I just want to quietly draw manga Chapter 245

This week, nothing stirred more conversation in the manga world than one headline:

Mizushiro is ending both Initial D and Natsume’s Friends.

For fans, the announcement felt unreal. Some hoped it was a bluff—but after Mizushiro confirmed it himself, and Echo Shroud Publishing followed up with their own official post two days later, the truth settled in.

Behind the scenes, Echo Shroud had made one final attempt to change his mind.

They sent his editor, Haruka.

Not because they thought she’d convince him—only because she was the one person he’d actually speak to.

The two sat across from each other in Haruki’s apartment, a stack of storyboards nearby, untouched tea cooling between them.

“I’m not here to talk you out of it,” Haruka said. “We’ve already had that conversation. If you think the story’s done, I trust you. But you also said you’re working on something better—so why not show them that? If it’s strong, they might stop focusing on what you’re ending.”

Haruki didn’t respond right away. His gaze dropped to the storyboard stack.

“People are upset,” Haruka continued. “You’re ending two of the magazine’s most popular series. There’s bound to be backlash. And I know you don’t care about that—but you’re not creating alone. A lot of people gave these stories their time. If you stay silent, it’s going to feel like you abandoned them.”

Haruki leaned back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling.

“I know. But I’m not ending them impulsively. They’ve said what they needed to say. Stretching them just to avoid criticism? That would only weaken the story.”

He looked at her now.

“You’ve seen it too—series that should’ve ended, but didn’t. The author burns out. The readers stop caring. Editors look the other way because the numbers are good. In the long run, everyone loses. The story’s legacy fades, the author gets stuck, and the readers feel cheated. The only one who benefits is the publisher.”

He paused, then added, “But you’re right. I’ll give them a rough outline for the new project. Let them decide if they want to prepare for serialization.”

After a moment, he said quietly, “Give me a month. I’ll sort it out and hand it in.”

Haruka nodded. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“You know they’ll call you reckless,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “Some already are.”

Haruki gave a short laugh. “Let them. I’m not here to babysit public opinion.”

“Still...” She watched him. “Even if you don’t care, you’re not making things easier for yourself.”

“I’m not doing this to make things easier,” he said. “It’s just the right time.”

Haruka didn’t argue. She had worked with him long enough to know when his decision was final.

“Then I’ll handle the rest,” she said.

Once the public statement went live, fans had no choice but to accept it. Haruka made sure the editorial department understood: Haruki wasn’t walking away—he was ending the stories because they’d run their course, and he was already working on new manga. After that, even the new editor-in-chief, Amane, didn’t press him further.

As for Haruki, he didn’t care what anyone thought—so long as no one interfered with his work.

But across the wider manga industry, the decision sparked fierce debate.

Some called it bold—even visionary. Others called it irresponsible: dropping two best-selling series while they were still at their peak.

Commentary shows buzzed with opinions. Critics who’d never met him labeled him arrogant. Others said he was a genius sabotaging himself. A few simply claimed he was finished.

Haruki saw some of it online during a break.

He didn’t bother replying. He just clicked away and got back to work.

With Initial D and Natsume’s Friends wrapping up, and Madoka entering a critical production phase, he had no time for speculation—and supporting the team at T-Bone Animation.

With Madoka, Haruki had been hands-off for the most part. He handled the core character designs early on—just like the original, the girls looked innocent and cheerful. That was the point.

Anyone unfamiliar with the plot would assume it was a lighthearted magical girl show—maybe a bit nostalgic, maybe a bit cute. But only the core staff knew what was coming.

The tone shift. The darkness. The twist that would pull the rug out from under the viewers once they let their guard down.

To the animation team, Haruki’s creative approach was twisted—but brilliant.

They admired it, even if they sometimes winced during meetings.

This wasn’t going to be just another slice-of-life show. It was an emotional ambush in pastel colors. And from what they’d seen so far, Madoka Magica had the potential to hit hard—like the kind of story that left a mark.

Two months into production, Kazanami Studio began posting early promotional content. Character sheets of Homura Akemi, Mami Tomoe, Sayaka Miki, and others were uploaded to the official Madoka account.

Shortly after, Haruki posted on his Fend account:

“This work is going to change the way you think about magical girls.”

It was a typical Mizushiro post—plain, direct, and quietly provocative.

Fans of his past works quickly took notice.

For some, the visuals were reassuring. The design was clean and warm, with a soft, storybook feel—nothing like the dramatic tones of 5 Centimeters per Second or the moody atmosphere of Anohana’s later arcs.

But for others, that was part of the concern.

Many had hoped Haruki’s next work would dive even deeper into emotional or psychological themes. This? This looked like a children’s show.

They couldn’t reconcile the tweet with the visuals—and doubts began to spread. Was this really going to be a subversive story? Or had Haruki gone soft?

Meanwhile, some fans still bitter over the abrupt endings of Initial D and Natsume’s Friends were even less forgiving. To them, Madoka felt like a downgrade. It wasn’t just a genre shift—it was a betrayal of the tone and weight they admired.

Even so, the majority didn’t know what to expect. The tweet made a promise, but the teaser content didn’t explain how that promise would unfold.

And because of that, competing studios were more cautious.

Sure, the visuals looked warm and safe, but those who’d followed his career knew better. If anyone could take a niche genre and flip it, it was him.

Still, many studios didn’t want to bet on a hunch. They relaxed. Maybe this one wouldn’t be a threat. Maybe it really was just a personal experiment.

The person most aware of all this was Saya Tachibana, lead producer at T-Bone Animation. She’d kept tabs on Haruki’s career for a while—and she never underestimated him.

When she saw the designs and the tweet, her first reaction was relief.

But a moment later, she frowned.

She didn’t want to win by default. She had been hoping for a proper showdown—something big. A clash between two new heavyweights, not another genre experiment.

Instead, it felt like he’d stepped aside to do something else entirely.

Saya glanced at the time, closed her laptop, and stood up. She had an important evening planned.

No more thinking about rivals.

At least for now.

[TL:- Just one chapter for the next 3–4 days, since I’m reworking the story. Also, I take back everything I said about the main character — there's honestly nothing redeemable about this Chinese MC. At first, I thought it was just part of his character development, and I assumed he had some internal conflict. But after reading ahead, I think the author might’ve been high when they wrote his personality.

I was originally planning to make only minor changes, but now I’m done with it. I’ve written this chapter — if it’s okay, I’d like to move forward with me as the writer. For the next two works, I’m going with the story but after that, you’re welcome to suggest something.

If you have any recommendations, feel free to send them now. Try to keep it to shows with around 100 episodes or less — longer series are fine too. If I haven’t seen them yet, I can check them out.

Also, feel free to point out any writing mistakes or anything that feels off. This is my first time writing a novel, so feedback helps a lot.]