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"Most want the hits," the man rasped. "They want the fire-breathers or the high school romances. You look like you're looking for a ghost."
The neon signs of Akihabara flickered like dying stars as Elias stepped out of the station. He wasn’t here for the tourist traps; he was here because his sister had left him a single, cryptic note before vanishing: “Find the series that doesn't exist.”
He ducked into a narrow alleyway where the scent of old paper and ozone hung heavy. At the end of the path sat a shop with no name, its windows packed with sun-bleached manga volumes. Inside, an old man with spectacles thick as bottle glass didn’t look up from a workbench.