Tomoka Yuigahama often unintentionally revealed an adorable, almost girlish side, and whenever Kotomi Izumi saw it, her heart would honestly skip a beat.

Mrs. Yuigahama’s orange hair was tied into a braid—Kotomi didn’t know the exact name for that style, but it gave off a gentle, graceful vibe. She wore a well-fitted nightgown, and the pale skin exposed to the air was like a ripe peach.

That was the charm of Mrs. Yuigahama—occasional playfulness and cuteness that made her seem like a freshly graduated college girl, yet paired with a gentle maternal maturity that quietly reminded you she was the mother of two daughters.

A mature, captivating woman who could still be cute at times—for Kotomi, the charm was lethal. To be honest, she’d more than once dreamed about Mrs. Yuigahama. With her gentle, mature experience, all Kotomi had to do in the dream was lie down, leaving everything else to Mrs. Yuigahama to take the lead.

As she thought about it, those dream scenes began to replay in her mind…

Kotomi quickly shook her head, reminding herself to stay calm. Even her movements climbing through the window into Mrs. Yuigahama’s bedroom became a bit stiff.

If Mrs. Yuigahama hadn’t reached out in time to pull her in, Kotomi might have failed to get through the window and nearly fallen to the floor.

Tomoka Yuigahama’s bedroom used to be the shared room of her and her late husband. After his passing, she slept there alone. Though not very large, the room still felt a little empty when you thought about the couple who once shared it.

The air carried the mature fragrance of her favorite perfume—subtle but unforgettable. Kotomi loved it.

Kotomi often wondered: did Mrs. Yuigahama feel lonely at night when everything was quiet?

“Have you eaten dinner?” Tomoka asked. It was already evening; outside the window, the sky had long since gone dark—it was dinner time.

“I’m fine, I’m not hungry.”

Kotomi shook her head. That wasn’t exactly true, but the thought of sitting in the bedroom with Mrs. Yuigahama discussing illustrations completely erased her appetite.

Normally, Kotomi could barely stand skipping a meal.

Mrs. Yuigahama knew Kotomi had a big appetite, so skipping dinner wouldn’t do. But since Yui didn’t know Kotomi was coming, she had only cooked enough for the three of them as usual. Even if she brought Kotomi dinner upstairs, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her.

“Let’s talk about the illustrations first. After Yui finishes eating, she should go upstairs to her room to study and then put Yuka to bed. I’ll order you some takeout then,” Tomoka suggested.

“No need to trouble yourself. Once we’re done, I’ll head home.”

“Are you sure we can finish that quickly?”

Mrs. Yuigahama gave a soft laugh—she could tell Kotomi was just being polite. Setting aside the Sword Art Online illustrations, Kotomi had brought outlines and character settings for her new works. Just discussing each character’s design and appeal would take more than two hours.

For the new titles, each volume would have a cover, several color illustrations at the front, and over a dozen black-and-white ones. Deciding how to draw them, what each would focus on, and what content they’d depict—all of that had to be determined step by step. And not just verbally—Mrs. Yuigahama would have to sketch multiple drafts before finalizing each piece.

And Kotomi had brought more than one new project.

Frankly, they could talk all night.

“Quick and efficient…”

Kotomi gave a sheepish smile. She knew perfectly well that illustration work couldn’t be wrapped up in an hour or two—she had already considered that.

That was why Kotomi told her mom she was going to the Yuigahama house for a study session—just in case the illustration discussion went late, Tomoka Yuigahama could call her home. As Yui’s mother and a fellow parent, Tomoka’s word would naturally carry credibility.

“Alright, no need to be so polite with me. Let’s start on the illustrations first. When you get hungry, we’ll order takeout. But let’s try to wait until Yui finishes dinner and goes upstairs before we do.”

“Okay.”

Kotomi didn’t stand on ceremony. She took off her coat, pulled out the USB drive, and followed Mrs. Yuigahama to the small sectioned-off space inside her bedroom. Googlᴇ search novｅlfire.net

Mrs. Yuigahama slid open the partition door. It had once just been a storage area. After her husband passed away, she decided to earn money through illustration work, so she cleared it out and secretly worked on converting it into a studio. In under two months, she had transformed it.

Compared to the bedroom floor, the raised platform of the small space was covered with tatami mats. She set up a low square table, brought in a monitor and computer tower, and added a legless backrest chair.

The tatami platform wasn’t large, but just big enough for both Kotomi and Mrs. Yuigahama to lie down side by side. You could stretch your legs out comfortably—perfect for a short rest after working on illustrations.

Every usable spot in the small space had been put to good use.

On the table sat only the essentials: a drawing tablet, stylus pen, and a water cup. The keyboard and mouse, used less often, were placed on the tatami to leave more space for the tablet.

The walls were decorated with wallpaper Mrs. Yuigahama had drawn—three dango characters representing the Yuigahama mother and her two daughters. Whenever she felt tired from work, she would look at them and think of her girls, regaining the motivation to keep going.

