---
Kiyono subconsciously looked up.
The girl's golden twin-tails swayed as she walked; her pretty face wore a serene, perfect smile. Every detail exuded the grace of a young lady, and within that elegance lingered the fresh aura of a youthful girl—innocent and pure.
The next moment, their eyes met.
Equally startled, they reacted the same way: Kiyono pressed a hand to his forehead, and Eriri also struggled to keep a straight face.
They stared at each other, the corners of their lips twitching as if they were about to laugh, then simultaneously turned away.
After a brief silence, the blonde finally regained her composure. Without another word, she pattered over and sat down.
"I didn't expect you, of all people, to be the legendary Fuyutsuki," Eriri said, twirling a twin-tail.
"I didn't expect the artist I'm working with to be Miss Sawamura," Kiyono deadpanned.
They exchanged the simplest formalities, and then Eriri leaned forward, eyes sharp with a delinquent-like intensity.
"Teacher Kiyono, do you know how much time is left until final proof? Seventy-two hours—down to the second, it's…"
She checked her phone lock screen, her slender brows lifting.
"Correction: seventy hours and twenty-three minutes. To ask me to redraw illustrations under these circumstances—do you realize how much trouble your capriciousness has caused me?!"
Eriri all but squeezed the seconds out between her teeth, her small fangs flashing like a riled cat about to bite.
But as the words fell, her lips parted; a pang of regret and self-reproach struck.
That wasn't what she wanted to say at all.
She had finally met the light-novel author she admired and had looked forward to this meeting. What she meant to say was, "I really love your novels," and "I've reread every chapter many times."
Even the newly revised scenes made her heart flutter. Troublesome as they were, they also filled her with motivation.
Yet, once she opened her mouth, it all became complaints and accusations.
Now Kiyono would surely think less of her as an "artist"…
Eriri snuck a glance up at him.
Kiyono simply brought his hands together in earnest contrition, like a penitent believer.
"I am truly—sorry. After this, whether it's extra pay or treating you to a meal, I'll do it."
He had broken through a barrier, yes, but he'd also caused trouble for Eriri and the team, and that guilt sat heavy. A light novel wasn't his endeavor alone.
"Oh, that's not necessary…"
Eriri exhaled in relief and smiled again. She was the type who became shy and soft the second you went along with her.
"Anyway, I'll bang out a rough for you to see first! We can't waste a single hour now!"
Wisely skipping the previous topic, she pulled a notebook, tablet, and tools from her backpack until they took up half the table. Kiyono put away his books.
The blonde opened her software, created a new canvas and layers, and let the stylus fall—clean, confident lines, clearly pre-visualized.
The longer Kiyono watched, the more he marveled. Eriri's skill had steadily climbed; her seriousness showed in the speed and decisiveness of every stroke.
This apparent ease came from experience and forethought; she'd clearly observed and pondered this scene again and again.
The brief: "A girl bathed in the setting sun by the riverside." It sounded simple; in truth, every step hid a thousand choices.
Background, figure, hair, eyes, expression—everything must be designed around the character, because in light-novel illustrations, the character is the axis.
Gradually, Eriri paused longer to consider.
"Hey, there's no specific description here. What should her first expression be?"
"She'd be stunned by the impact," Kiyono said, "but the illustration doesn't necessarily need to depict that head-on."
Author and illustrator were like client and contractor—but not the sort that tosses out, "Something feels off, keep tweaking." Detailed notes spared Eriri's blood pressure.
"How about slightly blurring the background?" she asked.
"That works."
Some time later, the rough was complete.
Kiyono's eyes widened, as if at a window onto another world.
Under the twilight, light and shadow glittered dreamily. A noble, beautiful girl stood with her back to the sun—perfectly in tune with his novel, almost alive.
After the shock, satisfaction flooded him.
"Miss Sawamura's composition is incredibly impactful."
"The light-and-shadow treatment—truly professional."
"Yes, yes—this is it. It matches my image of the heroine exactly. As expected of a partner who understands my heart!"
…Don't—don't praise me like that!
Eriri's fair cheeks flushed a beguiling pink. She was used to compliments, but from an author she admired, they landed differently—heavier.
"Just keep drawing with this feeling. Miss Sawamura is talented," Kiyono declared, flourishing a hand.
Talent, huh… Her stylus paused. She wasn't sure if she counted as "talented"—she'd practiced this simulation for so long… Still, she was improving and widely praised. So… probably.
"Miss Sawamura could be a lead artist at a major studio already, right? Do you want to go that route—or become a mangaka?" Kiyono asked.
"…I don't know. I still have a long way to go."
Eriri lowered her head, voice casual. She had no fixed plan yet.
Kiyono sipped coffee and let it go; the blonde had no time for chatter anyway—her hand was almost too hot to hold the pen.
Time slipped by.
Without noticing, it had turned to night outside the window.
Kiyono glanced at Eriri, immersed across from him, thought for a moment, then stepped out to a nearby shop and bought two orders of takoyaki.
He returned, gave them to the waiter, and asked that they be reheated with their meals.
Near eight o'clock, Eriri finally stretched and chirped, "One finished!"
"Good work. Let's eat," Kiyono smiled.
