Sect System Manga

yuuka zenin do clã zenin um clã renomados de feiticeiros jujutsu que tem como principal técnica a invocação das dez sombras que são shikigamis cada um com sua especialidade yuuka zenin tem um irmão chamado tsurugi que têm como técnica a restrição celestial que foca em trazer o potencial físico do seu corpo ao extremo para lutar de igual pra igual contra maldições

Comic Title: The 5-Year Ping
Theme: A story of high latency, hidden processes, and a final successful connection.

Part 1: The Legacy Code (School Days)
Visual: A split screen. On the left, Class 11, the boy looking at her across a classroom. On the right, The Last Day of School, the boy holding a letter, standing next to her empty chair.

Caption: "The script was written years ago, but the environment was never stable enough to hit 'Run'."

Dialogue (Boy's thoughts): “I waited for the perfect moment... but the perfect moment was a ghost.”

Part 2: The Debugging Phase (College Years)
Visual: Panels showing the chaos of 1st and 2nd year.

Panel A: The crowded college bus with "Talkative Friends" as blurred background noise.

Panel B (The Dare): The boy on the phone, sweating, asking her for "crush advice" while his friends laugh in the background.

Panel C (The Fake Photo): The boy showing her a photo of a random girl on his phone. The girl looks interested, but the boy’s heart is shown as a "broken link" icon.

Caption: "Sometimes, to protect the system, you have to run a decoy."

Part 3: The 3rd Year Transition (The Near Miss)
Theme: The broken logic of a missed opportunity.

Visual 1: The golden hour light hitting the college main gate. The crowd of students is thinning out. The boy catches up to the girl just as she’s about to exit.

Dialogue: * Boy: "Are you heading home right now?"

Girl (turning with a smile): "Yeah, just leaving. Are you coming along?"

Visual 2: A close-up of the boy’s face—a mix of conflict and regret. In the background, he sees his teammates or the work he has to finish, realizing he can't walk with her today.

Dialogue:

Boy: "I... I have to finish some work before I head out. I can’t join you today. You go ahead."

Girl: "Oh, okay! Don't work too hard. See you!"

Visual 3: A wide shot of the boy standing completely still by the gate as her figure shrinks into the distance. The long shadow of the college gate stretches toward him.

Dialogue (The Internal Monologue):

Boy (whispering): "Go home safely..."

Caption: "A request was sent, but the path was blocked by circumstance. Status: 404 - Opportunity Not Found."

Part 4: The Execution (The Night Call)
Visual: A beautiful night scene. On one side of the page, the boy is walking under a single golden streetlight, phone to his ear. On the other side, the girl is tucked in her room, surrounded by books, smiling.

Dialogue (1.5 hours in): * Girl: "So... be honest. Do you even talk to that crush of yours anymore?"

Boy (Shaking, close-up on his face): "Actually... I'm talking to her right this second."

Part 5: The "Loading" State
Visual: A full-page spread. The girl’s face is a mix of shock and a deep, rising blush. Behind her, a faint, glowing "Loading... 99%" bar appears.

Dialogue:

Girl: "I... I can't process this much data at once."

Boy: "I waited five years for the server to respond. I can wait a few more days for you."

Final Visual: The boy looking up at the moon in the mountains (foreshadowing your Himachal trip).

Closing Caption: "The connection is finally established. Status: Happy."

Creative Elements to Include:
Color Palette: Use cool blues and greys for the "missed" years, and shift into warm oranges and pinks for the phone call scene.

The Symbol: Use the flower you mentioned (the one that bloomed 3 years ago) as a recurring symbol in the corners of the pages.

The "God" Motif: In the background of the college scenes, you could have a small, subtle "halo" over the boy whenever she’s looking at him, showing how she admires him.

