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In the month since he entered high school, Kiyono's book sales had steadily climbed, and he also found time to submit his light-novel manuscript, which smoothly entered the publishing stage. However, he did not deliberately reveal his pen name.
His daily life remained stable: reading, writing, gaming, the occasional stop by the Service Club… and, in the evenings, he consistently chatted with Yanami.
That evening, Kiyono prepared hot water as usual and took a bath.
"Hoo…"
Lying in his own bathtub, letting the water ripple around him, Kiyono took out his phone—sealed in a waterproof pouch—and lazily scrolled through Twitter.
Just then, his phone buzzed.
It was a LINE message from Yanami; her profile picture was still a small corgi.
"Hey, Kiyono, what are you doing?"
—Why at such a coincidental moment!
Kiyono felt a strange unease and replied, feigning composure:
"Nothing at all."
The message instantly showed Read. After a pause, the girl sent another playful line.
"So, what am I doing right now?"
"I don't know…"
He nervously scrolled up their history. For the past few days, their evening chats had included food pics, sleep times… and bath times.
"Hint ①: Something you need to close your eyes to do."
Yanami attached a photo of a blurry ceiling, steamed and hazy, with half a mint-green shower curtain peeking at the edge.
"Counting prime numbers?" Kiyono typed, deadpan.
"Wrong guess."
Steam drifted through a misty bathroom. Water droplets ticked crisply against tile.
Yanami sat in the tub, blue hair piled high to reveal a fair neck. A bead of water slid from her forehead to her chin, then onto a delicate, bamboo-slender collarbone, finally dissolving into the bath.
She eyed her phone; her gaze rippled. Perhaps because she'd been soaking so long, a blush had risen on her pretty face.
"Hint ②: I'm about to use something that makes a gurgling sound."
The attached image was a close-up of a shower-gel bottle blurred by steam. The words Milk Essence on the label were conveniently blocked by slender, water-beaded fingers.
"Are you drinking Yakult?"
Even as he typed, Kiyono's eyes drifted to the toiletries opposite him.
"Wrong!"
Yanami sent a short voice message—crisp splashes of water—that involuntarily conjured up a vision of pale arms stretching.
"Hint ③: What's the water temperature right now?"
—You're not even pretending anymore!
"42 degrees."
"It's the same temperature as Kiyono's ear tips."
Kiyono suddenly felt the bath was too hot. His heart thumped. He instinctively stood—then, as if sensing something, slowly sank back into the water.
Though it was his own bathroom, the air felt soft and ambiguous.
A video-call request chimed.
—What is she planning!?
Kiyono panicked and hammered Reject. The girl seemed to anticipate this; a second later a text popped up.
"Failed penalty game—guess my expression right now."
At the same time, Yanami shyly buried half her small head in the water. Her blue hair fanned out beneath the surface, bubbling softly. Half her cheek, refracted by the light, looked even more enchanting.
After both of them had sorted out their confused, dizzy feelings, Yanami sat at her desk, clicked on her lamp, and sent another video call—this time for actual business.
Kiyono procrastinated a long moment before answering. The girl on screen had slightly damp hair.
"Let's discuss the light novel, little senior."
Yanami lifted a bright, smiling face and got straight to the point.
She wanted to test her talent—to see if she could help Kiyono break through a bottleneck. Maybe she couldn't do that yet for general literature, but for this novel, which she'd read countless times, she was confident.
"The novel?"
Kiyono was a little surprised. So the girl wanted… some early editor experience?
Thinking that, he smiled. "Do you have any good ideas?"
"Just casual chat is fine. For example, the heroine's plot in the latter half of Volume One…"
Yanami tore open a packet of wafer biscuits, nibbling as she flipped the manuscript to the page she wanted.
Kiyono's novel—validated and refined by the market—had no problems with most of its plot. What she needed to do was strengthen a particular vein, raising that part from 95 to 120.
"Here—when the heroine learns of her impending death. Couldn't the emotional impact be pushed even harder?"
She didn't know how her talent would trigger; she just followed her instincts.
"My heroine isn't the type to kneel and cry softly," Kiyono snorted, proud.
"You're projecting your own feelings, aren't you! Even the strongest girl has a vulnerable, shadowed side!" Yanami tapped her pen on the desk.
"Then let's hear the esteemed editor's brilliant insight."
"Perhaps add another crucial turning-point scene for the heroine…?"
She spoke tentatively, watching for that eureka flicker in his expression.
Kiyono pondered. No lightning bolt—but he did witness Yanami's dedication. She not only read thoroughly and gave clear suggestions; more importantly, her intuition was sharp. It felt like his real editor meetings.
If she kept improving, they might truly co-create the next light novel.
"But then you'd need more layered foreshadowing earlier," he said.
"What if the male protagonist's identity is revealed a bit sooner?"
