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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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Chapter 1: Editor Jung Junhyuk
In the Shueisha Jump manga editorial department, the only sounds are the erratic tapping of keyboards and the occasional ring of a phone.
Busy, yes—but you could still call it peaceful.
That peace was abruptly shattered when Akiyama, now in his second year and finally starting to shake off the “rookie” label, burst through the office doors.
“D-Deputy Editor!”
Flustered, Akiyama weaved through the desks and approached Jung Junhyuk, who was rhythmically typing away in front of his monitor.
“I, um, the thing is...!”
Akiyama stammered, struggling to get the words out. Without lifting his eyes from the screen, Jung Junhyuk replied calmly.
“Don’t panic. Speak slowly. If you have to repeat yourself, it’ll just take longer—so make it clear the first time.”
Cool-headed words, but they did the trick.
Akiyama took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his brow, and got to the point.
“Mr. Michida—The Day Before the End’s author—says he might not make the final chapter deadline.”
“Michida-sensei? He’s not the type to miss a deadline.”
“It’s just... three of his assistants apparently got into a love triangle mess and haven’t been reachable since yesterday. I tried to scramble to find replacements, but... I couldn’t find anyone usable.”
“Hoo...”
When people are involved, ‘anything’ can happen.
Writers falling for their assistants, assistants falling for each other—or, apparently, three of them getting tangled in a full-blown romantic circus.
The last one was a first, but hey—what’s done is done.
Junhyuk pushed his glasses up and pressed the bridge of his nose, then finally looked away from the monitor to face Akiyama.
“Akiyama.”
Just one word. Just his name.
But that alone snapped Akiyama to attention like a fresh recruit in boot camp.
“Y-Yes, sir!”
“When did this assistant issue start, exactly?”
“Uh… yesterday, sir.”
“So one day ago. Then what have you been doing for that one day?”
“I-I tried to round up replacements, but it didn’t go so well…”
“How exactly did you go about that?”
“I asked around for referrals, and I tried checking among the rookie award winners—people whose art style might match Michida-sensei’s…”
“And?”
“A-And then I, um…”
Junhyuk stood, calmly began tidying up his desk.
Akiyama kept sneaking glances, watching for any reaction—but before he could finish his sentence, Junhyuk spoke first.
“Akiyama. This final chapter is thirty-six pages long. That’s a lot more than the usual weekly page count. What you ‘should’ have done first was check the detailed progress of the manuscript.”
“Well… the first seven pages are already inked, and the rest… he’s planning to do the inking and solid blacks together.”
“Inking tones, solid blacks, and finishing touches are all labor-intensive, time-consuming grunt work. In this case, you should’ve asked Michida-sensei to sketch the draft more thoroughly, and then found assistants who are fast with their hands.”
By now, Junhyuk had finished organizing and was already packing up.
“Burn what I said into your brain. Don’t screw it up next time. Or are you planning to stay in ‘rookie mode’ forever?”
“Y-Yes, sir! Deputy Editor—then what should I do right now…?”
Junhyuk, now wearing his coat and slinging his bag over his shoulder, answered calmly.
“There’s no time to find new assistants. But Michida-sensei is the type who works best when he’s in the zone—so I’ll go myself this time.”
Then, pulling out his phone and placing it to his ear, he strode confidently out of the office.
＊ ＊ ＊
“Hoo… hoo…”
As soon as Jung Junhyuk left, the once quiet editorial office slowly stirred back to life, the noise returning as everyone resumed their work.
“Man, the Deputy Editor… His charisma’s no joke.”
A fellow editor—Akiyama’s colleague—who’d overheard everything, approached him and said—
“Did you see how the whole place went dead silent the moment he started talking? Like we were all trying to absorb some divine wisdom or something.”
“There’s no one in this industry as well-known as the Deputy Editor. Every author he’s handled ends up cranking out a hit.”
Akiyama, who’d just been thoroughly dressed down in front of Junhyuk, let out a heavy sigh.
