Before deciding what to write, Kuroba Akira had to first settle where to submit it.
Becoming a light novel author wasn't as simple as just picking up a pen. Even with his professional writing experience, there was no guarantee he could just waltz in, crush the competition, and secure a publication deal.
In this world, the isekai genre hadn't taken off yet. Smartphones hadn't gone mainstream, and most people still didn't use their phones to read novels. That meant sites like "Shōsetsuka ni Narō" (Let's Become a Novelist) hadn't entered their golden age of growth.
There were no established precedents of web novels getting picked up and published as bunkobon (paperbacks). Most online fiction was written purely for fun, like posting on forums or blogs.
Which also meant—breaking into the industry as a newcomer was even harder.
The only viable paths were placing highly in a major newcomer award or catching the eye of an editor by submitting your manuscript directly—exactly like in traditional literature. And since most authors were getting younger, the competition was even fiercer.
The latter route—unsolicited submissions—meant fighting against mountains of other entries and hoping to get spotted. But few ever broke in that way.
Shirai Shiori, on the other hand, had already won an award. She'd been published before. Which meant this time, she'd definitely go with a familiar publisher—boosting her chances even further.
Akira was already at a disadvantage right out of the gate.
The first, more official route was a no-go. Even if there were a light novel competition running right now, the judging process would take months—well past the one-month deadline he'd agreed upon with Shirai.
And contests like that were lottery draws. Too many variables, too much unpredictability. One editor's personal bias could get your manuscript tossed, no matter how good it was.
So Akira had only one option left: cold-submit directly to a publisher and hope to get picked up.
Which made choosing the right publisher absolutely critical.
Fortunately, he already had one in mind.
Back when he was considering the "plagiarize for profit" route, Akira had done some market research. One publisher stood out—Hurricane Bunko, an up-and-coming light novel label that had a reputation for aggressively recruiting new talent. Their debut rate for new authors was higher than average.
As a new player in the field, they couldn't rely on old name recognition. To survive, they had to invest in fresh blood.
What's more, Hurricane Bunko's flagship title, Don't Cry, Misfortune Diviner, was about to wrap up. But they hadn't found anything to replace it yet.
Which made this the perfect time to submit something. Editors would be more eager than usual to find their next hit, and more willing to give new voices a chance.
Of course, Akira wasn't trying to swoop in and become their new top title overnight. But the lack of a current headliner meant more editorial bandwidth—and more hope for rookies.
He searched online for their address and copied it down in his notebook. Once the manuscript was finished, he'd mail it in.
Technically, he could submit it via email, but physically delivering a printed manuscript tended to be taken more seriously. Presentation mattered.
If he weren't completely broke, he'd even consider bringing it to their office in person.
The process was tedious—but that was how things worked in this world. Once web novels took off, all you'd need to do was go to Hurricane Bunko's homepage, fill in your name and phone number, and boom—entry submitted.
But by then, competition would be insane. Breaking through the crowd would be way harder.
Right now, though… was a rare, golden window.
Next up was deciding what to write.
And that was the hard part.
After all, the beginning defines everything. Choose the right theme, and the path to victory is halfway paved.
Akira's wide reading experience only made the decision harder. He'd consumed so many great stories across so many genres, he could probably cover the entire spectrum.
But every era had its own trends. Get too ahead of your time and people just think you're weird. Audiences don't praise what they can't understand—they reject it.
So he needed to write something that fit this world's tastes.
He'd been in this alternate Japan for half a year now. He'd gotten a decent feel for its social vibe.
This version of Japan wasn't crushed under existential malaise. Maybe because it hadn't experienced the economic bubble bursting under a single government white paper. The general mood remained upbeat.
But honestly? Akira still wasn't sure what kind of stories people liked here.
His instincts—refined by years of reading in his previous world—didn't translate well.
What he found interesting didn't always align with what this world's readers wanted. As a transmigrator, he was… disconnected.
That was the biggest hurdle in his original "plagiarize a famous novel" plan.
Write a power fantasy? An isekai protagonist climbing levels with cheat powers?
Almost guaranteed flop.
Those stories were thin on plot, mostly carried by flashy illustrations and dopamine-hit moments. And without existing popularity, traditional editors would likely reject them outright.
So—was there a timeless theme in light novels that always worked?
Yes.
There was.
Little sisters.
That's right—imouto stories always hit.
Emotional family drama, messy relationships, forbidden bonds—youth trauma romance layered with heavy character dynamics. That stuff always caught attention.
And in this world, OreImo hadn't hit yet. Which meant…
Akira could get there first.
He couldn't remember all the plot details from when he'd read it as a student, but the key characters and hook? He remembered those crystal clear.
A younger sister who debuted as a gyaru in middle school, secretly obsessed with eroge, gets caught by her older brother. The two start bonding over her hobby, he introduces her to other otaku friends, they meet all kinds of people. Then she gets jealous when he grows close to other girls. Slowly, the tsundere gives way to dere…
Man, what an irresistible setup.
The tsundere archetype wasn't outdated yet, either. Watching a cold character slowly open up felt earned—when she finally dropped her guard and blushed just for you, it made every effort worth it. That tension, that "so close yet so far" struggle—was addictive.
That was the magic.
Akira had read enough imouto stories to instantly tell whether a new one had potential. The trick was crafting that perfect balance of ambiguity, tension, and forbidden appeal. The feeling that something might happen—but never quite knowing what.
Perfect. He'd found his theme.
He opened a new document and typed:
Theme: Little Sister
Now it was time to draft the outline.
And from here on out…
The real hell begins.