They dug into details. Kiyono unconsciously sat up straight, summarizing arcs and character lines while Yanami—materials already prepared—filled in possibilities.
"You can use your prose to condense and compensate here," she said.
"Then drop foreshadowing here, and streamline this dialogue—show it in expressions and action…"
Kiyono copied the original passage into a new document and, with growing interest, made simple changes.
A subtle, exciting sense of breakthrough stirred—not dramatic, but enough to make certain scenes more touching. Maybe it wouldn't spike sales, but the joy of improvement was deeply satisfying.
The keyboard's light tapping was brisk. He sent two new fragments to Yanami.
"How does this feel?"
"I think it's great—there are a few conflicts with earlier beats you'll need to revise."
Strangely, the two reached a kind of emotional resonance—an airy, elusive beauty of weaving a story together.
He also truly saw the girl's unyielding drive—how she fought for her dream.
Kiyono's fingertip hovered over Enter, about to praise her, when she cut in:
"What about the revision fee?"
Yanami leaned into the camera; her beautiful eyes sparkled, a clear light shining in blue pupils.
"What do you want? Snacks?" Kiyono raised an eyebrow.
Honestly, this was a rare chance. Yanami thought for nearly a minute before voicing the desire in her heart.
"Hmm… Please, Kiyono: whenever you want to express gratitude in the next three years, fold a star from manuscript paper, write your feelings inside, and store them in a jar."
"Why three years?" Kiyono asked.
The blue-haired girl pressed a finger to her lips.
"Because—when Kiyono becomes a great literary master, I can auction them off and make money!"
(In truth, she wanted a future contract—so he'd always think of her.)
"What!? You've revised some of the manuscript again? Fuyutsuki-sensei, I think this draft is already perfect enough—and the pub date is set! This will throw the whole staff into chaos!"
When his editor took Kiyono's late-night call, his face was calm but his mouth twitched—not because his sleep was broken; in emergencies he'd rush manuscripts at people's homes. But this behavior was A-class rebellion!
Kiyono sent the new pages.
Silence. Then, decisively, the editor joined the rebellion.
"Hiss… This is inspiration. I'll find a way to coordinate with everyone. But the illustrator—you'll need to explain to her personally."
The next day, Eriri received the terrible news.
"What!? You want me to redraw the illustrations? And I have to sprint the deadline from zero!?"
—Same reaction.
Although Kashiwagi Eri-sensei could be called a veteran of deadline wars, this was the first time she'd been ambushed like this. Were all authors' mental states this twisted!?
Her first thought was to stage a glorious rebellion and disappear—but the new manuscript's quality, the scenes blooming vividly in her mind, left her speechless.
If she could cross this deadline, she might break through in despair—and transcend.
Tempted by that level-up, Eriri ground her teeth and fired off a message:
"Pick a place—any place—and let's hash out the new illustration details!"
She hurriedly packed all her tools, ready to bolt—when her childhood friend called with "something important" to discuss.
"Why now of all times…"
Eriri frowned, scraped together an excuse to brush him off, and decided to talk to Aki Tomoya tonight. Work came first.
---
In a bedroom spacious enough to deserve the word, the blonde girl stuffed her tools into a backpack and grabbed a baseball cap.
Then she paused. The mirror on her vanity reflected a girl in jeans and a boyish hoodie.
"Going to meet that guy like this isn't great, is it?"
Kiyono wasn't just her classmate and online friend, but a creator she admired—and a team partner. In that sense, it was their first "official" meeting.
Eriri hesitated, then changed—choosing a cute coordinate that suited a gentle girl.
This—this wasn't for him. It was just image management for a teenage girl!
Yes. That was it.
The tsundere supplied her own excuses.
The sky was vivid blue; clouds hung low. In the pleasant spring breeze, students pedaled leisurely down the street.
Kiyono sat quietly in a café corner. On the table: a thin laptop and several thick foreign classics—Kōbō Abe's The Woman in the Dunes on top.
Sometimes he would pick up a book and pretend to read, frowning in contemplation; sometimes he'd tap the keyboard lightly.
Sunlight poured through the window, deepening his gaze—melancholy, as if he understood society's pains. A literary aura seemed to emanate from him; this shabby corner felt like a scholar's desk steeped in history, proofing his way with a pen.
At this moment, his demeanor lent this unremarkable café a quiet, intellectual loneliness. Passing waitresses stole glances and whispered.
Kiyono had been posing for quite a while, hoping to give his not-yet-arrived partner a perfect first impression—yet she still hadn't appeared. He muttered inwardly, scanning the room.
Why isn't she here yet?
He had a fondness for this partner—someone he'd collaborated with three times across different worlds. Although… although he vaguely suspected her true identity… but! There was still a thirty-percent chance it could be another mysterious beauty!
Until he saw her in person, he would keep fantasizing.
Just then, the café door opened.