Mrs. Yuigahama took Kotomi’s USB drive and plugged it into the computer.

“I heard from Haruno Yukinoshita that you’ve started writing new works? Won’t that interfere with your Sword Art Online planning? There aren’t many full-time light novel authors who write two series at once, and you’re still in high school. Isn’t it too much to pour so much energy into writing while keeping up with school?”

Though she didn’t know much about novel writing, Mrs. Yuigahama felt that creating a story and putting it into words had to be exhausting. Like illustrating, it might seem fine for a couple of hours, but what about working at the computer all day? By bedtime, you’d be too drained to even pick up your phone, just wanting to sleep off the fatigue.

Kotomi was only a first-year high school student. Mrs. Yuigahama felt that writing just one light novel was tiring enough—doing two at once while balancing studies sounded exhausting.

Thinking of Kotomi sitting late into the night in front of a monitor made her feel a pang of concern.

“No, it’s fine. Before I even started writing the main text, I’d already planned out Sword Art Online from Volume 1 to the ending. As for typing… hehe, I type pretty fast. Haruno-sensei can vouch for that.”

She wondered how far Haruno had read in those several volumes she’d sent. If the fans knew, they’d be so envious—while they were still waiting eagerly for news about the Volume 2 preorder, Haruno Yukinoshita had already read several volumes ahead.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. You’re still just a child,” Tomoka said gently.

Hearing those soft words, Kotomi couldn’t help but think about pretending to cry and say, Writing novels is so hard!—and then collapse into Mrs. Yuigahama’s arms to be spoiled.

The computer Mrs. Yuigahama used was an old one she’d had for many years. It started up a little slowly, but it could still run her illustration software smoothly.

For Mrs. Yuigahama, unless the old computer completely broke down or couldn’t run her art programs anymore, she would never consider replacing it. She wasn’t very knowledgeable about computers, but sometimes while watching videos on YouTube, she would come across content complaining about rising graphics card prices. Curious, she looked into it and was shocked to find that buying a new computer nowadays was so expensive—even one that only needed to browse the web and run illustration software smoothly.

She found a website made by a computer enthusiast where you could enter your needs—gaming or office work—and it would automatically generate a parts list. Buying the parts and assembling the computer yourself could save quite a bit of money.

Of course, if you couldn’t build it yourself, the site would also recommend suitable prebuilt systems.

Mrs. Yuigahama wasn’t very tech-savvy. She had only learned to use her drawing tablet by following the manual step-by-step. Expecting her to buy components and assemble a computer herself was impossible, so she looked at the prebuilt systems instead.

The price nearly made her drop her mouse. The cheapest recommended prebuilt system that met her requirements cost 150,000 yen!

She had the money—her payment for the Sword Art Online Volume 1 illustrations had already been deposited. If she really wanted a new computer, she could have bought it long ago.

But it wasn’t just about whether she could afford it. Little Yuka would be starting elementary school soon, and the tuition for six years wasn’t a small amount. After that would come middle school, high school, and then university.

Not to mention, Yui was already in her first year of high school. In two years, she’d graduate and go to university, which meant more tuition.

No matter how hard it was, Mrs. Yuigahama was determined to work and make sure both her daughters could go to university. Even though money was tight, she constantly reminded them:

“Don’t think that dropping out to help at home will make things easier for me. It’s the opposite—remember, don’t only think about the present. Education is yours to keep. Finishing university and getting your degree will help you find a better job in the future.”

Thinking of Yuka about to start school, Mrs. Yuigahama immediately set aside the idea of a new computer. Her old one still worked, and with computer prices so high, she figured she’d wait. Who knew—maybe one day the prices would suddenly drop.

She opened the folder Kotomi had saved on the USB drive.

Inside the main folder were three subfolders, all with different names.

“Redo of Healer, Mushoku Tensei, The Testament of Sister New Devil… Kotomi, have you not decided on a title for your new work yet?” she asked curiously.

Kotomi shook her head. “No, those are the titles. They’re three different new works I want to write.”

“You’re going to work on three new projects at once?! That makes four including Sword Art Online! Are you sure you can handle that?”

Mrs. Yuigahama was startled. In her eyes, writing two books at once was already exhausting. But four? Even full-time light novel authors wouldn’t dare attempt that. Even if your typing speed could keep up, what about your thinking speed? Converting an outline into prose that readers enjoyed was still a major mental task.

“There’s no way I could write four at the same time. Even if I quit school and stayed home to write, I couldn’t maintain both quality and speed.”

Kotomi shrugged. If she leveled up her writing skill a few more times, writing four novels at once probably wouldn’t be an issue. But she didn’t want to tire herself out like that—besides, she fully intended to keep going to school. After classes each day, she planned to spend some time writing two or three thousand words, but the rest of her free time was for gaming and watching anime.