“But seriously, what’s he going to do? Does he know some assistants personally?”
“He does. There's one he knows real well—super fast hands, always shows up wherever and whenever you call. Practically 24/7.”
“Wait, there's an assistant like th— huh…!”
Just as Akiyama turned to ask in surprise, recognizing the voice behind him made him freeze up instantly.
“Ch-Chief Editor!”
“Yup. But for someone whose boss had to run out to clean up their mess, you sure look relaxed.”
“N-No, it’s not like that…”
“Relax, I’m joking.”
The Chief Editor chuckled, giving Akiyama a few reassuring pats on the shoulder.
“That guy… honestly, he’s too good to be stuck being just an editor.”
Junhyuk’s desk had been left spotless.
On it, framed illustrations from every manga he had ever worked on were neatly displayed.
Characters from the magazine’s biggest hits over the past decade.
Each drawing looked like it had been pressed down with the weight of the artist’s whole heart—visual love letters, from creator to editor.
“…It’s a shame. A real shame.”
With a bittersweet smile, the Chief Editor stood silently, gazing at the empty desk.
＊ ＊ ＊
“Aaaaaughhhhhhh!”
Inside a 2LDK apartment—spacious for someone living alone.
Located near a station in Tokyo with a single train ride to the city center—no transfers.
Michida Arisa, a manga artist well-off enough to comfortably afford Japan’s famously high rent (in a country without a key money system), was howling inside her home.
“There’s no end in sight! Nooo end!”
Deadline sickness.
A terrifying affliction that strikes creators like manga artists, novelists, and designers when a deadline looms near.
If caught early, it’s manageable. But left untreated, it quickly escalates into its final stage, where the patient mutters the cursed phrase—’I don’t care anymore! I quit!’—and vanishes from existence, leaving their manuscript to rot.
If the cause is something external, rather than their own fault, the condition progresses even faster. Take extreme caution.
At this moment, Michida was somewhere between Stage 3 and a full-blown Stage 4 meltdown.
“Damn those assistant bastards! If they fell for each other, fine—go date quietly, make out, do your thing! But WHY! WHY does it have to be some sleazy love triangle drama?! WHY right when I’m working on the ‘final chapter’ manuscript?! WHYYYYYY!”
It was unjust. Utterly unfair.
The world had turned its back on her, and she’d moved on from cursing humanity to cursing the gods themselves.
Just when her fury had begun to wear her down—
Ding dong.
The doorbell rang.
Zing.
The temper of a manga artist on deadline rivals, if not exceeds, that of a Korean high school senior facing university entrance exams.
Everything is annoying.
Everything deserves hatred.
They are one bad mood away from trying to down a plane with the sheer force of their indignation.
Radiating enough fighting spirit to rival any red-haired anime tyrant, Michida stormed to the front door.
“Who is it?! I’m dying here—”
But even she was still human.
Even a Korean senior student will shut their mouth if someone out of the ordinary shows up at their door.
“J-Jung… Jung-san?”
“It’s been a while, Michida-sensei. I heard you were having trouble with the manuscript and came as quickly as I could. I wanted to call ahead, but I figured you were buried in work. I’d love to catch up, but first—why don’t we put out the fire?”
“A-ah, y-yes… Wait, just—just give me a second! The place is a disaster! Could you… just five minutes—no, three! I’ll open the door right away!”
“Sorry? Oh, no, it’s really not—”
SLAM!
Before he could finish, the door was shut decisively in his face—no arguments entertained.
What followed behind that door was a thunderstorm of clattering chaos that defied imagination.
“Jung-san! Sorry to keep you waiting!”
The frazzled manga artist in sweatpants, messy bun, and clunky retro glasses was nowhere to be seen.
In her place stood a neat, fresh-faced young woman, smiling like a college freshman trying to impress a professor.
“Ah, no problem at all.”
Jung Junhyuk had plenty he wanted to say—but he didn’t. That was a survival skill he’d honed through years of working life—
Keep your mouth shut and just do what needs to be done.