"Is it that late already?! I'm starving!"
When the first rush faded, Eriri slumped onto the table with a worried look.
Kiyono pressed the service bell. Soon, two set meals arrived—plus two orders of takoyaki and strawberry daifuku.
Freshly reheated, nearly as good as new—the aroma made Eriri's mouth water.
"Takoyaki!" Her eyes sparkled.
"Wait—how did you know I like that? And cafés don't sell this, right?" Suspicion dawned; she eyed Kiyono.
He blinked. "Didn't you say so in-game? You kept talking about craving takoyaki and daifuku…"
Eriri froze. So he's… that thoughtful?
That kind of subtle tenderness is a terrifying poison for girls.
Good thing I'm on the childhood-friend route!
—But, wait, haven't I known him since childhood too? Doesn't that count?
She pressed a hand to her chest, oddly uneasy.
Drawing a breath, she bared the tiniest fang at the corner of her smile—sweet and radiant.
"Th-thank you." She forced the words out, then ducked her head to hide her shyness.
Kiyono had waited to eat with her—probably just to accommodate her.
She lifted her chopsticks, took a sauce-drenched takoyaki, and set it gently on her tongue. The instant flavor made her eyes narrow in feline bliss.
Leaving the warm interior, the evening's bite brushed her cheeks. Neon signs burst like fireworks across the street; the moon was bright, the stars sparse; pedestrians looked content. Even the city seemed to shed its dust.
"It'll be tough these next two days. I owe you one," Kiyono said, glancing at the girl beside him.
"Just wait for good news," she waved—finally giving an answer that wouldn't earn demerits.
Eriri had barely crossed the road—hadn't even stretched—when her phone buzzed.
A text from a certain painfully familiar childhood friend:
"Eriri, are you done with work? I'm waiting for you at the park—you have to come!"
Eriri's face lit up instantly, like a wife home from overtime, finding her husband waiting with flowers.
Has he been waiting this whole time? Finally willing to take the initiative!
The "important thing"… could it be a confession? There'd been no buildup; wasn't that jumping a few flags? Not that she was against it.
She imagined a lot in a very short time. Tidying her bangs, she changed course toward the park.
From a distance, she saw his back on a bench. Eriri took a deep breath and walked up slowly.
She stopped, arms crossed, eyes darting nervously.
"Just so you know, I don't intend to accept—but if I kept you waiting, I wouldn't sleep well…"
Hearing her voice, the bespectacled otaku turned and smiled. "You're finally here, Eriri. By the way, what were you doing today? Why so late?"
"I was tormented by a heartless client… It took long because I was forced—and then a new idea came, so that delayed things."
Eriri tilted her chin. She hesitated, cheeks warming, heart pounding, then gathered her courage.
"So—what's the important thing you wanted to say?"
"Good question. Actually, it's like this…"
Under her expectant gaze, Aki Tomoya pushed up his glasses and, eyes blazing, described the fated encounter he'd experienced—the pretty girl in a beret at the top of the slope during cherry season.
Eriri stared, eyes deadpan, swallowed by a silence she couldn't name.
Her maiden heart had just been ground under by her childhood friend.
She drew a breath and said, flat as a board:
"So, to put it simply—you fell in love at first sight with another girl, and now you want to turn that encounter into a bishōjo romance game. And since you can't draw, you came to another girl you know?"
"W-while that's broadly correct, Eriri, the way you put it sounds weird! It's not that I fell in love with the heroine—I just want to recreate the emotion of that moment…"
Aki Tomoya hastily backpedaled.
"You saw it: I've been busy until now. If you want me to join, what can you offer?"
Eriri snorted. She didn't care about money. If the heroine were her, she might reluctantly consider…
Aki flinched as if struck, averted his gaze, pushed up his glasses again, and said, lacking all confidence:
"Y-you mean money? Don't worry, I'll make sure you're paid once the game releases! And it won't interfere with your work—if you only come occasionally, or draw the occasional pic, that's fine!"
"You're indispensable, Eriri! With your excellent design sense and knack for tracking popular styles, even a character like Katou, who's already a lost cause, can become deadly cute!"
Eriri sighed, hand to hip.
"Tomoya, let me ask you: if there's an incompetent good-for-nothing who can't do anything himself, but calls himself a director and recruits team members—then, when questioned, talks about unpaid work like it's natural, even asking one girl to help him conquer another—and finally just loafs while everyone else does the work…"
"What would you do?"
"Kick him."
Eriri nodded, satisfied—then turned and left without hesitation.
Behind her, her childhood friend's shouting rose, flames of "dream" devouring his voice.
"I'm serious, Eriri! I'm absolutely not half-hearted, so I'll never give up! No matter how many times I ask—I'll make you join my club!"
Eriri ignored him, walking alone down the road, biting her lip—hurt and disappointed.
What teenage girl hasn't dreamed of being the shining heroine for the one she likes? But Aki Tomoya not only didn't choose her—he elevated another girl as his fated match…
No small blow to a girl who'd always been proud.
Of course, if Aki truly kept asking, she'd soften—she didn't mind helping her childhood friend. But his attitude had really angered her.
Suddenly, Kiyono's image flashed through her mind.