$In a world where a few can bend probability through raw will, a quiet drifter named Kai Kurozawa discovers his gift isn’t luck—it’s a loaded weapon. Each choice twists the odds, but the universe charges interest. SERIES BIBLE (Concise) Power System — Will / Odds / Backlash • Dwellers: Rare individuals who can impose Tacks (micro‐edits to probability) via focused Will. • Odds: A visualized “grain” of reality; Dwellers sense vectors of likely outcomes as shimmering filaments. • Tacks: Intentional nudges (“make that rope snap,” “let the bus be 8 seconds late”). Each Tack accrues Fate Friction—stress that rebounds later as Backlash (nosebleeds → fractures → catastrophic karmic events). • Edges: Personal rituals or anchors (coin flips, mantras) that stabilize Will and reduce friction. • Zeroshift (mythic tier, late series): A liminal state where Odds are a silent ocean and Will is a blade—do not reveal yet. World • Haven District: Port-city sprawl; rusted rooftops, market alleys, flooded underpass murals. • Glassline Metro: Arteries of the city; reflective tunnels where odds feel “loud.” • The Quiet: A rumored zone where Odds stop moving—foreshadowing endgame forces. Factions • Municipal Risk Office (MRO): Bureau that tracks statistical anomalies; polite on paper, predatory in practice. • The Erased: Black-bag unit rumored to “remove” unstable Dwellers. Recurring Antagonists • Rael, “The Eraser”: Uncanny calm; his talent dampens other Dwellers’ Tacks in close range. He is the city’s whispered full stop. • Anti-Kai (Kairo Tsukami): Never named on-page yet. Thematic opposite of Kai—fixes outcomes by stealing other people’s Will. Themes • Choice vs. inevitability, the cost of power, anonymity in crowds, the math of mercy. VISUAL STYLE GUIDE (for art consistency) • Line: Clean, high-contrast inks; thin outline on faces, heavy shadows on urban geometry. • Tone: Filmic noir with sharp whites for the “Odds” filaments. • Odds Visualization: Fine hairline threads and moiré patterns drifting off objects; when Kai focuses, threads bloom like dandelion seeds frozen mid-gust. • SFX: Minimalist lettering, small caps with long em dashes for sustained sounds (e.g., VRRR—). • Panel Rhythm: Quiet micro-panels for intention → explode into wide panels for consequence. CAST (Core + Non-Dwellers — at least 5) Kai Kurozawa (17) • A drifter with a coin ritual. Soft voice, sharp eyes. Edge: Coin Flip. • Quirk: Counts his breaths when deciding; breath 7 is commitment. • Flaw: Terrified of being the cause. Mei Arakawa (19) — Journalism student, street photographer. Non-Dweller. • Brave to a fault; sees patterns in people. Keeps instant camera on wrist. Jun “Switch” Tanaka (18) — Electronics stall kid; builds things from city trash. Non-Dweller. • Grease smudges, perpetual grin, a tool roll like a scroll. Aya Mori (20) — Med student volunteering at a night clinic. Non-Dweller. • Steady hands; refuses to look away from ugly truths. Inspector Haruto Ishii (34) — MRO field officer. Non-Dweller. • Polite, dry, exhausted; catalogues “anomaly sites.” Koji Nakamura (52) — Market grocer. Non-Dweller. • Kind man, jokes in proverbs. (Mark as at risk in early arcs.) Daichi (12) — Rooftop runner, orphan. Non-Dweller. • Knows every shortcut; sells maps he draws by hand. Rael (??) — “The Eraser.” Dweller. • Neutral face; shoes make no sound. The city gets quiet when he arrives. HIDDEN SEEDS in Chapter One • Page 3: A passerby with a ring—three triangular prongs. Later revealed as an Erased marker. • Page 17: Black van reflection in puddle (MRO plate pattern: 131-21). • Page 28: Blank spot in Kai’s Odds vision (Rael’s signature dampening at distance). • Final Page: A second coin in gutter, heads scratched with a thin inverted cross (Anti-Kai sigil—unexplained). CHAPTER ONE: PAGE-BY-PAGE SCRIPT & STORYBOARD Length: 36 pages (tankōbon pacing). Goal: Introduce Kai, demonstrate low-tier Tack, show cost, hook with a moral pivot.$