Though the place looked tidy at a glance, he noticed magazines peeking out from under the sofa and random crumbs here and there. Still, he politely looked the other way and followed Michida into her workspace.
“I heard about the situation from Akiyama. Would you mind if I check how far things have come?”
“Of course! While you do that, I’ll make some tea—”
“No need. And here, I brought a few things on my way over. I remembered you liked hamburgers, so I grabbed some. If they’re not to your taste, there are other options too.”
“Th-thank you…”
Having been her editor when she was still a rookie, Junhyuk knew her habits inside out.
He knew that once she got caught up in deadline mode, she wouldn’t even stop to eat.
He knew she liked burgers.
Even though it had been nearly three years since he’d passed her to another editor, he still remembered all the little things. That stirred up a weird mix of gratitude and embarrassment inside Michida.
While she was staring down at the paper bag full of food, Junhyuk, eyes locked on the monitor, spoke crisply.
“The roughs for the ending are still incomplete. I’ll handle the inking and final touches for now. You focus on finishing the sketches for the back half. If there’s anything you really want emphasized, flag it and I’ll revise accordingly.”
He navigated the digital drawing software with practiced ease, the kind all manga artists use.
Michida had once thought all editors could do this. After all, Junhyuk had been her first.
After issuing those instructions, Junhyuk flopped down on the sofa.
“You haven’t eaten yet, have you? I get that you're stressed, but food first. If you collapse, that’s when the manuscript really dies.”
Normally, she would have resisted.
But with Jung Junhyuk, her steadfast backup, by her side today…
She just nodded—and ate her first real meal in two days.
＊ ＊ ＊
Ding-dong—
“E-Excuse me…”
Even if the famously competent deputy editor was currently handling the situation in his place, no decent office worker kicks back and heads home while their boss is cleaning up their mess.
Sure, technically it’s possible—but that kind of worker usually disappears real quick.
This is what we call basic human decency. Common sense. A conscience. The bare-minimum social instinct required to function in a workplace.
Which is exactly why Akiyama, fully aware that he’d be more of a burden than a help, still felt obligated to check in on the scene where his boss had gone to fix his mistake.
Click—
Eventually, the door to the apartment where he’d rung the bell creaked open, and Junhyuk stood there to greet him.
“Akiyama, did you come because you were worried about how things were going?”
“Ahahaha! Of course! I mean, I might be useless, but I’m not irresponsible!”
“You’ve got good timing. The manuscript’s almost finished.”
Akiyama let out an awkward laugh, a bit too loud, hoping to brush off the tension pressing down on his shoulders. But as always, Junhyuk responded in his calm, even tone.
Stepping inside the workspace of the manga artist he’d visited countless times for meetings, Akiyama’s eyes went wide.
It was the same studio, sure—but something about it felt… off.
First, there was the matter of Michida-san’s appearance.
She was usually dressed in something relaxed and casual—but now, she was noticeably dressed up.
Then there was the absence of the assistants.
Akiyama had assumed the deputy editor would’ve called in the usual crew through some kind of emergency hotline.
“…Deputy Editor, where are the assistants…?”
His question didn’t hang in the air long.
Junhyuk answered not with words, but with action.
“Sensei, could you check this part for me?”
“Looks good. Let’s keep that going for the final pass too.”
Sitting in front of the massive digital tablet—where an assistant would normally be stationed—was none other than Junhyuk himself, calmly working like it was second nature.
But more than that…
“…This doesn’t make sense.”
Watching discreetly from behind, Akiyama could see his work speed was no joke.
The way he moved the pen, the fluency with which he handled the tools in the manga software—this wasn’t someone dabbling for the first time.
'Honestly, he could just be a manga artist himself…'
Of course, drawing well alone doesn’t make someone a manga artist. But the thought still crossed Akiyama’s mind—the skill in Junhyuk’s hands was far from ordinary.
