Tachibana<span style="font-style: italic">Hinata-sama</span>?  Her smile faltered.  Was he mocking her?  She bit down her instinctive retort and instead poured tea for the two men.  Izumi-Tsukatani-sensei was a famous novelist; she shouldn’t be surprised if he had some..<span style="font-style: italic">quirks</span>in addition to his less-than-impressive physical appearance.  (Really, a western tea set in such a Japanese styled room?)  Her attempts at reassuring herself faltered when she heard—surely not.  And yet Izumi-Tsukatani-sensei didn’t disagree with Ishida-san’s words.  Surely a novelist would know his own profession, right?  Hazel eyes scrutinized the two men before her who chatted obliviously as if she wasn’t present.  While it was nice to know she’d been selected out of twenty candidates, it didn’t change the fact she’d thought she was applying for a<span style="font-style: italic">different</span>job.<br/><br/><span style="color: pink">“Excuse me,”</span>she broke into the silence, polite smile still affixed to her face,<span style="color: pink">“but could you clarify what you meant by.. ‘manga’?”</span>Hinata could barely keep the disdain from entering her voice.  She had no interest or love for the cartoonish art that dominated part of Japan’s culture.<span style="color: pink"> “Do you mean like… Dragon Ball Z..? Or something?”</span><br/><br/>Ishida-san simply continued beaming. “Or something,” he agreed congenially as he took another sip of his drink.<br/><br/>It took every inch of control she had to not scowl at his response; unfortunately, it left no inches of control to stop her eyes from glaring at the orange-haired man.<span style="color: pink">“I thought that Izumi-Tsukatani-sensei was a <span style="font-style: italic">nationally-acclaimed</span> author?”</span>She grit out from behind clenched teeth.  As if anticipating her inquiry, Ishida-san pulled out a book and slid it over the table to her.<br/><br/><span style="font-family: Comic;">SUN DUST</span>the cover read, pasted atop an image of three high-schoolers with too long limbs—crossed menacingly—and … something in the background.  Some blob of color with googly eyes on it.<span style="font-family: courier;">Naruhiko Izumi-Tsukatani</span>was written down the length of the book and, sure enough, in the corner was a circle seal that proclaimed it as Best Debut Manga.  He may as well have slid over a dead animal with how much disgust Hinata graced it with.  She looked at the piece of filth, looked over to the mildly cleaner Izumi-Tsukatani-san (now that his hair was no longer obscured in his face), and then looked at Ishida-san with a deadpan look.<span style="font-style: italic">Well?</span>she seemed to inquire.<br/><br/>“Nationally acclaimed author and artist.  He both creates the story and illustrates it.”  Ishida-san clarified, his smile becoming just a touch wider at the way Hinata-san’s smile fell off her face.  If looks could kill, he had a feeling he’d be at the bottom of Tokyo Bay.<br/><br/><span style="color: pink">“I see….”</span>Hinata looked back down at the thing in front of her, back to her ‘employer,’ her employer’s shirt (freaking butler-thing was<span style="font-style: italic">still</span>smirking at her), and then the comic once more.  She forced an insincere smile on her face even as she took a fortifying breath.<span style="color: pink"> “It appears I misunderstood then.  I apologize that I’m afraid—”</span><br/><br/>“Would you like a tour of the office?”  Ishida-cut in before Hinata could resign.  He hadn’t been kidding about going through twenty resumes and two other interviews.  Some had been old aunties, others had been fans of Izumi-kun, and very few had been appropriate for the job.  He needed someone competent, professional, and not swayed by Naruhiko’s pleading.  Her resume hadn’t been that outstanding, especially given her apparent apathy to manga, but Hino-san had personally vouched for his ‘younger sister.’  The security guard was a no-nonsense man, and he’d hoped it was a trait the siblings shared.  From their interview, he assumed it was, so he really didn’t want to lose her so quickly.  (Okay, mostly he didn’t want to go through more interviews.  He was a busy man! Who could blame him?!)  “It might be nice for you to see the inner workings of a publishing company.  This is one of the smaller back offices, but as a subsidiary of Shueisha, we maintain many of the customs larger publishing firms keep, just on a better schedule.”  Ishida-san laughed humbly as if he hadn’t just knowingly thrown bait in front of the woman.  She had mentioned wanting to work in a publishing firm in the future; he hoped that lure was enough to keep her staying.<br/><br/>Damnit damnit damnit!  She’d wanted to work at a<span style="text-decoration: underline">serious</span>publishing company!  Not one that sold drivel!  And yet Shueisha was one of the largest publishing companies in Japan!  If she could just get a good reputation here, she could possibly transfer to the Myojo or Shosetsu Junai divisions.  It was notoriously hard to get into the publishing industry without a foot in the door and—she turned a desperate look at the black-haired man with the baggy black shirt—and all she had to do was be this person’s personal assistant for a year or two.<br/><br/>She had an aspiring idol as a younger sister.  She had an autistic savant as a younger brother.<br/><br/>Closing her eyes, she resigned herself to her face.  Whens he opened her eyes again, she had a bright smile pasted to her face.<span style="color: pink"> “That would be wonderful, Ishida-san…”</span><br/><br/>He couldn’t be worse than them, right?