As a popular superstar editor, I, Kiraboshi Kanaria, started my mornings off early. I lived in the city, in a luxury high-rise apartment building. It was nestled between IT businesses that kept Japan up and running.
My apartment building had a total of fifty-two floors—and I was right at the top. I got up from the double bed—more than large enough for its lone owner—and allowed myself to bask in the morning sun that shone through the window.
It was seven in the morning; four hours after I’d retired for the night.
What do you mean, I don’t get enough sleep, chirp? I’ve been able to fly on this little sleep since I was still a fledgling in my second year of junior high. It just so happens that my body doesn’t need it that much. Oh, but it’s so important to get enough sleep, so don’t you good little chicks start copying me!
I washed my face as swiftly as possible, put on some sportswear, then left my apartment with a tote bag stuffed with towels and other items. I used the elevator to get down to the third floor. This floor had a mail desk, manned by a concierge, and a communal fitness gym. It was part of my morning routine to break a quick sweat here before heading to the office.
To be perfectly honest with you, I had gotten sick of looking down at the city’s nightscape from my apartment within three days of moving there. The elevator took an age to get to me, and earthquakes, blackouts, and plumbing problems were a total pain. I wanted to get out of here and move into a tiny little house, or even a hotel or something—it’d be way easier. The one thing stopping me was this gym.
It was a massive plus for me to have a place I could exercise at a stone’s throw away. It was safe too; the security was top-notch. When you are an idol and an editor, you get a lot of rabid fans as well as a lot of rabid haters. So you can see why I might need a nest that doesn’t allow random people to get too close to me.
Once I had my body and mind primed, I took a shower, then stared myself down in the mirror while I applied my makeup. What, you think I’m pretty enough without makeup? Then you’re missing the point. It’s the way of a first-class idol not just to rely on her natural beauty, but to keep polishing herself up without fail. This is something amateurs need to keep their beaks shut about! And anyone who dares make a peep about my “real age” is gonna get clawed, chirp!
There I go, getting off track!
A good editor knows when to redirect a tangent back to the main point.
With my morning routine winding down, I filled up on some yogurt and supplements for breakfast, then set off for the office. I drove; I couldn’t bear the thought of being crammed into one of those commuter trains like a pack of swaying sardines. That’s also one of the reasons I decided to live so close to my office—and I’m not exaggerating.
I arrived at work just a teensy bit after ten. Things were laid back enough here that nobody would comment. I was one of the early ones, actually. Some people didn’t show up till the afternoon.
Opening the door with my card, I stepped into the editor’s office with a wide smile. I wasn’t Kiraboshi Kanaria anymore; I was Canary! A girl whose professional smile could charm bosses, coworkers, juniors, authors, and clients alike!
Let’s smash it again today, chirp!
The second I walked into the office, a sudden round of applause made my smile waver.
Did I walk up on a stage by accident?
Just kidding. I wasn’t stupid enough to actually think that. If I’d been onstage, the applause would be louder, and there’d be cheering added to the mix. The applause I received in the editor’s office was more like the pitter-patter of light rainfall, and the “crowd” was much smaller. But you know when you’re expecting nothing, and then something happens? It freaks you out, right?
“Congratulations!”
“Sir? Um... What...”
“Congratulations!” The editor-in-chief didn’t answer my question. He just kept repeating “congratulations” while smiling and clapping at me.
A spiked crew cut and stern, chiseled features. His solid pecs were prominent even under the wine-red shirt that covered them. This was the editor-in-chief—the boss of UZA Bunko, where I worked. You’ve heard of crunch time when it comes to deadlines, haven’t you? With this guy, you’d be forgiven for thinking it involved the physical crunching of bones. And yet he was here, smiling and clapping for me. It was totally weird.
“Congratulations!”
“Congratulations!”
“Congratulations!”
The other editors, and even the part-timers, were applauding me too, like they were trying to recreate that one scene from that masterpiece anime. They were even circling me—well, it was actually more like a semicircle—so I bet they were doing it on purpose.
“Th-Thank you?” I asked.
“‘Thank you’? You’re breaking character. Remember, you’re an idol.”
“Really? That’s your response?” I could sue him for professional harassment for that, couldn’t I? Speaking of professionalism, I was able to keep the thought to myself. “So, what’s this all about?”
“Your anime! Congratulations on getting the anime confirmed, Canary-kun.”
“Oh, is that all? One of my series got an anime offer? Surely that doesn’t warrant all of this, does it?”
Not to brag, but every series I’d ever edited had scored an additional print run. Most of them had offers from anime companies too, so one more on top of that wasn’t a huge deal. Of course it would be cause for celebration for most people in this line of work—but not me!