On a wet Tuesday in Nakano, I watched a junior editor tape six pages to a wall and scar every tidy border with black marks. The plot did not change; the room did. A polite chase suddenly leaned forward.
Order is useful until the pulse rises
The clean grid is a contract with the reader: here is sequence, here is pace, here is safety. Manga earns its voltage by knowing when to tear that contract in half. A diagonal cut can make a whisper feel faster than a car.
Digital magazines keep sanding those edges down into cards, feeds, and reusable modules. The page still needs ink-black decisions: one panel too heavy, one caption too close, one red mark for impact.
A strict grid explains. A broken grid shouts back.