And this wasn’t just anyone thinking that. Akiyama was a current working editor.
Several hours passed as he stood there, dumbfounded.
“Akiyama. Check over the completed scenes.”
“Ah, yes…”
Moving to the monitor like he was in a trance, Akiyama couldn't help but gasp.
Even though no assistants had been involved, the quality looked better than when a full team was.
“Th-this is great. At this pace, I think we’ll be able to hit the deadline without a problem.”
Watching Junhyuk cover the work of not just three assistants—but more than that—Akiyama gulped hard.
“Back when Sensei was still a rookie, I used to sub in as her assistant pretty often. Did that for about two years, so we’ve already got a good rhythm.”
“Ah, I see…!”
Junhyuk offered the explanation after picking up on the awe written all over Akiyama’s face.
But that didn’t make the shock go away.
This wasn’t just about experience. It begged the question—what kind of editor was this skilled, even at assistant-level work?
After the short explanation, Junhyuk dove back into the manuscript without wasting a second.
Several more hours passed.
“Sensei, it’s done.”
They had just cleared the backlog of work in ten hours.
Sure, ten hours ‘sounds’ long—but given the shortage of help, and the fact that the deadline was in two days, it had been unclear whether they’d even make it in time.
So to finish all of that in ‘just’ half a day?
Calling it ‘only ten hours’ felt justified.
'What on earth did I just witness…?'
And it wasn’t just that Junhyuk acted as an assistant.
He also offered feedback, proposed scene adjustments, bounced around ideas—
And even looped in Akiyama, the assigned editor, to make sure everything was checked properly.
It all happened so smoothly, so efficiently, it was like watching a well-oiled machine.
'This… this is an editor?'
Watching Junhyuk work was an education in itself—an up-close look at someone hailed as the best in the industry.
“Akiyama, you look exhausted.”
“Ah! No, sir! I’m totally fine!”
Junhyuk gave Akiyama a pat on the shoulder and handed him a drink.
“Good work. Once Michida-san finishes the final touches, go over the manuscript carefully and get it submitted.”
“Yes! Got it!”
“It’s already morning. After you submit it, take a half day off and rest.”
“A-ah, I don’t thi—”
“Rest.”
“…Yes, sir!”
Not wanting to disrupt Michida, who was still in deep concentration, Junhyuk left Akiyama with those words and quietly stepped outside.
＊ ＊ ＊
It’s been over ten years now since I first set foot in Japan.
Looking back, my life has certainly had its share of ups and downs in all kinds of shapes.
I lost my mother when I was a child, and my father while I was still young.
Becoming a manga artist was my dream, but I had to put it aside.
I didn’t know when—or if—it would ever pay off, or how much I could make from it.
There were other paths I could’ve taken.
After all, I had a younger sister, seven years my junior, and I needed to survive in this world with her.
Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of manga completely.
That’s how I ended up, perhaps foolishly, walking down the path of a manga editor.
I worked hard, just to keep life going. And thanks to that, my salary wasn’t too bad for my age.
My little sister had also just landed a job and was about to graduate from college.
I could finally say there wasn’t much left to worry about.
So many things had happened—yet here I was, summing up my entire life in less than a single page.
It was kind of ironic.
As I watched cherry blossom petals scatter in the wind, I found myself lost in such idle, pointless thoughts.
BEEEEEP—!
Then I saw it.
Right in front of me, at a large intersection crosswalk—a child chasing a ball, and a massive truck barreling toward them, horn blaring.
“—!!”
I didn’t have to think.
The kid was only about five steps away from me, and if I moved now, I could just barely make it in time.
In that split second, I made my decision.
I lunged forward, wrapped the child in my arms, and threw us both out of the truck’s path.
Thankfully, just like I’d hoped, we narrowly avoided the truck.
But what I couldn’t avoid—was the car speeding along the next lane.
Screeeeeech—!
Still holding the child close, the dull impact struck my body.
And just like that, everything went black.
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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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