--
The girl gently swirled her glass and said seriously, "Besides, there are some things that can only be done after drinking."
"What do you want to do?!" Kiyono asked warily.
Warm morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, tracing bands of light across Kiyono's shoulders and hair. Groggy, he caught a delicate fragrance—less of affected maturity, more of sweet, girlish freshness—familiar, somehow.
He slowly opened his eyes to a face exquisite as a fairy's: dark blue eyes bright with moisture, lips as delectable as sakura pudding. Yukinoshita Haruno, barefaced, lay beside him.
"Good… morning." She playfully winked with her right eye.
Kiyono snapped awake and feigned nonchalance. "Why are you in my room?"
"Hm… I figured my little brother would be surrounded by adoring girls today, so I decided to enjoy him in advance—and put his big sister's mark on him."
Haruno's triumphant smile sparkled.
"Actually, I'm a woman too, you know. Women are very jealous creatures. Just imagining the author they admire lying next to his big sister—at my mercy—gives me a strange sense of pleasure."
What exactly have you awakened?!
Before Kiyono could retort, he sucked in a breath.
Haruno lifted her phone, smiling. On the screen: a photo of the two of them intimately sharing a bed.
Kiyono appeared unconcerned—but the moment she showed an opening, a glint flashed in his eyes. He struck with lightning speed, like a samurai drawing steel, lunging to shatter the young lady's ambition.
His "blade" was nimbly dodged by the prepared young lady.
"Oh, by the way—after today's signing, remember to come home with your big sister. Mother says there's something important she wants to discuss."
Still smiling, she tapped her phone—and quietly sent the photo to a certain Blue-haired girl.
Sawamura · Spencer · Eriri checked her going-out disguise.
Hair tied up; a baseball cap covering half her face; a comically oversized pair of glasses perched on her nose. In this getup, even classmates might not recognize her.
The blonde young lady nodded, satisfied. It was a legitimate literary signing event, yes—but she had no intention of revealing herself.
"I wonder what kind of person the author is?"
Classic author archetypes flitted through her mind: a weathered face with scruffy beard and deep, soulful eyes; a bespectacled scholar in traditional robes. Yet the final image that lingered was someone else's face.
"Why am I thinking about that guy again…? There's no way they're the same person!"
Eriri's cheeks pinked. She shook her head to scatter the thought and hurried toward her destination.
But when she reached the venue on her bicycle, the scene left her stunned.
"Why are there so many people?!"
Weaving through the throng, she grumbled. A surprising number were middle- and high-school girls. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was a celebrity handshake event.
Whispers drifted from nearby girls—admiration, fantasies about the young author. Eriri, despite herself, felt a flicker of anticipation and craned her neck to see.
All at once, the noisy crowd slipped into eerie silence.
Those at the front turned, and then—collective intake of breath.
An exceptionally tall girl stood there, black hair cascading like a waterfall. She wore a simple dress and held a paperback, her half-lidded eyes hazy with sleep. Her exquisite face carried an ethereal, detached air, as if she existed apart from the world.
Though in a crowd, she was a proud, solitary flower—difficult to approach.
Most attendees were avid readers. Some stared, then began whispering excitedly: they recognized "Kasumi Utako."
Kasumigaoka Utaha gently closed her book and stepped into line, thoughts drifting.
Unlike Eriri's doubts, she could identify an author by prose and voice alone. The moment she finished the book, she had all but confirmed the writer's identity.
Amazement, astonishment… and a soft sigh.
Proud and conceited, she had once considered escaping the light-novel frame to write "serious" literature. But that circle was too ossified, too old-fashioned. At her age, she would face prejudice—scolded for lacking "experience." Rather than endure cold sarcasm, she'd entered a younger market.
She, too, was sarcastic toward the literary sphere—privately sneering that traditional authors would drown in past glories. But if asked whether she wanted to prove herself, the answer would be yes; the country's perception simply skewed that way.
So when she saw a boy her age—perhaps younger—achieve this, her feelings grew complex. Almost reflexively, she bought a ticket to the signing.
But what if she came? They weren't even close.
The black-haired girl's gaze lifted, lips pursed. Like many in line, she harbored admiration akin to a fan's for an idol.
Inside the venue, every gaze converged on a single point: a young man seated in a sky-blue haori—Haruno had insisted, for the sake of the Yukinoshita Family's elegance.
An NHK documentary team waited in front.
Elders of the literary world stood behind.
The air around him buzzed with respectful "Teacher." A group of middle-aged people addressing a young man as "Teacher" made for a strange tableau—but no one objected.
In this society, true creators command such respect. Should his work be adapted for film or television, even the glamorous, popular stars would tread carefully.
At this moment, it felt as though the world revolved around him—yet Kiyono remained composed, chatting and laughing with a senior writer.
Perhaps influenced by the atmosphere, bookstore staff watched the clock sternly; only when the hour struck did they declare the signing officially open.
While Kiyono signed, his second collaborative partner—his editor—stood at his side, eyes sharp, ready to support the literary world's new star at a moment's notice.
And yet…
Something felt off.