半分の君
Romaji: Hanbun no Kimi Meaning: “Half of You”
At Hoshizora Academy, the Compatibility Program forces second year students to live together like married couples — cooking, cleaning, studying, sharing a dorm unit, and being graded on emotional sync. High scores mean scholarships. Low scores mean repeating the year. The program is infamous for creating bonds that feel too real and exposing feelings students try to hide.
Ignatius Arimura enters the year hoping to stay invisible. He’s quiet, introverted, and still carrying the ache of a breakup he never healed from. Aoi Kisaragi was his first love — the girl who made him feel alive, and the girl who walked away from him without ever explaining why. Aoi hides her guilt behind her bright smile, convincing herself she’s moved on to Ren. Ignatius tells himself he likes Mina because it’s easier than admitting he still aches for Aoi.
When the pairing announcement arrives, Aoi silently begs for Ren. Ignatius silently hopes for Mina. Both pray they won’t be paired with each other. But fate is cruel. Their names appear together with a compatibility score of 12%, the lowest in the program. The room goes silent. Aoi’s smile cracks. Ignatius’s heart sinks. Moving into the same dorm feels like reopening a wound neither of them survived.
Their first days together are a disaster. Aoi’s loud music, Ignatius’s quiet routines, her clutter, his need for order — everything clashes. Their first evaluation ends in failure. But when Ignatius freezes during a public speaking assignment, Aoi steps in without hesitation, her voice steady, her hand brushing his as she takes over. For a moment, it feels like the version of them that used to exist. Their score rises to 18%, and Ignatius realizes with a painful twist that he never stopped caring.
Seeing Mina and Ren working together so naturally only deepens the ache. Aoi watches Ren laugh with Mina in a way he never laughed with her. Ignatius watches Mina shine beside Ren and wonders if he ever had a chance. Both feel jealousy they refuse to acknowledge. That night, Aoi cries quietly in the bathroom, and Ignatius hears her through the door. He stands there, hand hovering over the handle, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to comfort her anymore.
They eventually agree to a truce and create a “Compatibility Strategy Plan.” Cooking together leads to soft laughter. Communication drills turn into arguments that somehow end with them smiling. Late night study sessions blur into moments where they forget they’re supposed to be exes. They fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch, but each night they wake up a little closer. Their score jumps to 41%. Aoi wakes one morning with Ignatius’s jacket draped over her shoulders. She doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t tell her.
And then comes the chapter that changes everything.
One night, after a long study session, Aoi falls asleep at the table, her head resting on her arms. Ignatius tries to wake her, but she mumbles something soft and exhausted, and he can’t bring himself to shake her. He sits beside her, meaning to stay only a moment. But he’s tired too. He rests his head on his folded arms, inches from hers. The room is warm. The silence is gentle. Without meaning to, they drift off together.
When they wake, the sun is rising. Aoi’s head is resting on Ignatius’s shoulder. His hand is loosely holding hers. Their breaths are slow and in sync, like they’ve been sleeping together for years. For a long moment, neither moves. Neither speaks. The world feels fragile, like one wrong word could shatter it. Aoi’s cheeks turn pink. Ignatius’s heart races. They pull away slowly, reluctantly, as if their bodies haven’t caught up to their minds. Their score jumps to 52% the next day, and the teachers quietly note that their emotional sync spiked overnight.
Aoi begins noticing Ignatius again — the way he concentrates, the way he softens when he’s comfortable, the way he still remembers her favorite snacks. Ignatius begins noticing Aoi’s hidden fears — her loneliness behind her popularity, her pressure to be perfect, the way she tries so hard not to disappoint anyone. They move around each other like a married couple who never learned how to stop caring. They share toothbrush cups, laundry baskets, late night ramen, sleepy mornings, and quiet moments that feel too intimate for two people who claim they’re over each other.
During the festival test, their booth becomes the most popular attraction. Aoi turns down a confession from another boy, her voice trembling. Ignatius gets flustered when Mina compliments him, and Aoi notices the way he blushes. Their score jumps to 63%. That night, Aoi quietly asks him if he ever hated her after the breakup. Ignatius can’t answer. He can’t lie. The silence between them is thick with everything they never said.
Rumors spread that pairs might be reassigned. Aoi panics at the thought of losing her chance with Ren. Ignatius panics at the thought of losing Mina. But beneath those fears is something heavier: neither of them wants to be separated from each other. Aoi cries alone on the balcony, and Ignatius silently places a blanket over her shoulders. She doesn’t turn around, but she leans into the warmth. They stand there together, the distance between them shrinking in ways neither of them can deny.
A storm knocks out the power one night, leaving them in darkness with no cameras, no expectations, no pretending. They talk honestly for the first time in months. Aoi admits she’s tired of being the strong one. Ignatius admits he’s tired of being the quiet one. They sit close, closer than they have since before the breakup, sharing warmth in the dark. Aoi falls asleep with her head on his shoulder again. Ignatius doesn’t move. Their emotional sync test the next morning hits 92%, the highest in the program.
As Ren and Mina grow closer, Aoi and Ignatius realize their old crushes were fantasies — safe illusions they clung to because they were afraid of the real thing. The real connection is the one they’ve rebuilt: messy, painful, warm, and real. They act like a married couple — cooking together, arguing, laughing, sharing space, sharing silence — but they’re not lovers. Not yet. They’re something in between, something fragile and terrifying and impossible to name.
When the reassignment list is posted, Aoi’s hands shake and K Ignatius’s heart pounds. They scan the list, terrified. Their names remain together. Not because of luck. Not because of the system. But because they earned it. Aoi turns to him, eyes shining with something fragile and hopeful, and whispers, “Ignatius … can we try again?” He takes her hand gently, like she might break, and says, “Yeah. This time… let’s not run.”
They’re not lovers. Not yet. But they’re closer than they’ve ever been — a pair who lives like a married couple, fights like rivals, and holds each other like home.

