phoenix," by Osamu Tezuka. It might've actually been "Wild 7" or "Toward the Terra," but at any rate, I was reading, eyes glued to the pages, like I always had been when my aunt unexpectedly walked in and offered me a snacks. I was a light eater as a child, so she normally refrained from feeding me anything that might make me lose my appetite for dinner, but on that day, she had been given some high-quality watermelon and apparently wanted me to try some as well.

"You should have some watermelon too, Maya-chan," she said to me. I feel bad saying it, but I don't remember its taste one bit. What <i>did</i> stay with me, though, was something she said as she talked absentmindedly during our snack.

"Books are strange, aren't they? It doesn't matter the least bit who you are. To think that anyone can write them..."

I have no clue where that thought of hers came from. It could've been that she was talking about how even though driving cars and operating machinery required licenses, it was interesting how writing a book could be done by anyone. With that single phrase, however, something incredible dawned on me.

I see... There's no reason someone like me couldn't draw manga.

As I realized this, the floodgates opened, and I immediately started to draw that very evening. I had never disliked drawing itself, and to add to that, I often got the highest scores possible in my art class. I was certain of it: even I could draw manga! How long did it take for that confidence of mine to crumble, I wonder. Ten minutes? Fifteen? As I look back now on the terrible drawings I did back then, I can't help but cry. At the time, it was so frustrating, so miserable... The words, "It wasn't supposed to be like this," formed behind my clenched teeth. I softly cursed at myself as tears dropped onto the paper below, and then at last, my resolve solidified with a final cry of frustration.

Ever since that day, I've continued to draw unrelentingly.



The monthly manga magazine, <i>La Shin,</i> was originally sold as an extra volume to the similarly purposed <i>Shin Soh.</i> The name apparently derived from the Japanese onomatopoeia for lots of silence,  but the contents ended up being pretty different. Unlike the mainly shounen <i>Shin Soh</i>, <i>La Shin</i> was more neutral, or to put it differently, the kind of magazine that seemed to welcome anyone of any age, as long as they liked manga. There were quite a number of magazines out there that I wouldn't mind slapping the "For all manga lovers!" label on, but <i>La Shin</i> specifically didn't really cater to any one niche, I guess, and they generally didn't publish anything too difficult for the average person to get behind. Even if I didn't have the pocket change or the time to read every manga magazine as they came out, I would still make sure to buy the latest issue of <i>La Shin</i> every month without fail on its release day, the 18th.

Like many other magazines, <i>La Shin</i> accepted manga submissions and also offered an award for newcomers called the New World Prize. It is handed out four times a year, and in addition to the chosen work—itself published in that month's issue—the titles of twenty or so other runner-ups each receives an honorable mentions shout-out with a short comment.

The 18th of February fell on a terribly cold Sunday. As snow fell tirelessly and without rest, continuing to bury the city, I headed, scarf wrapped around my ears and covered head-to-toe in cold-resistant clothes, towards the Kobundo bookstore next to the highway. Even I didn't really want to be out on an accident-prone day like this one, but it was for the latest issue of <i>La Shin</i>, after all. That said, even though I bought each issue every month, that didn't necessarily mean I had to get it the very day it came out. The thing was, though, today's March issue was a different story altogether.

I plodded, step-by-step, through the ankle-deep snow, and after I finally arrived at Kobundo—my journey taking five times longer than it usually did—I took a second to relax and deeply inhale the warm interior air. I carefully went over every inch of my clothes to brush off the snow, and once I was certain I wouldn't accidentally get any of the books wet, I went over to the magazine shelf.

From a results perspective, all of my efforts were in vain. The latest <i>La Shin</i> issue hadn't arrived yet. According to the shop employee, the shipments sometimes moved forward or back a day if the official release date fell on a Sunday. There was nothing I could do about that, so I simply had to trudge my way back home.

After school the next day, I managed to get one of my friends to cover for me at the library and left the campus as fast as possible, going to neither the Manga Research Society nor the Classics Club. I ran as quickly as I could along the snow-cleared sidewalks and finally burst into Kobundo. I grabbed an issue of <i>La Shin</i>, tied shut with plastic string to prevent anyone from reading before buying, held it close to my pounding chest, and headed towards the cash register. I'd seen the girl behind the counter here before, and in her usual sweet voice, she asked, "Would you like a bag?"

"Yes, please," I replied, nervously swallowing as I did so.

"Would you like me to cut the string for you?"

My cheeks burned up as I wondered what she must've been thinking of me. Her expression contained nothing out of the ordinary, however, so I replied, "Yeah," and she went to take out some scissors and did just that.

I went outside with the bag and immediately pulled the magazine out. There probably weren't that many people who’d start reading their purchase the second they left the shop. Although a bit concerned about being seen by anyone I knew, I shuffled through the pages.

14th New World Prize winner: "Tanuki Counterattack" by Mamoru Mamiana.

I've never heard of him before. I hope it's good.

I went to look at the other notable selections. Each of them had a single panel published in the magazine, but none of them looked familiar... In other words, mine wasn't chosen.

I looked up at the clear winter sky; the breath that escaped my long sigh turned white.

The participation awards went to... Ichitarou Tasaka, MILULU, Kinsuke Shouda, Satou Georgia, Kaoru Yajima, Kazuru Ihara, Enma Haru...

"Wait, wha..."

A strange noise came from my mouth. A man walking into the store glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, but I didn't feel even a shred of embarrassment.

"No... way..."

Kazuru Ihara! "The Island with the Tower!"

It was published! <i>My</i> story with <i>my</i> drawings was published under <i>my</i> pen name in <i>La Shin!’s</i> March issue.<ref>"Kazuru Ihara" is a reference to the famous Edo-era poet/novelist, Saikaku Ihara (1642-1693), who shares her surname despite it being pronounced differently. (One of my favorite poets!)</ref>

I closed the magazine and then, trembling, opened it a second time. Maybe it was some kind of mistake, I figured. Maybe, once I opened it again, the contents would change.

But they didn't.