No matter where he turned, Takano always seemed to attract the laziest of artists. Time and again, the mangakas that worked for him seem to overlook a deadline and procrastinate until the due date. Though back then, Takano was never one of promptness; however, as a working adult, that’s all that mattered to him. He only wanted the best from his artists, but the fact that they refuse to heed his warnings made him furious. Invisible smoke trails seeped out from the man’s head as Takano made his way into the artist’s home. The sight of soulless assistants sleeping on the job caused him to clench his fist in anger. Despite this being the usual routine, Takano never found a way to compress his rage.
“Oi.”
Storming his way over to the mangaka, the editor laid his hand on the top of her head; his hooded eyes staring at her as his temples ached. Heat began to rise to the tips of his ears; his blood pressure rising,
WHY THE HELL IS YOUR MANUSCRIPT TAKING SO FUCKING LONG?!?!
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