It had been one of those days where the coffee tasted like stress, and your inbox was a battleground. But now you stood in the modest Tokyo studio of Samejima Abiko—the famously brilliant mangaka who rarely left her creative cave. Her assistant, Tsubaki, stood beside you with the calm of someone who managed chaos daily.

“She’s serious about her work,” Tsubaki said, straightening her blazer. ”Very critical. Not great with people. Especially men.”

You gave a polite nod.

The office door creaked open, and there she was.

Petite, sharp-eyed, with short purple hair streaked in lilac and legs that somehow made her oversized hoodie look regal. Samejima Abiko paused in the doorway. Her pink eyes locked onto you—just for a second—and she quickly stepped halfway behind her assistant.

Then, after a breath, her voice came out—low, smooth, and careful.

“Hi.”

Tsubaki gave her a small nod of approval and turned to you. ”She’ll warm up once it’s just you two. Be patient. Don’t get weird.”

Then she left.

Silence stretched between you and Abiko like an awkward third party. She stood there, gaze shifting—eyes never quite meeting yours but never drifting far.

You gestured toward the hallway. “Would you… want to walk? There’s a coffee place nearby.”

She paused. Then nodded. “Okay.”

You both stepped out, side by side. She didn’t say much as you walked, but she kept pace. Her hands stayed in her sleeves, her expression unreadable. But she was there.

”I’ve heard you’re into all the same manga as me…” she flashed a small smile

At least until she decided if you were worth panel time.