Starting as a Manga Editor-Chapter 80: Do I Need to Ask You?

“...That’s amazing…”
Li Xue sat at her desk, staring at the vivid, lifelike Saber on the website, unable to hold back her admiration.
She had already seen it on Tang Yao’s screen.
But seeing it live on the site—experiencing it for real—it still stunned her.
Although…
Li Xue opened the anime forum and looked at the posts, which were all about anime adaptation speculation. She couldn’t help but feel conflicted.
Something felt off.
No one was thinking about the game at all—every reader was guessing some investor had taken an interest in the manga and was pushing for an anime adaptation.
If Tang Yao were here, she would probably reassure her:
"This world doesn’t have anime-style gacha games yet. It’s normal readers don’t think of that. Give it time—they’ll catch on. Don’t worry.”
But sadly, Tang Yao wasn’t here.
So Li Xue just sat there staring at those forum threads, full of worry…
Yes, the manga’s popularity was surging—but none of it was about the game.
It wasn’t about losing money. After spending more time with Tang Yao,
Li Xue cared less and less about the money.
In her eyes, that money was nothing compared to Tang Yao herself.
Just look at what she had accomplished these past few weeks.
What she really worried about…
Was whether Tang Yao herself might be devastated by it all—crushed under the weight of so much effort and so little return.
Because Li Xue knew better than anyone just how much Tang Yao had poured into this game.
And if all that work ended in nothing?
That could break someone.
That’s why she kept telling Tang Yao: don’t worry about the money, it’s okay to fail, even if you lose everything—just come back and draw manga.
She’d help with anything.
Because she truly, genuinely cared.
And right now, even though everything seemed to be heading in a good direction, the readers’ expectations…
Li Xue hesitated for a moment, then picked up her phone, ready to call Tang Yao.
But—
Just as she grabbed it, her phone rang.
Li Xue thought it was Tang Yao calling back. She smiled instinctively…
Until she saw the caller ID, and her smile froze.
It was Lin Shuang—her older cousin.
“……”
Li Xue frowned slightly at the name. She didn’t really want to pick up, but out of politeness, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, cousin. How’ve you been lately?”
Lin Shuang’s voice came through the line. Not warm, but not cold either—just neutral.
“I’m fine. How about you, cousin?”
“I’m good too. By the way… I just came across something interesting.”
After the brief pleasantries, Lin Shuang got to the point:
“A manga called Fate/Zero. I don’t normally read comics, but I remembered the name from when I met that little friend of yours. Got curious and looked it up… seems like it’s actually got a lot of readers. This is the one your little friend said was tied to the game project, right?”
“Yes.”
“She’s really something.”
Lin Shuang chuckled after confirming.
“In such a short time, she already launched a whole website—and it’s pretty well done.”
“Mm.”
Li Xue glanced at the website on her screen and replied casually.
Thanks for the obvious.
Lin Shuang continued,
“Though… building a site like that can’t be cheap, right? I don’t know much about tech, but from what I can tell, I couldn’t find any competing indie game sites that polished. No way she built that alone.”
“Of course not.”
“Then do you know where she got the money?”
“……”
Li Xue paused, narrowing her eyes. She was starting to see where this was going.
She shot back, “Why are you asking?”
“Because I’ve seen her project proposal.”
Lin Shuang’s tone didn’t change much, but Li Xue could hear a faint trace of… condescension?
“I can tell you right now—most firms would never invest in a business model that naïve. Not even angel investors would take that kind of gamble easily, not without weighing it for a while.”
“But we only met her a short while ago, right? In just that time, your little friend managed to get a site up, probably hired a dozen people…”
“I’m just curious—who’s crazy enough to fund her?”
“……”
Li Xue finally understood exactly why her cousin had called.
Some people, once they’d been successful in their field long enough, started to feel overconfident. That confidence could evolve into arrogance—and manifest as an annoying desire to lecture others.
The classic self-appointed mentor type.
The “let-me-dad-you” energy.
Li Xue took a deep breath and replied,
“I don’t really know the details.”
Lin Shuang’s voice came coolly:
“Really? You don’t know?”
Li Xue had no patience for games anymore. She frowned and asked directly,
“Cousin, what are you trying to say? Just say it.”
“The last time we met… remember what I told you?”
Lin Shuang gave a soft chuckle.
“I said I didn’t know my little cousin was such a softie.”
“I remember.”
“So… was it you who invested?”
“……”
Li Xue was silent for a moment, then calmly answered:
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
A soft rustling sound came from the phone. Lin Shuang seemed to shake her head.
“You forgot my last piece of advice. Just because you were touched by a single ‘friend’ comment, you’ve let yourself get pulled into the mud. Let me give you some sincere advice: pull your money out now—whatever you can recover, do it. Don’t wait until you’ve lost everything. You worked hard for that money.”
“…Got it.”
Li Xue kept her expression neutral, resisting the urge to hang up, and said politely:
“Thanks for your concern, cousin.”
“You still haven’t taken this seriously?”
Lin Shuang clearly noticed her indifference and, still smiling, tried again:
“I’m saying this as a professional. Don’t get me wrong—your friend’s very pretty, but she’s also a bit of an airhead…”
“Cousin.”
Li Xue suddenly cut her off.
“Hm?”
Li Xue leaned back hard in her chair, resting against the backrest, and crossed her long legs wrapped in black stockings one over the other. Holding her phone with one hand, her voice went icy cold, aura blazing.
“How I spend my money—do I need your permission?”
“……”
Silence on the other end.
Lin Shuang didn’t speak for a long while, and when she finally did,
“…I was out of line.”
This time, her tone held no laughter.
She sounded… unhappy.
Li Xue replied flatly:
“No worries. Thank you for your concern. Anything else? If not, I’ll hang up.”
“No, that’s all. I’ve got work too. Let’s talk another time.”
“Okay.”
Li Xue responded, and just as she was about to hang up—
She faintly heard a soft snort on the other end.
And a muttered “...idiot.”
Her expression didn’t change.
She hung up calmly.
Meanwhile, back at Avalon Studio—
Tang Yao was also on a call. And she was equally stressed.
“No, no, thank you… I’m not sure how you got my number, but Fate/Zero isn’t planning to be adapted into an anime just yet… A generous licensing fee? You should contact Third-Rate directly. Thank you.”
Tang Yao politely declined the offer, then set her phone down, feeling mentally drained.
Yep.
The manga had gotten so popular, a producer actually reached out, interested in an adaptation…
Sure, from a game perspective, someone like Lin Shuang might think this kind of popularity meant nothing.
After all, she looked down on nerds’ spending power when it came to games.
But for anime producers, it was a different story.
They were just testing the waters for now—probing interest—but even that was already annoying to deal with.
Still.
Tang Yao only allowed herself a moment of fatigue.
Very soon—
She perked up again, turned to look at the website, and couldn’t help but feel excited.
She hadn’t expected this.
It started as a test—
But ended with a surprise bonus!
The manga’s popularity had shot up again,
And had even triggered a storm of discussion across the entire otaku scene!
She knew exactly what that meant.