The female editor's gaze lingered. His deft phrasing with "tricky" readers; the subtle turn of his wrist mid-conversation—this was the body language of a battle-hardened veteran, honed like a weapon. Every detail declared: I am a treasure for readers.
It felt like…
Her eyes grew complicated. A young man who should have been radiating hormones on a cherry-blossom campus, cheeks still round with youth, instead exuded a seasoned composure—like a corporate slave who had slogged through a decade of office wars and been reborn.
You've only held one or two signings, right? Then why are you this skilled?! You're making me look useless!
She muttered under her breath, while Kiyono maintained an idol's smile—ensuring every paying reader left satisfied. Numbness was one thing; attitude and sincerity still mattered.
He signed name after name.
He chatted, reader after reader.
His smile never faltered—brisk, bright, undimmed.
And then something unexpected happened.
"Um… Kiyono, thank you for what you did before."
A faint voice, like falling cherry petals.
Kiyono, mid-sip, hadn't noticed someone step up. He set the bottle down to sign—and realized he'd met an acquaintance.
He looked up. The girl wore a clean white dress with a red coat over it—simple red and white, like a flame in snow.
Her hair just covered her ears; a whisper of shampoo drifted to him. She lifted off a white beret, and the moment felt quietly warm.
Her gentle smile, bright eyes like water. A face that didn't strike at first glance, yet grew softer and prettier the longer one looked.
Her name was Katou Megumi, a cute but unassuming girl.
However—
"Uh, Katou-san, which matter are you referring to?" Kiyono rifled his memory at full speed.
"Kiyono's reaction is a little subtle, isn't it? Did you forget?"
Then she added, "But it's okay. I'm used to it."
No complaint, no dissatisfaction—heavy, intense emotions simply didn't seem to stick to her.
Kiyono scratched his head. Something's wrong. Did my superhuman memory bug out!?
Katou handed over her copy. He set aside the panic and glanced down: the spine bent, corners softened—clearly well read.
"To be honest, I was a little surprised to see the author was Kiyono just now. But the book is really good. I finished it in class the day after I bought it."
Her expression was calm—no visible ripples—yet a sincere, disarming honesty came through.
"If it were Katou-san, you definitely wouldn't be caught reading in class, right?"
The joke slipped out—then felt off. He bowed his head in apology and added a little squirrel hugging a pinecone to her page.
Katou's poker face didn't change as she accepted the book with both hands.
"…If we keep chatting, it'll affect Kiyono's work. See you next time."
She turned lightly—like a pale-yellow dandelion bobbing in the wind—impossible to grasp even if one reached out.
Her timing was perfect: feelings expressed, without irking those waiting.
"Ah… okay. Be careful on your way."
Kiyono smiled, yet unease prickled. Folders flipped through his mind—searching for a certain featureless girl—that's her! Found!
A shiver ran through him.
"You, you, you, you—"
Eriri activated the skill: Interruption.
—
The ordinary heroine departed.
The second defeated heroine appeared.
The blonde girl stared at the familiar figure before her, almost thinking it was an illusion. Her eyes widened; her lips parted; her little canine teeth showed faintly…
So… huh? Is it really him?
This guy—her age—who wrote light novels and had recently worked with her… was also a literary author? That wildly popular light novel was just something he casually wrote under an alias?
Eriri pressed a hand to her forehead, a little dazed.
Realizing this made the air feel heavy—like she'd stepped into the adult world.
As a young lady, such occasions were nothing. But as a creator, the Kiyono before her was someone she now had to look up to.
The boy's voice cut across her thoughts.
"What's wrong with me? You unboxed a 'senior' and got too scared to talk?"
Kiyono's glance—and that familiar tone—steadied her.
"W-who would come to find you on purpose! It's just a coincidence!"
Eriri turned her head away, her base code booting up. She wouldn't say it out loud, but she acknowledged Kiyono's achievement in her heart.
One reason she'd hesitated to connect the dots earlier was this very thing—what he'd accomplished in under a year would be enough for most to coast on for life. And given his age, this was only the beginning of a miracle. Eriri couldn't help wondering how far he could go.
Then she remembered where she was and plopped her book on the table.
"Hurry—hurry up and sign!"
Still tsundere, she flicked a glance at the line and felt the pressure. She quickly added, "…Teacher."
Kiyono lowered his head and signed—adding a line as well. Conflicted, Eriri didn't even have time to read it. She clutched the book and hurried away.
Then he discovered the second defeated heroine—this isn't a shelter for defeated heroines!
…Hadn't he complained about that once already?
"I didn't expect the famous Kiyono-sensei to be my junior. I hope we'll have the chance to discuss writing with 'Little Senior' sometime."
Kasumigaoka Utaha lifted the book with impeccable manners, left only that line, and smiled. If Aki Tomoya had seen his senior's gentleness now, he would have been stunned.
"Hm. I admire your writing as well, Senior. Let's talk sometime!"
For the entire afternoon, Kiyono demonstrated deep hosting chops—book after book, smile after smile.
Just as the signing was about to end, sharp, hurried footsteps rang out, and someone dropped into the chair before him.