Panel 1:
Woman in sweater sitting alone at café window seat with coffee
Panel 2:
Same woman younger in flashback at same seat with boyfriend
Panel 3:
Present woman touching empty chair across from her
Panel 4:
Woman smiling softly while writing in journal at the table

close-up of a young man touching his head with one hand, messy black hair, tired eyes looking downward, subtle sadness on his face, light sweat on his temple, quiet and calm mood, soft shadows, minimal background, emotional stillness
manga thought bubble (inner monologue): “That dream again…”

inal manga panel, same young man, same facial features and expression, slightly lifted head, mouth slightly open as if speaking softly, calm and composed demeanor, seated on the bed, relaxed posture, empty negative space for narration box, balanced composition, peaceful contrast after fear
narration box text: “That same dream. It’s already the third time this week.”

Noah noticed her during a late shoot.
Rain machines soaked the street set. The crew shivered. Tempers flared. But Iria moved calmly, shielding equipment, checking reflections, adjusting brightness so the artificial rain looked like poetry instead of chaos.
“You don’t panic,” Noah said quietly when she handed him a towel.
“I do,” she replied. “Just not where people can see.”
He smiled—not the practiced one, but a real one. Small. Careful.
From then on, they talked in moments between takes. About coffee. About bad scripts. About how fame felt like standing under a sun that never set.
“You ever wish you could disappear for a while?” Noah asked.
Iria looked at the lights overhead.
“I did,” she said. “Then I learned how to shine without being seen.”
That answer stayed with him.

**“The Third Chair”**

Lin Zhixia first met Zhou Jin at a window-side table in a café.
The sunlight was beautiful that day, yet the chair across from him was empty.

She learned later that the chair belonged to his girlfriend—Shen Yan.

Zhou Jin never hid the truth.
He said he loved someone, and he also said he wasn’t sure whether he could still love another.
Lin Zhixia understood—yet she sat down anyway.

Their relationship was like a nameless river.
Unspoken, unacknowledged, never crossing the point of no return—
and yet, step by step, it ran deeper.

When Shen Yan appeared, everything finally gained weight.

She was calmer than Lin Zhixia had imagined. She only looked at her and said,
“You’re not a bad person.”
The words felt sharper than a knife.

That night, Lin Zhixia asked herself for the first time in earnest:
If love has to hurt someone in order to exist, did she really want it?

Zhou Jin tried to keep her, saying,
“I can’t live without either of you.”
But in that moment, Lin Zhixia suddenly understood—
in a love shared by three, someone is always sitting in the extra chair.

She stood up and gave up her seat.

Later on, the café was still the same café.
By the window, the table still held three chairs.

A day before Dorian and Eris were set to leave for the National School, Rosswood and Rosalia visited the orphanage to give their best wishes. The children were delighted, the air filled with laughter and anticipation.
Over tea, Rosalia smiled warmly at the two. “Dorian, Eris, we are so proud of you. You have a bright future ahead at the National School.”
Rosswood, however, carried a heavier expression. He gave Zenta a subtle signal. Understanding, Zenta stood and announced, “Rosswood and I need to step out for some grocery shopping. We’ll be back soon.” Jenet and Rosalia nodded knowingly, keeping the children unaware.