Chapter 76: The Wrong Victory

Chapter 76: Chapter 76: The Wrong Victory

The semifinal ended on Sunday.

Haruki learned this while buying instant noodles.

Not because he forgot.

Because he deliberately stopped checking.

The decision lasted approximately thirty-six hours.

A personal record.

His phone exploded while standing in a convenience store aisle.

Takeda.

Mizuno.

Akari.

Three forum notifications.

Six reader messages.

One unknown number.

And somehow Aoi.

The tournament results were public.

Haruki sighed.

Purchased the noodles.

Then opened the announcement.

Semifinal Two

Winner:

Haruki Amamiya

Reader Vote:

50.7%

Kenji Watanabe:

49.3%

The margin looked microscopic.

Because it was.

Haruki stared.

Then checked editorial scores.

That was where things became uncomfortable.

Kenji:

89

Haruki:

83

The victory came from readers.

Not judges.

Interesting.

No.

Stop.

Enough.

The habit survived everything.

Haruki leaned against the convenience store wall outside.

Rain threatened above the city.

The air felt heavy.

He should have felt happy.

Instead, a strange frustration settled in.

Because the result carried a message.

Readers preferred him.

Editors preferred Kenji.

That distinction mattered.

Damn it.

Now the habit was attacking itself.

His phone rang.

Kenji.

Haruki answered immediately.

"Congratulations."

The crime-drama creator sounded exactly the same as always.

Calm.

Measured.

"No."

Kenji laughed softly.

"Fair."

A pause.

Then:

"You know why you won?"

Haruki considered lying.

"No."

"Characters."

The answer arrived instantly.

Kenji continued.

"Your readers care more."

No bitterness.

No resentment.

Just observation.

Haruki waited.

Then:

"You know why I almost won?"

The second answer arrived before Haruki could respond.

"Structure."

The line remained silent for a moment.

Then Kenji added:

"Fix your process."

The call ended.

No dramatic farewell.

No rivalry declaration.

Just advice.

Haruki stared at the phone.

Because somehow every creator he respected kept telling him the same thing.

Aoi.

Hayato.

Mizuno.

Kenji.

Different personalities.

Same conclusion.

That usually meant something.

The apartment felt unusually quiet later that evening.

Yui was attending orientation for her new position.

Takeda was working.

The tournament chaos remained online.

Haruki finally sat down and opened the system.

Tournament Advancement Reward

Base Reward:

300 CP

Debt Deduction:

120 CP

Received:

180 CP

Current Debt:

242 CP

Current CP:

510

Haruki stared.

Still short.

Still unable to buy Production Pipeline Manager.

Still paying for the earlier decision.

The debt continued hurting.

Not catastrophically.

Persistently.

Like a stone inside a shoe.

Then another notification appeared.

New Opportunity Available

Creator Workshop Program

Selected Participants:

4

Reward:

Industry Exposure

Time Cost:

High

Income:

Minimal

Haruki frowned.

Minimal income.

Of course.

The industry loved paying creators with exposure.

A knock interrupted the thought.

Unexpected.

Nobody texted first.

That alone felt suspicious.

Haruki opened the door.

Kuroda stood outside.

The older creator looked exactly the same.

Which somehow made things worse.

"You own a phone."

Haruki folded his arms.

Kuroda smiled.

"I do."

No explanation followed.

Expected.

Very expected.

Several minutes later, they sat across from each other.

Coffee between them.

Rain beginning outside.

Kuroda looked around the apartment.

Then at the tournament article open on Haruki’s monitor.

"Semifinal winner."

The statement sounded neutral.

Haruki shrugged.

"Barely."

Kuroda nodded.

"Good."

That wasn’t the response he expected.

"What?"

Kuroda leaned back.

"Winning easily teaches terrible lessons."

The answer landed immediately.

Because it matched everything happening lately.

The missed deadline.

The debt.

The financial pressure.

The tournament.

Comfort had never improved him.

Kuroda continued.

"You know what your biggest problem is?"

Haruki sighed.

Apparently today was criticism day.

"What?"

Kuroda pointed toward the monitor.

Then toward the manga pages scattered across the desk.

Then toward the tournament article.

Then toward the unopened financial spreadsheet.

Finally:

"You keep treating every problem like the main story."

Haruki frowned.

The statement didn’t make sense.

Kuroda continued.

"Tournaments."

A finger.

"Money."

Another.

"Rivals."

Another.

"Industry politics."

Another.

Then:

"Those are subplots."

Silence.

Rain tapped softly against the window.

Kuroda looked directly at him.

"The manga is the main story."

No lesson followed.

No explanation.

No grand revelation.

Just a statement.

Simple.

Direct.

Annoyingly powerful.

The conversation drifted elsewhere afterward.

Tournament predictions.

Industry rumors.

Creator burnout.

Then Kuroda stood.

Prepared to leave.

At the doorway he stopped.

"One more thing."

Haruki already knew.

There was always one more thing.

Kuroda looked toward the manuscript pages.

"You’re finally writing Ren correctly."

Then he left.

Just like that.

No explanation.

No elaboration.

The apartment became quiet again.

Haruki stood by the window.

Watching rain slide down glass.

Watching traffic crawl through the city.

The semifinal victory sat on his desk.

The debt sat in the system.

The final waited ahead.

Aoi still had to finish his own match.

Akari still had a chance.

The tournament continued.

Yet for some reason, Kuroda’s comment remained louder than everything else.

The manga is the main story.

Haruki looked at Chapter Twenty.

Then at Ren.

Then at the unfinished future waiting beyond the tournament.

For the first time all week, he stopped thinking about rankings.

And started thinking about the next Chapter.

Exactly where his attention belonged.