“Then why?”

“Redo of Healer is already decided—I’m about to start on the Volume 2 manuscript. As for Mushoku Tensei and The Testament of Sister New Devil, I’m sure I’ll work on them after Redo of Healer. So I figured, since I’m here today anyway, I might as well finalize all the illustrations and character designs for all three future works at once.”

“Isn’t that a bit rushed? Even if you’ve decided to write all three, you could finalize the illustrations for Redo of Healer first, then wait until its Volume 1 goes on sale before working on the other two,” Tomoka asked, puzzled.

Even after a volume was finalized, the publisher wouldn’t print it immediately. They still had to coordinate with the printing company and schedule the run. Normally, the first thing an editor did upon receiving a manuscript was read it through multiple times.

First, to catch as many typos as possible. Nowadays, almost all light novel authors typed their manuscripts—some even wrote them on their phones. Handwritten manuscripts were extremely rare, at least in the light novel industry. (Though in literary publishing, a few authors still submitted handwritten works each year.)

Still, whether on a computer or phone, typing quickly meant typos were inevitable. An editor’s job was to read while correcting these, reducing the number of mistakes in the final print.

Some authors, however, had such distinctively funny typos that they became running jokes among readers. In those cases, editors sometimes didn’t bother fixing them—occasionally, they would even suggest deliberately leaving or creating such a typo for comedic effect, much like streamers adding gags to boost engagement.

Second, and more importantly, editors acted as the author’s first reader, checking if the plot or character portrayals had issues. If a low-to-mid popularity work fell apart, so be it—the editor might even welcome the excuse to cancel it. But if a popular work went off the rails, the editor would immediately contact the author, insisting on changes to avoid damaging the series.

This was because of a strange phenomenon in the creative world—not just in light novels, but also in manga and other mediums—where even popular series sometimes suddenly collapsed halfway through, with the plot or characters breaking out of nowhere, blindsiding readers and tanking the reputation.

And it wasn’t limited to Japan—creators around the world were guilty of it.

Every time an editor encountered a creator who “let their imagination run wild” mid-series, they wanted to tear their hair out.

If a work was purely self-indulgent and made for fun, then fine—go wild. But commercial works existed because readers spent their hard-earned money to support you!

Some creators lived off commercial success but then caught a case of “artistic pretension,” smashing the proverbial rice bowl by pulling stunts in the story designed to disgust readers—only to smugly think they were being profound. And when criticized, they’d whine: “This generation of readers just has no taste; they don’t understand my talent!”

Talent, my ass.

Whenever Kotomi encountered such self-contradicting, pretentious creators who wrote absolute garbage, she could easily think of tens of thousands of words to roast them. But the first thing she wanted to say was always:

—RNM, refund me!

When Haruno Yukinoshita first took charge of a light novel, its popularity was overwhelming. She was thrilled, but also careful—reading the Sword Art Online manuscript with extreme attention, phone in hand, ready to call Kotomi to change anything that might cause controversy.

But from Volume 1 to the present, Haruno discovered something delightful: Kotomi’s Sword Art Online never once contained plot points that would make readers uncomfortable. On the contrary, the story was exhilarating!

Kotomi was an author with a crystal-clear sense of her creative direction. Her prose might not be the most elegant, but it was thrilling and deliciously risqué. She understood perfectly well that she was in this for commercial success, and built every plot point around one goal—making the readers feel satisfied.

Her stories were free of poisonous plot twists, and her depictions of female characters went straight to the extreme, as if the accelerator pedal had never been released. The editorial team often debated whether Sword Art Online should be rated R18—because the writing alone was already suggestive enough, and combined with Hanayui’s sensual illustrations, it was more than enough to overwhelm younger audiences.

When an editor received a manuscript, whether for proofreading or to check the plot and characters, it was impossible to finish reading it in just one day. And once they confirmed everything was fine, they still had to coordinate with the illustrator—confirm schedules, and send over the manuscript along with cover concepts and scenes that needed illustrations.

Covers, color pages, a dozen black-and-white illustrations—this workload couldn’t be done in less than a few months, even if the illustrator was working daily.

Following the normal schedule, if Kotomi submitted Redo of Healer Volume 1 to Haruno in February, it wouldn’t be ready for printing until at least May. Nearly three months would be reserved for Mrs. Yuigahama to complete the illustrations.

Release timing mattered—Kotomi wanted each volume to come out in months with peak traffic. But on the normal schedule, she couldn’t reserve dates ahead of time; the release month would depend entirely on when the illustrator finished and when the printing was done.

If the available months all had low traffic, she’d lose out on exposure.

Her solution? Skip the usual timeline by finalizing the illustrations and character designs with Mrs. Yuigahama in advance, working on them little by little.

Once Kotomi explained her idea in detail, Mrs. Yuigahama immediately understood—Kotomi’s plan was to cut out the months normally reserved for the illustrator in the publication process.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep