That night, the city slumbered. The glow of streetlights, like stars, illuminated the crisscrossing streets.
A faint voice emerged from the void:
[System update complete.]
[Erroneous program successfully adjusted. Original plan no longer applicable… Adjustments complete. Implementing enhanced protocol. Full energy, activating minimal intervention.]
A flash of black light flickered and vanished into the crevices of the world.
The rented room, deliberately leased for work, could hardly be called tidy.
Of course, it wasn't because the room was dirty or moldy, but because its occupant didn't know how to take care of herself or her surroundings.
Or perhaps she was just lazy.
Black stockings and lace underwear hung carelessly on the headboard. The dark-haired girl, dressed only in a thin shirt and panties, sat at her computer, relying on a heater. She frowned, arguing with her editor over the phone.
"I know why the third volume didn't get a good response… Don't rush me for the fourth. I haven't figured out the main storyline yet."
"Don't lecture me. If I knew how to recapture the feeling of writing the second volume, would I be worrying every day until my hair turns gray?"
"Machida-san, I'd rather write a work that surpasses my previous one—or at least matches it. But the problem now is I have no inspiration. No matter how much you push me, I can't write something I'm satisfied with. A work even the author isn't pleased with is just illustrated toilet paper."
"Hmm, it's late. You should rest too. When I figure out how to write it, I'll call you. Until then, please don't bother me. Let me be alone for a while—unless the editorial department plans to cancel Love Metronome."
After saying the last sentence in a low voice, Utaha tossed her phone, which had ended the call, onto the desk. She leaned back, covering her eyes with her arm, and let out a heavy sigh.
"Even though the third volume was a work I really loved, how did it come to this… Damn it, today's readers truly have no taste!"
However, despite her words, as she had just discussed with her editor, she knew better than anyone the reason for the sharp decline in popularity.
It had nothing to do with the readers. It was purely because her talent wasn't enough.
The first volume of Utaha's work, written under the pen name Kasumi Utako—Love Metronome—received a lukewarm response. It even faced a situation where the second volume was nearly canceled. But when she wrote the second volume, which gained skyrocketing popularity and rave reviews, everything changed.
The title of "beautiful high school girl novelist" was heavily promoted. Its sales once topped the monthly light novel charts. It even boosted the sales of the first volume, making her famous and filling her with confidence and pride as a bestselling author.
With that, she wrote the third volume under the great expectations of many.
And then she learned what it meant to fall as high as she had risen.
Objectively, the third volume was a huge improvement over the first. For a novice writer, producing a novel of that level was already impressive—but compared to the second volume, with its gripping plot, vivid characters, and ability to make readers cry, the reading experience was a drastic letdown. Some even openly said the first and second volumes couldn't have been written by the same author.
Seeing those comments, Utaha nearly punched her computer screen. She felt suffocated, as if she might cough up blood. For a while, her mind went blank. Her fingers rested on the keyboard, but she couldn't type a single word.
The confidence she had just built was cruelly shattered by those scathing reviews. She even considered quitting writing and letting someone else take the role of the beautiful high school girl novelist.
Her pride, unwilling to lose to the readers, kept her going until now.
Utaha had once sworn she'd write a perfect work that would make all her critics lick her feet. She'd make everyone who underestimated her sob uncontrollably because of her story—
Yet, no matter how many oaths she made, they only added to the pile of discarded drafts in the trash.
"My talent isn't exhausted. I'm just waiting for inspiration to strike… Damn it! I'll show you all my true ability!"
Biting her lip reluctantly, Utaha wiped her eyes forcefully. She placed both hands back on the keyboard.
The empty room was silent and desolate. The night outside the window seemed frozen, unchanging.
With a soft sigh, the crisp sound of typing faded once more.
"Indeed, it's not the same as writing the second volume. That sudden burst of inspiration, that instant spark of creation, it's gone…"
Muttering, Utaha picked up a book from the crowded bookshelf beside her. She flipped through a few pages.
Initially, she only meant to skim, but before she knew it, an hour had passed. As a writer, she was completely engrossed.
"Indeed, it's different from me. Written so well."
With a self-deprecating laugh, Utaha put the book down. She picked up her phone and opened her photo album.
Among various photos and documents, the most striking was a picture of a teenage boy standing in front of a piano, smiling confidently at the audience below.
It was the only photo Utaha had secretly taken. The purpose… was, of course, for research.
Because the key to the second volume's popularity, and the important supporting character loved by many readers, was a character she wrote based on brief impressions and observations (stalking) after meeting Yuu during the summer vacation.
She hadn't expected the second volume to become so popular because of it. She hadn't expected her research subject to attend the same school as her. She hadn't expected that boy to be so remarkable…
Even so, Utaha didn't immediately acknowledge their acquaintance. Let alone apologize or thank him.
A person with normal shame wouldn't voluntarily admit they were caught stalking someone and even received attention for it.
However, if the third volume had been a hit too, she would've signed her big name on a note, returned it to him, and done so with a proud face!
—That was Utaha's original plan.
Then, well, the rest was as everyone knew.
Her new work flopped completely. The design of that important supporting character had many issues too. Now, some people were still mocking her on 2ch forums. She had no qualifications to face the junior who had helped her so much.
So, to avoid too much stress, Utaha chose to escape reality.
Now, she rarely went to school. She just hid at home, writing novels. She produced countless useless drafts, was advised and comforted by her editor, and her condition worsened. She kept writing poor works, trapped in a vicious cycle, unable to break free.
Her mind could no longer conjure any stories. Utaha leaned helplessly against the chair's backrest. She let her phone slip from her hand, falling to the floor. Her eyes were vacant, staring at the bookshelf in front of her.
The word "surrender" gradually filled her mind.
"Either I get canceled outright, or I have to meet that kouhai and see if I can recapture that feeling… Hmm?"
Muttering, Utaha suddenly froze. Her vacant eyes quickly focused.
She spotted a strange book with a pure black spine, wedged between the first and third volumes of Love Metronome.
The second volume was still on the desk. There should've been an empty space there…
Since when was this book slipped in?
Puzzled, after confirming she didn't recall carelessly placing a book there, Utaha reached out and pulled it out.
The cover was black, just like its spine. No words or images. Pure, simple black, yet it seemed to emit a chilling aura. When she held it, a cold sensation crept through her.
Yet, for some reason, Utaha didn't dislike the design. She even felt a slight familiarity, like holding her favorite notebook.
"What is this? A Death Note?"
After examining the surface, she cautiously opened the inner pages, ready to toss the book out the window at any moment.
…Plain white paper. Blank and new. No different from an ordinary notebook. The inside cover had no usage rules or anything similar.
"Indeed, I was overthinking…" Laughing at her own paranoia, Utaha shook her head. She quickly flipped through the book's pages. After confirming they were all blank, she lost interest and was about to close it and return it to the shelf.
At that moment, a black font suddenly flashed in the corner of her eye. She stopped immediately, flipping back to the only page that wasn't pure white.
"It wasn't there just now…"
Her words halted.
In Utaha's shocked gaze, the black font seemed alive. Starting from "7/24" at the top, it slowly formed complete sentences.
Though she instinctively let go, letting the notebook fall onto the desk, the first page didn't flip at all.
The ink continued forming lines on the white paper, like an automatically running computer program, recording line by line.
[7/24, you met Tenkuji Yuu at the street piano in JR Shibuya Station…]